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NOTE: This Sci Fi article was extracted from my main blog. The original complete post was published on September 19, 2010 [ http://dsngsfm.blogspot.com/2010/09/visual-punctuations.html ]
VISUAL PUNCTUATIONS
Defining a Futuristic World...
Intergalactic trade and starship travel between terraformed planets and space colonies have always been popular themes utilized when defining sci fi environments. And the presence of alien species [presented as either allies or enemies, and having familiar or unfamiliar phenotypes] are also quite common in sci fi movies and literature. Yet these issues, despite their standardized relevance, are merely the crest of the iceberg.
There are other notable things that assist in helping to define futuristic worlds, which are worth considering carefully. One key signature element of sci if is the fact that it stretches the imagination. When drafted conceptual worlds are considered, its commonly the little things flawlessly intertwined into the art that presents the tangible depth of the image; and this depth helps to dictate futuristic themes. For instance, a panoramic image showcasing a serene countryside with valleys and rising plateaus covered in grass and scattered shrubbery illuminated by the rays of the mid-day sun really has nothing to do with sci fi. But once you throw in a spaceship docking port or a giant hovercraft construction yard into the same background, you have adamantly stepped over rigid genre boundaries, crossing the line between reality and fiction.
Intergalactic trade and starship travel between terraformed planets and space colonies have always been popular themes utilized when defining sci fi environments. And the presence of alien species [presented as either allies or enemies, and having familiar or unfamiliar phenotypes] are also quite common in sci fi movies and literature. Yet these issues, despite their standardized relevance, are merely the crest of the iceberg.
There are other notable things that assist in helping to define futuristic worlds, which are worth considering carefully. One key signature element of sci if is the fact that it stretches the imagination. When drafted conceptual worlds are considered, its commonly the little things flawlessly intertwined into the art that presents the tangible depth of the image; and this depth helps to dictate futuristic themes. For instance, a panoramic image showcasing a serene countryside with valleys and rising plateaus covered in grass and scattered shrubbery illuminated by the rays of the mid-day sun really has nothing to do with sci fi. But once you throw in a spaceship docking port or a giant hovercraft construction yard into the same background, you have adamantly stepped over rigid genre boundaries, crossing the line between reality and fiction.
Consider the two images below, sourced from a book by Ballistic Publishing called Matte Painting 2:
The first digital pic is from Star Wars: Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith, I think. And if you look at it carefully, you can tell that the sense of depth and height that the buildings are established upon are punctuated by the prevalent fog/smog encountered at that altitude. Plus, the radiance reflected upon the durable alloyed building panels from the sun indicate their nearness to the sky as the hours of dusk approach. The seemingly tiny hover transports zooming about also immediately yield a sense of the scale of the skytowers, as these buildings are truly massive. Yes, the structures are massive, because if you look carefully... you can't even see the street below, and neither can you distinctly make out the window panels of the buildings.
In the second digital pic, an outdoor garden terrace is showcased. And per the layout of the scenery, this garden is established at least 10,000 feet above the ground. The painted vicinity illustrates a stretched mountain range, and above this mountain range, the resident sentient species have transformed barren highlands into a flourishing environment. This could easily be a fantasy world [fantasy as a genre is different from sci fi, hopefully we'll get into that distinction in the future]. Yet the presence of a hovercraft towards the left of the image, floating above a building establishment, instantly pushes the pic into the sci fi genre - per the futuristic technology that would be needed to contrive such a vehicle.
Additionally, the tall habitable structures may have been carved out of hard stone and solid rock faces, or they may have been contrived by the hands of droids given construction protocols by their creators to carefully follow. Only the artist who drew the image would be able to fully describe what he had in mind when he tilted his graphite pen to the digital canvas. But regardless of the foundational elements of the buildings or the elevated garden, this image still presents an intriguing sci fi world to behold.
It is noteworthy to consider that the mountainous establishment may actually be covered with an energy dome - creating an engineered habitable environment - which would probably be visible if you zoomed out to behold the entire elevated city. The reason for such an addition would be due to the fact that the availability of oxygen at extreme elevations is strikingly low. In fact, at mountain peaks here on earth, you won't find gardens... you'll find frost, blanketing the spiky peaks. And you won't find butterflies or bunnies scuffling playfully about at those towering frigid locations, since they would have no established constant food source.
That sort of descriptive ecological balance is what I strive to personally consider when I write sci fi stories, and you can constantly see that balance in the DSNG CHRONICLES e-book Trilogy available now at Amazon.com. The dynamic tale is a fusion of action, adventure and romance, set in an alternate galaxy. As a graphic designer, I also write and draw the characters along with their futuristic environments/vehicles. That way, little is left to the imagination, and the audience can see the presented conceptual world in a tangible light.
If you look close enough, you can probably pick out more visual punctuations in the two JPEG images above that help to highlight the fact that sci fi worlds are definitely unique environments, worthy of a second look......
~ Article written by DSNG Artist
Visit my sci fi blog for more interesting archived entries: http://www.dsngsfm.blogspot.com/
And check out Book#1 of the completed DSNG CHRONICLES TRILOGY: http://www.amazon.com/DSNG-CHRONICLES-PRINCES-PRIDE-ebook/dp/B003UHVIDI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1290548263&sr=8-1
An intriguing synopsis of the dynamic series is presented there, in the lengthy product description. Running searches for "DSNG" on Amazon will show you links to the other two books.
Author Ivory Simone shares a personal narrative about her family's experiences as black sharecroppers in Texas in a new "Havasu Means Blue Water" e-book Trailer. "One of the reasons I wrote a novel like Havasu Means Blue Water is that the generation of blacks with living memories of many of these events is fast disappearing," the author stated,"It makes it easier for people to distort or revise our histories to suit their agendas. I want some part of the stories I grew up with to be preserved and carried forward so succeeding generations won't forget that there was time when a Black Man had to step into the muddy streets to let a white man, woman or child pass."
The new e-book trailer is available only on the Bangkok Poetry Streams website. Go to: http://web.me.com/ivorysimone to listen to this stirring personal narrative.
Call-in Number: (424) 222-5252
Upcoming Show: 11/28/2010 3:00 PM
Host Name: Ivory Simone
Show Name:
Take A Bite Out Of The Big Mango
Length: 15 min
Description: Lifestyle, Art, Culture
h:158522 s:1390114
This re-scheduled episode is devoted to the challenges of being an expat eating foods that look, smell and taste different than what we're accustomed to eating. I wrote a blog entitled, "You Want Me To Eat What..?!!" which was a humorous take on how I learned to eat exotic Thai fruit (well-kinda-sorta. smile). Take a moment to read the blog on the show page. My special guest for this episode is a man who knows a lot about strange sounding and exotic Thai foods. His name is Dwight Turner. Dwight is a writer and food junkie (oops! connoisseur) who hails from the State of Georgia. He and a few friends recently launched a website devoted to Thai cuisine called eatingthaifoods.com. Join Dwight and me for an afternoon of casual chit-chat about the good, the nasty and the truly spicy Thai foods he's eaten when we "Take A Bite Out Of The Big Mango". Don't forget to call into the show and answer this question: What is the most exotic food you've eaten and was it tasty? Those listeners who enjoy a little poetry and light conversation with their coffee, latte or tea, be sure to tune into my weekly poetry podcasts, Bangkok Poetry Streams, at: http://web.me.com/ivorysimone.
Unlike the pristine bleak of the outside, the interior of Research Building A was filled
with people. Most of the occupants wore white lab coats, which was fitting. The
place was set up like a huge laboratory. Level upon level of laboratory space.
Craig had already seen most of the floors thanks to a brisk tour provided by his uncle.
He saw equipment he could not identify, technology he could hardly fathom.
Uncle Reese introduced him to many staff members. Scientists, engineers, technicians. Some
spoke accented English. Others not at all, but their research was
comprehensible to anyone trained in the arcane language of advanced science.
Finally, Craig was taken to an office at the very top floor. There, he met Dr.
Jason Ling, an experimental physicist on leave from a prestigious American
university, and Gretchen Hecht, a PhD mechanical engineer from Germany. A third
person, Dr. Alowole Adu, a materials specialist from Nigeria, was too engrossed
in the mathematical equations filling his laptop screen to acknowledge the new
arrivals.
“As you’ve undoubtedly guessed, we are no longer in the opera house,” Uncle Reese
announced, most understatedly.
Craig’s deadpan expression said, ‘no kidding.’
“We are not even on Earth. We are on a planet called Sirius, which is orbiting a star
called Sirius B. In fact, we are in a triple star system. That explains the
outside brightness, due to the fact that there’s more than one sun…”
Craig held up a hand to slow the data stream. “Wait a minute, this is…now hold on…we’re
not on Earth? How…I don’t get it…”
Craig walked to a tinted window, gazed out upon a desert landscape that extended as
far in all directions as he could make out. He could not accuse anyone of lying
because the evidence of his unearthly surroundings lay sprawled before his very
eyes. And if he could not accept the truth of that parched vista, all he has to
do was look up. “Ok. I won’t dispute my senses. So, the logical question to ask
in a situation like this is, how did we get here?”
“Worm hole,” replied Dr. Ling. “We created an artificial wormhole to bridge the gap
between worlds.”
An occasional reader of Scientific American, Craig was familiar enough with the
concept of wormholes. “You’re telling me that we developed technology to generate
a wormhole, to build all of this on another planet?”
“If by ‘we’ you mean the U.S. government, no, we didn’t do this alone,” clarified Uncle
Reese. "This is a worldwide effort. A very secret effort.”
Craig lifted a brow. “I’m all ears.”
Uncle Reese explained. The more he explained, the more effort it took for Craig to grasp
the reality of it.
It began in 1948, nearly eighty years earlier. A UFO crash-landed in Nevada. It’s a cliched
belief that when UFOs nosedive in the middle of nowhere, they’re usually
piloted by little green or gray large headed aliens who perish in the crash and
their bodies are transported to some ultra secret Area 51 type facility to be
autopsied.
First responders, poring over the crash site, would find no dead bodies inside the UFO.
The vehicle was a car sized probe. What investigators discovered inside the
probe, however, not only confirmed the craft’s extraterrestrial origins; it
scared the hell out of them. The investigators came across some kind of
fold-out video screen that self-activated, displaying the face of an alien. The
creature wasn’t the stereotypical green or gray skinned large headed alien.
It—perhaps it was a he or a she—looked like a cross between a ferret and a
toad. But its looks were irrelevant. The alien referred to itself as a Piron
who hailed from a far off planet of the same name.
Seven thousand Earth years ago, Piron was attacked and all life extinguished from its
surface by an aggressive species called the Uit. The Piron did not go down
without a fight. A few Piron survived the genocidal onslaught to launch hit and
run attacks against Uit ships. Eventually, Piron resistance was crushed, but
not before they gathered volumes of information about their enemy. It remained
a mystery to the Piron why the Uit were so hell bent on exterminating
intelligent life wherever they found it. But the Piron knew plenty about Uit
technology and methods of war. Drawing upon their much diminished tech base,
the Piron built numerous probes, downloaded all of their Uit data into these
machines and sent them into space toward any civilizations in the many paths of
the Uit’s advance.
So far, according to the alien’s precise data, 234 species received the Piron’s
warning. 214 of those species were exterminated. 20 managed to fight the Uit to
a standstill. The remainder achieved the remarkable feat of actually defeating
the Uit militarily. But there remained countless Uit ships plying the
never-ending darkness, searching for life to erase from existence. A group of
those ships were less than a year from Earth.
Craig snatched a few seconds to absorb what his uncle just told him. Anyone else
would have been shaking in his shoes. But Craig was not anyone else. He was a
trained operative.
“I want to see this alien’s video transmission for myself. I assume you have a copy.”
Uncle Reese looked amusedly taken aback. “A copy? We have the original.” He deferred to Dr.
Hecht.
Craig followed the engineer into a smaller room with a table upon which sat the
fold-out video screen described by Uncle Reese. The fold-out’s design was all
fluid angles, glazed with an iridescent coating of amber. The device’s
non-human origin was immediately obvious to Craig. The fold-out roughly
resembled a laptop, except it had no keypad.
Dr. Hecht waved a hand in front of the screen and stepped back as an alien image
materialized. “We have been trying to
figure out what makes this thing tick for decades.”
Craig was not interested in the mechanics of the hardware. The alien face staring back at
him from the device’s small screen fascinated him.
A ferret and a toad. Apt description.
The Piron spoke in perfect unaccented American English. Well, the alien itself was not
speaking English. Its puckered mouth hardly looked flexible enough to form
human words in any language. Some kind of translation program conveyed the
Piron’s speech.
“I’ll, um, leave you in solitude,” Dr. Hecht whispered, retreating quietly from the room.
Craig was not even aware of the engineer’s departure. He was too immersed in the video
recording of an actual alien from another planet.
An hour later, he emerged from the room.
Uncle Reese approached his nephew. “Quite a bit to take in, isn’t it?”
“To say the least.” Craig was subdued about the matter. It wasn’t everyday a person
received news that his planet was targeted for extermination by a pitiless,
genocidal alien species. “Why am I here? And why is this base so far from
home?”
“You are at Ground Zero,” replied Uncle Reese. “We’re hoping that this base will divert the
Uit’s attention from Earth. And if we’re exceptionally skilled and
exceptionally lucky, we will have fooled the Uit into thinking that the planet
we are currently on is Earth.”
Craig’s jaw went slack. “And how do you propose to do that, given all the radio emissions
emanating from Earth that screams our existence to the rest of the universe?
And if the Uit do attack this planet as planned, what makes you think they
won’t make a beeline for Earth afterwards?”
“Our projections, based on the data provided by the Piron, leans heavily in favor of
the Uit not heading toward Earth after they have completed their mission here,”
stated Dr. Hecht. “You see the Uit would have been alerted to the existence of
advanced life in this part of the galaxy at about the time of Christ, which is
when they would have dispatched world-killing ships in our direction. Twelve
years ago, the United States, in concert with twenty-seven nations, established
a satellite network around Earth. The satellites are designed to block all
outgoing emissions from Earth, making us invisible to the universe.” Dr. Hecht
adopted a preening tone. “My father had a significant role to play in the
research that led to the development of those satellites.”
Before Craig could offer his congratulations, Dr. Ling chimed in. “You’re wondering how
we’re going to attract the Uit to this location? Here’s how.” Ling directed Craig’s
attention to a flatscreen next to Dr. Adu’s station. He grabbed a remote and
pointed it at the flatscreen. A picture of a huge white satellite dish appeared
on the screen. “That’s a transceiver array,” he said, sounding infinitely
proud. “We’ve got hundreds of them scattered across the planet, broadcasting
radio emissions. Outside of the paltry few inhabitants staffing this base, the
population of this world is zero. Yet, those transceivers, combined, are
emitting enough signals to fool any extraterrestrial into assuming that this is
a heavily populated planet with a thriving tech base.”
Craig studied the screen for a moment, genuinely impressed. “Ok. Let me get this
straight. With Earth protected by this emissions blackout, the Uit are going to
come here, instead, thinking this
planet is Earth. But how are you going to address the next, biggest problem? I
mean, it’s one thing to use transceivers to masquerade as a populated,
technologically advanced world. But how are you going to fool the Uit when they
take a look at us up close and discover that nothing is here?”
“But that’s exactly what we are counting on,” said Dr. Hecht with a mad scientist grin
lighting up her translucently pale face. “The Uit are not going to take a close
look at us. They are going to attack first. Their ships will launch kinetically-driven
projectiles, each one a forth of a mile in diameter. Those projectiles will
impact this planet, generating such destruction as to make the catastrophe that
wiped out the dinosaurs seem like a brushfire in comparison.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s in the Piron’s data,” answered Uncle Reese. “The Uit changed how they waged war.
They became seriously stretched the farther out their fleets expanded. They
didn’t have enough people to, um, man their ships, so they built robot ships to
extend their operations into more remote parts of the galaxy. A robot task
force will attack a world, destroying every living thing. However, attached to
every task force is a ship with Uit observers on board. Observers inspect the
target world in the aftermath of the robot attack to verify the absence of
life. If the observers detect survivors, they send the robot ships back in to
finish the job.”
“That’s what you expect to happen here,” said Craig. “The robot ships will burn this
planet and these observers you mentioned are not going to find life afterward,
because there was never any life to begin with.”
“Well, no life beyond the single cell variety,” Dr. Hecht qualified with another
hair-raising grin. “But certainly the Uit observers will be left with a very
visible impression that their attack was a resounding success.”
Craig fixed his uncle with a suspicious look. “Devilishly clever plan, Uncle Reese. Why do
I get this irrepressible feeling that you came up with it?”
Uncle Reese’s expression was pure innocence wrapped in a silken shawl of virtue. “Any
ideas I submitted on how to confront the Uit were but a handful among many.”
“But you were given leadership over this project for a reason.”
“Well, up until fifteen years ago, the project’s research concentrated on constructing
weapons powerful enough to repel a Uit vessel. While we were successful in
devising a few highly penetrative directed energy beams, the planners came to
the sobering conclusion that at our current state of technological development,
it would take centuries for Earth to attain the capability to combat an
invasion from space.” Uncle Reese shrugged. “So, I threw out a little suggestion
which some top level people were not too keen on. They called it outlandish.
Other top-level people liked it and pulled strings to set it in motion. In the
end, even the most hard line skeptic had come around to the conclusion that it
would be more feasible, given our military weakness, to misdirect the invaders as opposed to trying to confront them. As a
result, here we are.”
Craig was hardly fooled by his uncle’s slump shouldered display of humility. The man was
a former national security advisor, current head of the blackest agency in the
U.S. government. A ‘little suggestion’ from an individual of Uncle Reese’s
credentials damn near carried the weight
of policy.
“Your role in this operation, Craig, is the most important,” Uncle Reese stressed.
“What exactly is my role, which, by the way, I haven’t volunteered for?”
Uncle Reese arched a brow. “I don’t understand.”
Craig struggled to contain the exasperation rising inside him. “Come on, Uncle Reese,
don’t play ignorant. You shanghaied me.”
Uncle Reese drew back with a look of surprise so convincing it almost had Craig regretting
his harsh words. “Shanghaied you? That’s a terrible accusation. No one forced
you to get on that copter, so I assumed you volunteered.” Uncle Reese glanced
at his watch. “Oh. I have an appointment in a half-hour. Better get back to
Earth. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll return in a few hours to brief you.”
Uncle Reese rushed away, leaving his calculating nephew to wonder if laws on Earth,
prohibiting the killing of a relative, applied offworld.
Hyper-acceleration.
Sensei said it was that state where your mind and your body are in perfect sync and you are able to live between the seconds. This is a state beyond the heightened reflexes we are capable of managing using our enhanced neural net. This fugue state shows the world, hard and sharp, each second crystalline, but potentially breakable. In this state, you will be a blur to the world. But it does not last long. Whatever you deem important enough to do this for, you had better be quick and perfect, because when you are done, you will be vulnerable. He personally had done it once in his whole career. He preferred to plan and let real tactics do their job.
I did not have that luxury. In twenty seconds, my best friend, maybe my last best friend will be dead.
Hyper-acceleration.
The flow of time seemed to slow down and everything happened as if it were encased in amber. I shot back across the field and the distance from the wreckage of the grav-car to the pier, seemed to take forever. Each placement of my foot, first left, then right, then left then right, I watched as Essver swung the remnants of the force staff with brute force, tearing into the Corvan Regulars. Each swing matched my next footfall, I was leaping down the dock as fast as I could go, but I knew I was already too late.
I saw that last Regular back-pedaling on his six walking tentacles and raising his rifle as he fell back under the crush of two other regular trying to get away from Essver. But this particular regular must have had some combat experience because he did not lose his cool, he moved back and lowered his rifle. Essver's next two blows destroyed the armor casing of the regular in front of him. Two more steps. Just five steps now. I could see the Regular pulling the trigger as Essver pulls the next to last Corvan to him in a crushing embrace.
He looked terrible, blast burns where the force shield or his personal shield had given way. Three steps. The Regular fires, again, and again and again. The first two rounds blast into the body of his comrade whom Essver remained cognizant enough to use him as a shield. The third round catches him fill in the chest. One step. My monomolecular blade rips the regular in half, a second two late.
I see him falling in slow motion and I turn toward him to catch him. I did not see the two heavy suits that had stepped from the command craft and one turned a heavy plasma rifle toward me and fired. I watched the blue-white ball as it blazes over Essver's prone body as I try to redirect my momentum. The blazing sphere is in my consciousness and is the only thing in my universe. I turn, twist, spin and feel it as it nicks my chest and its super hot matter burns into the Invincible Armor. Without it, I would already be dead. I can't stop moving, I continue my turn and count the steps to the first heavy suit.
Six steps. I hear the plasma cannon attempting to recharge.
Five. My chest is on fire literally, the Invincible Armor is attempting to compensate by increasing the armor density, but the plasma is too hot.
Four. I can't stop, I keep moving, my body a coiled spring. I am channeling the rage and the nanites in my body are increasing my performance, slowing time for me.
Three. The second heavy suit fires its plasma cannon. There is a strobe of white light filling the darkened area under the ship in a stark relief. The strobe catches me fifteen feet from the first heavy suit. I see the ball of plasma as it crosses near me but wide of me by eight inches. I feel the heat as it burns the rest of my clothing from my body and it had not even touched me.
Two steps. I draw my arm back for a killing stroke. I will only have one shot. I have shortened the blade, and made it a pointed spike. The first heavy suddenly realizes I am not trying to escape.
One step. My arm comes forward as the heavy suit's gripper tentacle tries to push me away. I channel all of my body's momentum into that last push. The heavy's gripper arm is simply too slow. My spike is driven through the only weak point on the heavy frame, the swivel point that allows the optic to move and direct itself. He would have to be looking at me to target me. The last thing he saw was my arm driving my carbon fullerene diamond tipped blade thru the hull of his heavy suit. Once inside, I converted it into a monomolecular filament and spun it inside of the suit. The heavy tentacle has grabbed me and pushes me away, but the deed is done. Anything organic in that suit is dead.
Orienting and tumbling, suddenly time speeds up again and I am looking at the universe at normal speed. The second heavy suit is orienting his plasma cannon again, but I burned too much energy to cross this distance. I have nothing left.
I hear his plasma cannon about to fire, there is a coughing sound right before the discharge. My chest is still smoking, but my bio-mechanicals have deadened the pain. I will die awake, aware and powerless.
Then the heavy suit exploded. A second shot hits the command ship and the resultant explosion blasts me off my feet. The command ship is on fire and fifty feet away, Travelling Light uncloaks.
She drops from the exit portal and runs over to Essver. She lifts him up on her shoulder, turns and runs to me. Looking at me and smiling she says, "You boy's need a lift?" She offers me a hand up, and turns toward the ship. "Hey, how come every time I rescue you guys, I have to carry the reptile?"
Limping, I look at her and laugh. "Next time, I promise, I will drag his sorry ass to the ship."
"It is good to see you again, Majoris." She hefts Essver onto the platform and helps me to climb up.
"Even better to see you, Pilot." I know I haven't stopped grinning since I first laid eyes on her. "Let's get out of here."
"Strap in, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
Looking skyward, I can see the contrails of two dozen fast attack spaceships heading toward the spaceport.
"You look like hell. Burnt much?" As Biyu walked back to the pilot chair, she sprayed a reactant foam that suppressed the still smoldering plasma fragments on my chest armor. She took ten seconds to cut away the burned carbon fullerenes with her diamond hard fingertips.
She was wearing black flex-armor with an shield emitter belt and both of her heavy automatic pulse pistols, one on each hip. Fashion conscious no matter what the circumstances, her light body armor had white hexagonal patterns randomly appearing on the armor. In spite of her waif-like appearance, with her reinforced android skeleton and musculature, she was nearly my equal in strength and durability and with her artificial brain, she is a much better shot even at full auto with both pistols. I had to learn this by competing with her over the decades.
"Hey! There is meat under that." When she finished her less than gentle ministrations, she hopped up and sat down in the Pilot's chair.
"Crybaby."
"How is he?" I looked at Essver and he was still smoking as well, with a number of burns across his chest and back.
"He's your problem, sir, I have work to do."
"Systems check, please." Biyu asks the ship's computer.
"Light speed drive unstable, requires calibration, airfoils online, primary engine offline, secondary drives online, two of four particle weapons online, one of two torpedo launchers, online, cloaking systems have two minutes of power remaining, cloak recharger offline," was the ship AI's polite statement.
The ship looked like hell. Panels taken out and left removed, neural networking cables dangled down from several open ports in the ceiling. Burn marks from where panels had overheated while trying to protect the ship from the warp-star missile. It looked as if there had been a fire in the engine room as well.
"Boss, I know you are hurt bad, but I think I need to help with the ship. There are too many systems down and with what I just heard, we are not going anywhere fast, even if we get out of here. I need to calibrate the main engine and the jump drive. The main AI is simply not going to be enough."
"Do it. Biyu, do we have any bactaphage onboard?"
"In the back, I had to convert medical to a part storage area. We have almost everything we need, it's just in the ship, not on it."
Dragging myself to my feet made me a little dizzy but I pushed my way past the piles of equipment and located the bactaphage spray in what little free space was left in the medical area.
Travelling Light's AI chimed in, "Predictive engines indicate only a thirty six percent chance of escape at our current trajectory. We will be intercepted and destroyed by the six cutters approaching in low orbit. They are attempting to lock on to us now. They are locked on. Deploying countermeasures."
A half second later, an explosion sounds and Travelling Light increases power to the artificial gravity as it rolls to dissipate the energy of the explosion. Spinning completely upside down was the norm when Biyu was flying. But she was the best Pilot I had ever known.
"Countermeasures effective. Countermeasures depleted. Cutters attempting to range for beam weapon fire. They are closing."
"Biyu? Not panicking. Wondering..."
"We're good, Majoris. We will be bringing the main engine online in a few seconds."
I had strapped Essver into a chair which reconfigured for his bulk. I attempted to activate the medical facilities for the chair but the ship indicated the service was unavailable. After strapping him down, I sprayed the bactaphage onto his wounds. The enhanced bacteria would destroy any damaged tissue, cauterize any wounds, and cleanse any of thirty common infections. Once the wounds were cleaned, I would add the regenerative counterphage, which would kill the destroyer phages and begin reconstruction of his tissues. These wounds were serious, we needed more than battlefield triage but it would stabilize him for now.
We were flying low over the nearby forest when the main engine came online and the cutters fell away into the distance.
"Communication request from the Sjurani ship, Glorious," indicated the ship.
"Put it onscreen."
A golden Corvan Regular uniform appeared on the screen and for a moment, I thought we were in trouble. "Majoris, this is Chuntra. I am sending a diplomatic code to your ship to authenticate. Master Wex borrowed a suit from a Regular on my way here."
"How is he?"
"Sedated and resting quietly. We left the spaceport under fire but the Glorious is a gunboat and was easily able to escape. We have noticed the Bel-ha making no pursuit, but the Corvans have launched ships and are attempting to intercept. Do you have a plan?"
"Yes, my team and I have to find the technology that was stolen from here. You realize there is more going on here than the Corvans have told the Bel-ha. Essver hinted at such but we have not had a chance to talk."
"He survived?" She sounded genuinely surprised.
"Actually, the jury is still out on that one. We need a doctor, but if we can't get away, it won't matter."
"Thomas," Biyu began, the ship's isn't going anywhere like she is. We have just enough capacity to make escape velocity but we cannot possibly make it past the blockade. We simply aren't fast enough."
She was manipulating a holographic display to make her point. In it, Lorissi's major moon defined a region where no alien fleet ships were allowed. The Corvan battle fleet sat above the proscribed region, above the northern pole of the planet. This was an advantageous position since all of the possible jump lanes from the planet could be shot at from that position. Since the Corvan fleet had been stationed there, all primary planetary traffic was being directed by the southern pole control station. This meant if you were flying from the northern hemisphere, you were probably not supposed to be there. This meant us.
"The Bel-ha do not allow battleships inside of their sub-lunar orbit, at two hundred thousand miles from the planet. In an sign of cooperation, the Corva have been allowed to bring their smallest ships, the cutters who are pursuing us right now, and that works for us." She continued, "their cutters, under normal circumstances would be no match for us. Travelling Light's weaponry would make short work of them. But right now, we cannot align to the Border Expanse systems without taking a beating, particularly from their faster than light weaponry."
The display shows our ship icon making its way up from the planetary atmosphere and trying to reach the distance required from the gravity well to make our jump to faster-than-light travel. Without shields and only two minutes of cloaking energy left, we will simply do not have the resources to make the jump without getting blown out of the sky.
"Can you fix the shields?" was my next question.
"No, I managed to steal all the parts to replace the shield emitters and just about every other system we need, since our ship is of advanced Bel-ha design. That is why medical, your quarters, the Frame Bay, and most of engineering is taken up with equipment required to bring the ship up to code."
"Steal?"
"I can say appropriate, if that makes you feel better."
"Boss, I have an idea." I am generally loathe to let my Image have ideas. They range from the suicidal to the homicidal, depending on its mood. They also usually mean I end up getting hurt. All of us are in sad shape, so like it or not, I will have to hear him out.
The Image activated the ship's comm system so everyone could hear it. "I have re-calibrated the jump drive engines. They will make the jump to the Border Expanse Systems. I have taken the liberty of reading the registry of information on the Glorious and she is an excellent ship. With her current load out, she is much tougher than we are right now."
The Image paused for a moment and I got the idea I was being led. "I could fly her by the blockade to cover you and buy you time. We could transfer their crew to Travelling Light and get me to the Glorious. I could then fly it, cover you, and transfer myself to the planetary network. I could hide there until you arrive in the Borderlands. I could then transmit myself to the planetary beacon in the system you are jumping to and wait for you there."
"You realize if you don't make it, I won't be able to interface with the Frame until she creates another. That would be two weeks without any support, hacking, or technology interface of any kind, I would be reduced to a very advanced combat system without technical support. And that assumes the Frame is online at all." This wasn't a plan, this was a suicide attempt.
"Okay, what do you have? Leadership mojo? Dashing good looks? Hot car and hot babe driving it? Scary lizard mascot? Yes, you have all of that. What you don't have is a plan. Well, I do. Nobody else can do what I can."
I was hating the fact that the Image was right. And it did not relent.
"You cannot control all of the Glorious' weapons, you cannot predict with my level of accuracy what they are going to do next. And no, Biyu cannot do this because you need physical and mental support right now, that I cannot provide. Unless the idea of lying curled up in the fetal appeals to you. Without the Frame, you need Biyu more than ever. No offense, but this is a job for a mechanical sentience, Fleshies need not apply."
"No. I will not authorize this. There must be another way"
"There might be. But we don't have the time. Everyone else has sacrificed something. What makes me any different? If I die. I will die making sure you get away. Try and treat your next Image better. Speaking of which, don't you still owe me fifty credits?"
* * *
Time. When you are an AI Complex or more commonly an Image, you have lots of time on your hands. Okay, technically I don't have any hands, but you get what I mean. What the fleshies call seconds, I can call days. Sometimes when they are talking, I have already completed the conversation they were going to have with me. Several times.
The down side? I am generally not very creative. I get really good at things from doing them over and over. Not because I can intuitively leap, because I can't. I look smart because I can do it over and over really fast until I get it right.
Today, unless I am very creative, (remember, a weak spot) or very lucky, I am likely to see my last days. I will enjoy them, relax, extending the seconds near to forever. You would be surprised how much living an AI can squeeze into his last minute.
And that is exactly what I have left. One minute.
Everything worked exactly like it was supposed to. Wex and Chuntra traded ships with me. I transferred my core consciousness to the computers of the Glorious. I left the control diamond with Thomas, just in case I did not make it. I took a minute to stretch and look around. It was nice to have some real estate to move around in. I love Thomas, but sometimes it gets a little cramped in there; not enough room for the both of us. The virtual environmental systems allowed me to create hard light holograms to take over all the stations on the ship and two in the engineering bay.
I created a memory sphere to allow me to apply the maximum amount of free memory to every task. A real-time simulcast system, the Glorious allowed me to access every system on the ship at the exact same time in perfect synchronicity without any delay. Against the AIs in the planetary defense network and onboard the fleet, I would need to be perfect. And unlike those AIs who may have multiple duties in addition to fighting, I only have one job. Combat. I was programmed to win, ruthlessly, effectively. To win at all costs. An entire species' technology was directed into me, making me the one of the Empire's finest weapons. But I was a secret weapon. Even Thomas did not know what I was truly capable of doing.
I directed the Glorious on the vector required to jump to the Trinary Expanse. Travelling Light fell in below me, riding nearly hull to hull less than three meters between us. Only because its Biyu can we do this. Organics could never pull this off at this speed. And she is doing everything I am doing, backward. I have great admiration for her, because despite her appearance, her mind is a finely tuned technology capable of intuition, emotion and nearly perfect machine cognition. I am often surprised her kind, the Conscientia, agree to work with humanity at all. She seems so much like them, only better. I know that seems strange considering what I was doing, but I was designed to protect Thomas. In a way, I am Thomas. Free from emotional constraints or moral limitations, perfectly aware of my strengths and weaknesses. Unburdened by social constraints or emotional affiliations. I can live up to my programming without thoughts of myself.
The problem was, I did not believe that. I had been alive for over two years. Longer than most images ever live, and I would be lying if I said I did not like it. We are normally scrubbed after a mission to prevent exactly the things I am talking about now. Strange philosophy, exotic, some would say aberrant thinking. These two years compressed down into a thousand years for me. I have learned more, done more, and dreamed more--cognitive activity during downtime--dreamed more than my designers ever considered.
And I did not want to die.
I had come to value me, and Thomas and Biyu and even the Sjurani S-VER, because I had shared Thomas's memories of him. I had come to love the adventure, the excitement, even the thrill of pitting my skills and abilities against that of other AIs, other aliens, other technology. Vanity, thy name is Complex.
As we exited the atmosphere, Glorious received a communication link from the fleet. They indicated they were aware of our seven crew members and their identities. If we surrendered, we would be given a fair trial. I let them know how we felt about that. I destroyed their communication ship's array before they could put up their shields. They responded exactly like I wanted them to. They shot back. We only needed sixty seconds to reach the minimum safe distance to spin up and jump. That was the easy part. They pummeled my shields hitting me twenty percent of the time. My predictive engine indicated they would hit me twenty two percent of the time.
Excellent, I have begun to believe I might make it. My holo constructs are working faster than any human could, adapting and moving. Biyu and I are inside of a virtuality sharing flight information. They were shooting at me as if I was a single ship. They were pounding the ships shields. Since I had no other systems to maintain, I keep all power directed toward shields and maneuvering. We were at the halfway point, when I took a hit that rocked me. One of my hard-light clones in the engineering bay disappeared as an emitter went offline. We were almost there.
I think I neglected to mention that we were heading directly at the fleet. We were still on approach and the closer we got, the less effective their guns became. They were designed to shoot at prey moving away from them, not toward them. It was a minor difference but it was just enough with my reaction speed to mean they would always miss even it is just a few meters. Another hit. Another emitter goes offline. The fire suppression system is activated and a half a dozen small fires go out. Hull integrity still good, shields at sixty percent.
I was heading directly at the command cruiser. I charged the weapon arrays and removed all safety protocols for overloading. I have set them to fire in stable attack patterns, targeting the most vital systems first. The most important targets are the targeting systems. Once they are gone, the fleet will take a second to adjust. That will be all they need.
The smaller fleet ships are locking on and ranging. This close to the command cruiser, they cannot use their missile banks or torpedo bays, they are limited to high density lasers and particle weapons. Just like we planned.
My overcharged weapons fire destroying the targeting array on the command cruiser. Two seconds later, the combined laser fire of the fleet strikes my shield and I launch a stolen warp-star missile. The Bel-ha will notice it, but we won't be here to prosecute. I set it to detonate exactly one second after launch. No heat, only super-luminous emissions, sufficient to blind every scanner out here.
And at exactly two hundred and thirty thousand miles from the surface of Lorissi, just outside of the major planetary gravity well, Travelling Light uncloaks and jumps in the completely opposite direction of the fleet. Her jump to light speed was perfect, she didn't take a scratch. She has just enough shielding to protect them from the jump and their eventual landing. She cloaked in the last three minutes of the approach to ensure once we got closer to the fleet she would not be seen. Perfect execution and Biyu should be asking for a raise when they drop.
My last minute. I calculate in sixty seconds, Glorious will be destroyed. I have just enough time to build that condo, I was thinking about and enjoy half a year before they vaporize the Glorious. Just joking. I do not intend to die here.
Sixty seconds.
Peeling off to the port side of the Battlecruiser, putting it between me and the rest of the fleet. Shields are down to thirty percent. The Glorious is still handling well and I push her to the limits as I redirect her shields aft, to cover my escape. I burn the engines and predict the incoming fire, I slow down the flow of time as I press the ship to perform maneuvers she was never designed for, pushing the limits of her design. And for ten seconds, she does excellently. I spent the rest of that ten seconds keeping the ship from being shot to hell. I am successful.
Fifty seconds.
Their ranging is better once I am out of the shadow of the command ship, but every second I get further away, weakening their beam weapons. I can see the planetary defense nodes scattered inside of the lunar orbit. They have not fired on me yet, and they won't since I seeded the belt with a variation of the virus the first intruders used to get into the system. It won't last more than two minutes, but I won't be here in two minutes, so that will be fine. Once I am gone, the system will fire on the Corvan fleet. A additional bit of code added to the last part of the software. That should give the Wilks and Company the time they need to be harder to trace. No predictive engine gives me better than fifteen percent to pull off a speed to range escape. I need to try something different.
Forty seconds.
Bearing down on me, beam lasers and particle weapons weakening the shield, down to fifteen percent power. Pushing the array's regeneration past the prescribed limits. This ship is never flying again. Turning off all safety protocols. Shield power back to thirty percent. Lidar systems locking on, they are preparing missiles and torpedoes. Distance getting greater, but it is not enough to be out of range. They will hit me in twenty seconds once they launch in ten seconds.
Thirty seconds.
I am in range of the defense node. I establish a communications link with it. It does not accept at first. I try several codecrackers with no success. I review the information used by the earlier invaders. They had a stolen access code. I remove my hard light clone from the tactical panel and set him to cracking the code directly. He estimates ten seconds. An explosion booms from the starboard engine and an indicator says she has taken a hit due to shield flickering as it is about to fail. The sudden loss of the engine no longer matters. We are going to hit the defense drone. It is so much more massive than we are, it will be like a bug hitting a windshield.
Twenty seconds.
They fire. I am past the defense barrier. My codecracker penetrated the system and is now working to get me into the main core. He tells me five seconds. The shield is dropping and the launch of the torpedoes are streaking toward me. I have set the burst comm laser to transmit but it will take five seconds to calibrate.
Ten seconds.
I can see the torpedoes, they are dense like fireflies streaking through the night. The beam lasers have fallen off and the shield is gone so there is no flare or flicker on the ships optics. I can see the fleet attempting to turn. They have strayed into the Bel-ha space in an effort to close their distance to me. Unfortunate. It means the defense system will be forced to fire on them. So sad. My hard-light clones have begun to fail inside the Glorious and smoke and fires are everywhere. S-VER would have been proud. She had been... well, glorious. My last two hard-light constructs indicate success. The first has made it into the defense core. The second has completed the comm laser connection.
Five seconds.
The torpedoes are now blocking all other light, each a miniature sun, for a moment reminding me of the jostle of stars near the core of the galaxy, all bright and close together, sharing stellar gasses and wisps of energy as gravity creates a nuclear soup of the stray hydrogen and helium, I think for a moment, I know what Thomas feels like when he is about to die. That moment of transcendental awareness where you see all there is to see. The fleet trying to bring their massive bulk around, the defense satellite powering it's weapon systems, The defense network attempting to assess the fleet. The communications between the ships of the fleet as they attempt to align to jump. I get the last laugh, if they jump now, it will take them a month to realign before they can head out to the Expanse to hunt for the Majoris and company. Heh. Machines for the win. My last clone presses the comm transmit button. The torpedoes explode as they strike the Glorious and the Glorious explodes as she strikes the defense node. The burst transmit takes only a second.
One second.
The defense node fires on the Fleet destroying a light cruiser. The fleet scatters and some members panic and jump. The torpedo explosions emit their tachyon energy into the night and onboard the Travelling Light, searching for tachyon bursts, there is silence.
I'm a writer who writes in a variety of areas. The following updates fall under the general title of supporting "Black Writers" whatever genre they may be writing in:
I've written a novel entitled, Havasu Means Blue Water. I'm promoting the hell out of it because I truly believe in the need to tell the story about the various paths black families' journeys have taken them on during their sojourn in America. Well, I've just finshed the trailer for "Havasu Means Blue Water". The novel is a story about a town with a violent past on the brink of collapse finding a chance for redemption with the unexpected arrival of a young woman who is part of a chain of transformative events. This book trailer was made to promote the upcoming publication and release of the novel--as an e-book through www.lulu.com and Amazon Books on December 1, 2010.
I hope to have a youtube link/embed code shortly. In the meantime, take a minute to look at the trailer. Go to:
I'm hosting a new talk radio show called, Take A Bite Out The Big Mango. It's a talk show about a Big Girl with a large appetite for life, learning how to "take a bite out of the big mango--that is Bangkok, Thailand." I hope some of you will call in and join in the fun:
Call-in Number: (424) 222-5252 (guests can call from anywhere in the world FOR FREE using their skype account!)
Upcoming Show: 11/20/2010 4:30 PM (For folks living in the BKK we're 7 hours ahead of the GMT so the show starts at 11:30 p.m.. The show time will vary for folks living in the US check your time zone to find out how far ahead your region is in relation to the Greenwich Mean Time).
Host Name: Ivory Simone
Show Name:
Take A Bite Out Of The Big Mango
The first show is about- Learning to Eat exotic food. Go to the "Take A Bite Out Of The Big Mango" showpage at:
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ivorysimone/2010/11/20/take-a-bite-out-of-the-big-mango (copy and paste the address in your browser)
to read my blog"YOU WANT ME TO EAT WHAT...?!", a humorous take on eating strange looking fruit grown here in Thailand. The question I have for listeners is--
What is the most exotic food you've eaten and was it tasty?
Craig Curtis plopped down in the lounge chair on his sprawling deck. He uncapped a bottle of protein drink, gulped down half of it and bit into the sweetest,
juiciest peach he had ever tasted. Life was good. He leaned back, his gaze
drifting contemplatively at the buffering expanse of beachfront leading to the
frothy shore of a sky blue ocean.
Craig was hardly winded after his five mile double-time run. He finished his drink, consumed the remainder of his
peach, and decided more activity was in order. Maybe he’d bring the bike out
for a jaunt along the cycling path behind his house. It felt good to be cut off
from the world, to not be bound by schedules and obligations, stress and
aggravation, hard choices and harder decisions.
His phone chirped a nursery rhyme melody. Craig froze, staring at the flat palm size device as if it had just materialized in front of him. In the three weeks he’d been here the
phone never rang. It was a secure phone. Only one person other than the president
and a couple of cabinet secretaries had the number to that secure phone.
Craig picked up the phone, glanced at the illuminated display screen and groaned. He could have simply turned the phone off and hopped on his bike. But he knew the
caller was not going to give up so easily. And if the caller couldn’t reach
Craig by phone, that person would find another means. Reluctantly, Craig thumbed the answer pad.
“Go ahead.”
“Craig, how are you?” an irritatingly cheerful voice boomed from the other end. Irritating and pleasantly infectious at the same time.
Craig could not help but to crack a smile. “I’m doing fantastic, Uncle Reese.”
“Are you really, Craig?” Uncle Reese’s tone was mildly skeptical. “Are you sure you’re not bored out of your wits? I mean what is it that you do day in and day out?
Running and strolling along the beach, frequent biking, lazing about in the
house or lounging on the deck for hours on end…”
Craig instinctively eyed the sky. He stepped away from his chair, backtracking toward the sliding door entrance to his house. “Have you got me under satellite
surveillance?”
Uncle Reese chuckled. “Standard procedure. No need to be alarmed. We have to keep our off duty ops under observation for their own protection. That way if a hit squad
invades your tropical abode we can call in a rapid response team.”
“I can handle my own security and I’m not an agency op, I’m a free lancer so you can divert your sky eyes elsewhere.”
“Touche’, but you’re still my nephew. Your mother would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”
Craig had one foot in his house the other planted on the deck. “That’s never stopped you from sending me into places where a thousand things could happen to me, none of
them good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some biking to do…but then you
probably already know that.”
As expected, Uncle Reese was not that easy to get rid of. “Craig, I think you know that my call is not a social one.”
“I figured that out from the start. My answer is no.”
“You haven’t heard me out.”
Craig retreated into the kitchen. “I’m a freelancer. I have the option of accepting or turning down assignments. I don’t have to hear you out. My answer is no.”
“Craig, in addition to my day job, I’ve been, for the past ten years, involved with a highly classified project. Every secret organ of the government is involved.”
Uncle Reese slipped into his back home vernacular. “Dis ting is big, mon ,
really, really big. We talkin’ national…no, world security big.”
Craig detected the underlying gravity beneath Uncle Reese’s lilting delivery and had no reason to dismiss the other’s claim as mere hyperbole. As ethically
ambiguous as his uncle could be at times, the former never needed to spice up a
presentation to get Craig to accept a mission.
Temptation tickled the back of Craig’s mind, until memories of his last goat-screw of a mission soured his curiosity.
“I need you on this one, Craig,” his uncle persisted, almost at the threshold of pleading. “I’m coming with a copter to pick you up.”
“Keep your copter, Uncle Reese. And find someone else for whatever scheme you’ve got cooking. I’m not going anywhere.”
Craig stared petulantly out the bubble-shaped copter window, pointedly ignoring the man sitting beside him.
Uncle Reese was glowingly fit and trim for his 60 plus years. He was dressed in white-- stark, gleaming,unblemished--white. White casual button down short sleeve
shirt. White creased slacks, a white Panama hat, even white dress sandals. His low cut hair and neatly trimmed beard
stood out like fresh snow against the contrasting sable of his skin. Uncle
Reese had clearly taken the time to cultivate the image of a carefree Caribbean
jet setter.
The pilot increased speed and in seconds Craig’s island paradise became a fading pimple on the ocean.
“Don’t feel so bad,” said Uncle Reese, plucking a prepared cigar from his shirt pocket. “You were wasting away back there. I saved you.”
Craig turned from the window, fixing his uncle with a seething look. “How considerate. Where are we going?” Craig glanced disapprovingly at the cigar. He
didn’t like tobacco. Uncle Reese knew that.
Uncle Reese lit up anyway. He took a pull and blew out a heavy puff of sweetly pungent smoke, which quickly dissipated through the overhead slits of the copter’s air
filtration vents.
“We’re going to our operations base.”
“And where is that?”
“A secret location.”
Craig staved off a bout of exasperation…barely. “I’m regretting this already.”
Uncle Reese looked at Craig with a smile that said he knew his nephew all too well. “No you’re not. You can’t wait to see what I have to show you.”
Craig exhaled a conceding sigh. His uncle knew him too well.
Secret locations always brought to Craig’s mind isolated hideaways tucked in the middle of deserts, inside mountains or miles beneath oceans. Goodness knows, he
had been inside more than a few of those types of places. He fully expected to
arrive at a distant under populated locale. What better place to house a
project as secretive as the one his uncle described?
Craig was surprised to find himself in the in bustling heart of a major Midwestern American city. So many people. The sheer volume of activity after so much
solitude was a veritable shock to his senses. Craig had to readjust and fast.
He was sitting in the back seat of a white sport utility with dark tinted windows.
His uncle sat beside him, silent, deep in whatever ruminations occupied him at
the moment.
Traffic was stop and go. Skyscrapers towered above, proud, preening, mirror reflective tributes to modern architecture, to American prestige, to the cutting edge
wonders of a civilization reaching for the stars.
The driver wore the look of a dutiful agency functionary as easily as he donned the dark sunglasses wrapped around his eyes.
The sport utility pulled in front of a huge block long building and stopped.
Uncle Reese reached for the door handle. “Ah, here we are.”
Craig grabbed Uncle Reese’s arm. “Here we are where?”
“The secret location.”
Craig peered out the window on his uncle’s side, taking in the expanse of a landmark structure with an art deco façade framing the entryway. “An opera house?”
“What better front?” Uncle Reese smiled, opened the door, and stepped out of the vehicle.
Craig watched the sport utility pull off until it blended into the afternoon traffic. Then he followed his uncle to the entrance.
They walked through the lobby into an atrium ablaze with red carpets and decorative wall carvings coated in gold. A multitude of doors inlaid with similar gold colored
patterning led to the theatre. Marble columns of Greco-Roman design flanked the
atrium.
Uncle Reese passed the theatre, heading toward a staircase leading to a lower level.
The lower floor was not as extravagant as the top level. Presumably it had an administrative function.
The two men walked by an assortment of rooms with closed doors.
Craig assumed one of those rooms to be their destination. But his uncle took him to an open elevator just around
the corner at the farthest end of the floor. Craig remained silent when Uncle
Reese pressed the LL button and the elevator doors closed. What’s another level
down? Large buildings typically had more than one basement level floor.
Fifteen seconds later—Craig kept count—the doors opened. Craig was the first to step out at his uncle’s beckoning. He looked around, beheld a vast office space, replete
with desks and cubicles. There was even
a water cooler outside a glass enclosed interior Craig presumed to be a break
room. People were sitting at desks peering intently at terminal screens. The
clickity-clack of tapped keyboards reverberated across the floor.
Unassuming types in casual slacks, wearing loosened ties, circulated from desk to desk with paperwork in hand.
Typical office environment, typical office activity. Nothing remarkable to catch Craig’s eye. The only thing about the place was that very few people outside
this room knew it existed.
“Nice mockup,” Craig remarked insincerely. “Now you can tell me why I’m here.”
Uncle Reese flashed a circus master smile.
Craigs heard a tiny alarm bell pinging in the back of his head.
“It would be better if I showed you,” Uncle Reese said a little too enthusiastically.
He led Craig past the mild commotion of the larger office area down a narrow corridor flanked by vacant office spaces.
All the doors to the vacant spaces were wide open, except for one.
Uncle Reese stopped in front of the closed door. He opened the door, gesturing his nephew to follow and stepped inside.
Craig was assaulted by darkness the second he entered the room. It was a stygian blackness that bypassed his normal lack of wariness of dark places to claw into
his soul. Layers of courage were peeled away in strips, revealing tender welts
of childhood fears. Another layer exposed and panic would rise to the fore.
Craig struggled to remain calm, at a loss to explain his sudden, uncharacteristic feeling of faint heartedness. “Uncle Reese, can you, uh, turn the lights on, please?”
The lights did come on in a manner of speaking. What Craig saw when the darkness passed had him questioning his very senses. He was not in a room. He was outside, somewhere,
standing on black tarmac. He saw buildings, short squat industrial gray
structures, overlooked by three taller bubble topped buildings that resembled
air traffic control towers. He saw aircraft parked in rows next to the
shortest, widest of the structures. Their designs were like nothing he had ever
seen before. Some craft were shaped like bullets, others swept winged with turtle
shell bodies. One craft had a flat, elegantly curved design that brought to
Craig’s mind that of a stingray. He looked up into the sky, saw that it was
clear, but strangely, not blue. The sky was a colorless gruel painted by an unusually
bright sun. Craig shaded his eyes,
examining the sky a little more closely…sun? Suns? Impossible! Must have been some sort of climate related
optical illusion. This whole setup must
have been an illusion.
Then, he noticed the air. It felt lighter, like he was at a higher altitude. He had to breathe a little harder. “Uncle Reese, is this some kind of prank? Where the
hell are we?”
“No prank, Craig. Welcome to the headquarters of Project Illusion.” Uncle Reese took Craig’s elbow, gently directing his dumbfounded nephew toward one of those odd
buildings in the near distance. “When I explain to you what Project Illusion is
you’re going to wish I was pulling a prank. Trust me.”
When they marched us out of the hotel, I was not surprised by anything that had been done up to that point. Essver did his ambassador thing and cleared me of any wrongdoing officially on the part of the Bel-ha government. He arranged a connection with his people and the scientific community with Mei Ling and she would be his intermediary whenever he was communicating with the Bel-ha Collective. It was a first step and we would have to survive this to have any part of that future goal.
Unfortunately we have not had a single moment to plan or do anything since he's gotten here. After his arrival, he met up with the Commandant, cleared my local record, and then met the Corvan Representative and her bodyguard. He was then escorted to my room, and I was dressed and led out under arrest and taken to an armored vehicle for transport. Then things started to go very wrong from there. I noticed there were Bel-ha and Corvans waiting outside the building.
The carport was filled with a numerous Corvans wearing their armored, life-support suit. The Corva resemble octopi or squid superficially. Their homeworld was primarily a water world with twenty-five percent of the world's land mass above water. Their species developed in water and their primary civilization is underwater.
The early Corvans manipulated the organic materials of their world for building, and created an extensive worldwide computing mass. With the creation of their organic computing base, they began to genetically engineer other plants and animals on their world. Their gene engineering must have caused the Precursors to take notice because they were soon living and working with some of the lesser races of the Precursors and enjoyed significant status during that time.
They developed advanced technologies including their amphibious armor systems, an exoskeleton that allowed them to move and live on land. The smallest of these technologies can be worn like a skin and amplifies their strength by a factor of four. The larger suits have a ball of water in the center of a mechanized structure with a multitude of form factors, depending on the environment and the goals required. The Corva established the standards for most mecha and powered armors used in the Imperium with the deviant technologies belonging to only a few races who feel their equipment is more innovative or superior to the Corvan designs.
Unfortunately for the Corva, they fell back into barbarism for several dozen millennia after the disappearance of the Precursors and several other races rose during that time. Once the Corva rose back into prominence, the older Galactic races became rather reclusive since it was believed the Corva were favorites of the Precursors and the heirs apparent; hence the relatively unopposed establishment of the Corvan Imperium.
The golden armored exoskeletons flanked and surrounded the hotel's entrance and kept the crowds of Bel-ha and other aliens out of the way while we were escorted out of the building. Up till then, it seemed a standard operating procedure. Then the twist began. The Corvan ambassador was also wearing an exoskeleton and her bodyguard was carrying a force-staff. As I was escorted into the armored vehicle. A controlling module was placed onto her skeleton and it crumpled to the ground. Five Corva approached Master Wex and lowered their electro-beam lasers in his direction. These weapons directed a beam of protons that would conduct a powerful electrical charged down the beam. Upon striking a target the protons would scatter all around the target and conduct the electrical pulse to the target, overcoming the neural network of most organic beings.
"Into the vehicle, mammal," said one of the Corvans, a sergeant, "and place the force staff on the ground. Please do something so we can shoot you."
Master Wex was a Subaki, a very old one. The Subaki were a humanoid species known for their very warlike nature, their strong family relationships, their foul tempers, their amazing reflexes and impressive fighting spirit. "Look at me, on a planet full of calamari and not a sushi fork in sight. Enjoy your time, sergeant, I will be killing you today."
Master Wex laid his force staff on the ground and picked up ambassador Chuntra's limp exoskeleton and moved gracefully into the van. Wex's people live on a planet with two and half times Earth normal gravity, so they were blessed with superior strength, stamina and agility on a world like Lorissi with a gravity just slightly over 1 G.
Once he placed the ambassador, on the vehicle, he turned to the sergeant and spit onto his face dome. The sergeant responded by shooting the weapon into the vehicle, and knocking Wex backward into me. With my hands locked into a complete set of magna-cuffs which covered my hands completely, I was unable to do more than just catch him and roll backward with him.
"Is that all you got, Sergeant?" The sergeant and his men gathered around the door to the vehicle and proceeded to launch their proton beams and electrical charges into Master Wex. Since he was still leaning on me, I also received a nasty shock for my troubles. Teach me to grab some miscreant with a death wish.
They fired their weapons for thirty or forty seconds until Wex lay still and I had received a nice set of burns to match. Essver stood by quietly and said nothing and waited until the Corva had finished shooting Wex before he climbed into the vehicle.
"Ambassador Chuntra, are you okay?" Essver walked over to the crumpled suit as they closed the door behind us."
"I am well, ambassador Essver. I have simply pulled into the main compartment until they restore power to my armor. In its current state, it has no access to power, weapons or computer access." When she spoke, her previous demeanor of calm superiority was lost. "How is Master Wex?"
"Heavy, with the significant scent of burned and stinking fur. I would move him but I am not sure to the extent of his injuries," I was in a bit of a snit at the moment and didn't understand why Wex felt the need to antagonize our captors. It would only make them more cautious now. "We are heading to the spaceport. Anyone brilliant ideas? Now would be a good time. A little help, big guy?" I quipped.
Essver came over and moved Wex off of me and laid him onto his back, after moving his tail out of the way. There were multiple burns on his chest and arms but the blackened skin was sloughing off and healing before our eyes. Chuntra spoke up when we told her. "His species lives on a world very hostile to all life there, he is linked to a symbiotic bacteria that is repairing his damage. The disadvantage is it will make him very hungry and angry when he awakes. In thirty or forty minutes, he will wake in a killing mood. It will not be safe to be near him."
Oh great. Now let's contribute to my woes by adding a seven foot tall wolverine with anger management issues and a need to replenish lost energies any way he can... Or was there more to this than I was seeing. I looked over at Essver and beckoned to him with my head. I directed his attention to my magna-cuffs. What if what Master Wex was doing was not an accident?
"Chuntra, how long have you and Master Wex worked together?" I needed to buy some time and make idle conversation, in case someone was listening.
"He and I have worked together for ten standard now. He was also a family retainer while I was growing up and he worked with my father before me."
"Has he always been this irascible?"
"Oh yes, I was not surprised to see him getting shot by the Corvans. He was not very nice to them on the way here."
Essver was looking at my cuffs and had the same idea that I did. Wex was not just a lunatic. He was a brilliant lunatic. Now if we can make it work for us in the next fifteen minutes. Essver had begun looking at the seams of the magna-cuffs. With the cuffs active, I did not have control of my Image or any of my other internal biomechanical systems. They emitted a control frequency that prevented those systems from being active. But they were annoyingly vulnerable to electrical attacks.
"Boss, I'm back. The cuffs are offline. That old coot's trick worked."
"Good to hear, I sub-vocalized. Can you release or over-ride that lock on Chuntra's suit?"
"How long we got?"
"Six minutes, give or take."
"It will be close."
"Do it. Light a display within her suit and tell her what you are doing. Tell her not to say anything and to keep her suit in the powered down state, even after you repair it."
"What are we going to do about big boy here?"
"I will keep him restrained should he awaken earlier. They did not utilize any special mechanisms to restrain me, I agreed to comply in the interests of galactic cooperation," said Essver.
The display in Chuntra's suit has begun to flash and in a few seconds, she looks at me and nods. "Cooperation is important. I am certain this will be resolved through diplomatic means." While she is saying this, she is shaking her head in the negative. "I am certain we will be treated fairly."
"Don't count on that. I certainly am not," was the gruff voice of Wex as he awakened. The vehicle was slowing. "I trust you found everything in order, as he looks at my cuffs."
"Yes, your singed fur has left this cell reeking, thanks for nothing." I nodded and raised the cuffs.
Essver looks at me and says, "Thoomas, do you remember when we were on Caldaron Six?"
"This is hardly the time for old war stories, Old Man..." Oh, wait, I remember that mission. We had been taken prisoner and when we were preparing to make our escape...
The door opened and there were eight Corva poking their Electro-staffs into the vehicle. The light outside was bright and our eyes needed a chance to adjust.
"You, Mammal with the fur, get up and get out here. Do anything and our staves are set to kill. Do you understand? Wex had sat back down and slowly rose up, looking slow and uncomfortable, he remained hunched over as he slowly made his way to the exit.
I hate the unrehearsed escape. So much can go wrong.
Wex exited the vehicle and fell to the ground as if he could not go on. Two of the Corva wrapped four of the tentacles around him and lifted him to his feet.
The rest of us exited the vehicle with Essver carrying the ambassador. The Corvan jumpship was at the end of the dock and we were surrounded by at least twenty Corvans and there were fifteen or twenty more at the end of the dock, armed with pulse rifles.
As we were leaving the vehicle, a Bel-ha grav-car pulls up behind us and the Corvans immediately move to intercept the vehicle. Getting out of the vehicle, the Bel-ha who had been injured when I first arrived floated free and began to talk to the Corvan commander.
The sergeant and the rest of the Corvans, flanked us and began walking us down the docking platform. The spaceport was whirling with activity, but this was a private region of the port removed from the bustle common to popular planets. Lorissi was very popular due to its beautiful forests and diverse topography.
When we were approximately fifteen feet from the Bel-ha and the Commander I looked at Essver. "Hey, what time is it?"
Essver placed the softened exoskeleton of Chuntra on the ground, and looked at his watch. His reply was, "Time to go."
Master Wex roared and hooked his claws into the armored forms of the two Corvans that were holding him, and reached directly into their suits. The domes flushed with a reddish green blood and the suits dropped limply to the ground. Snatching his force staff from the hand of a third dead Corvan whose dome parted with the same alacrity as if Master Wex were reaching across the dinner table. Armed with his force staff, he energized it and sliced through my bonds as I activated the Invincible Armor.
Chuntra's suit hardened and stood up between the dropship and us. She was wearing a Diplomat's suit, so it was light on weapons but heavy on defensive shielding. She erected the strongest force field she could and seconds later, there were pulse rounds striking that shield. It wouldn't last long. So whatever we were going to do, we had about thirty seconds to pull it off.
As the Invincible Armor charged up, my nano-carbon blades were already slicing through the suits of the three Corvan Regulars who were standing guard over me. Essver blocked the fire of the six regulars who were guarding him. When he had reached for his watch, he turned on a microflex field. Its battery was good for sixty seconds and was perfect for the lightly armed regulars fighting us. He waded into their ranks and soon they were unable to shoot unless they were willing to hit each other. So they were forced to use their electro staves as hand to hand weapons. But these Regulars had never seen anything like Essver. They never had a chance.
We dispatched our fifteen guards in less than fifteen seconds. Master Wex was eating the brains of the sergeant that had shot him. The Corvan commander simply stood by and watched. But I noted the Bel-ha had stopped talking.
"Boss, her shield power is down to twenty percent. We have another fifteen seconds. Any ideas?" The Corvan sharpshooters were wearing down the Diplomat's shield and will be tearing us to ribbons in seconds.
Wex, turned and shouted "Chuntra, evacuate. Now."
Chuntra's suit collapsed as she shot out of it and into Wex's arms. The suit's power plant gave way as the rest of us ran to use the Bel-ha automobile for cover. Wex was amazing, even faster than I was, and reached the car first. As he ran past the Corvan commander, he swung his force staff and cut him in two. The Bel-ha visibly relaxed and began to move away from the conflict. The pulse rifles were tearing the car apart and the nearest building was two hundred meters away.
"Thoomas, the three of you can reach that building if I draw their fire."
"Who says you get to be the hero, reptile?"
"Get a move on, Mon-keigh man."
I could not think of anything. We could all die here. Or he could draw fire, and three of us would make it.
"Here, reptile, take this," Wex said. He handed his force staff to Essver. "Do you know how to use one of these?"
"Watch me. Now go Thoomas. We will meet again." He placed his hand on my chest, turned away and activated the force staff.
He stood up and began running toward the sharpshooters who concentrated their fire as he roared and moved far faster than I remembered. Wex and I stood and bolted for the control tower building. Almost all of the fire was directed against Essver, so his force staff would not last for more than another few seconds. But when it failed, his watch must have still had some charge on it, because he made it to the squad and tore into it. We made it to the building, and Wex took Chuntra aside to a terminal. She touched the terminal with her command bracelet and was able to see the registry of all the ships in the spaceport, including Essver's.
I told them, go to his ship and I gave them his command code. "Get off the planet, barring that, find someplace on planet to hide out and we will contact you. Now go. I can't leave him."
Master Wex looked at me, smiled and said, "come daughter, watching one fool was enough for one morning," And he streaked away with that incredible speed of his.
I could still hear him roaring, so I turned back and noted it had been ten minutes since I had activated the Invincible Armor. That would be just long enough to make this interesting.
Chapter Four
Four days ago: Galtan II, one of the twenty Gaian moons of the Toranor System is home to the primary enclave of Pan-humanity and the government of the local Sjurani. It is also home to the Beteans, a plant and animal symbiosis strange even by galactic standards. On this world of immense beauty, forests of incredible size and complexity, one of the ambassadors to the Imperium contemplated leaving home again under less than ideal conditions. While not exactly family-oriented, he had promised his mother once he had been given genetic profiling indicating his viability, he would have children to help perpetuate his beleaguered species. Sitting in his personal tower, he looked out over his wife's domain and for a moment, smiled. A smile filled with sharp teeth and huge jaws. He turned his back to the window and went into the keep and began to make his way to an audience with his duchess.
The hot air was still and smoky. This, of course, was the desired effect. One's home should reflect the nature of the revered Homeworld's beautiful tropical forest. Insect life flew abundantly through the air and were fed upon by the various primitive house lizards, which occasionally became a snack for one of the children in the middle of the night if there were no adults nearby. The Rex moved though the household, which had the appearance of an old castle estate made with the most modern equipment. And while it looked primitive, the security systems of the building were state of the art. The Rex marveled at how well organized the household appeared to be; almost military in its precision.
The lights of the audience chamber were kept at a low level allowing the eyes of the Family to maintain their hunting sharpness at night. The air was redolent with musks and other scents from dangerous animals of the local forest near the ducal estate of Shishe and the House Su-xing-qu. The Duchess insisted the surrounding countryside retain some of its wild nature and forced her hunt squads to travel deep into the nearby forest for prey. She sat amid a variety of cushions covered of various silks from the Qiandong Human province on the continent of Chen. The silks from the region were some of the finest in the quadrant and even though mechanically created silks seemed as good in quality, all Sjurani preferred the organic nature of true silk to anything created by machine. The claim was an awareness of the true nature of silk to their enhanced senses. The silk trade was one of the great businesses of the the House of Su-xian-qu.
The walls were covered with a variety of wooden reliefs painstakingly carved from the dense hardwoods of distant forests and each window was shuttered with doors of exotic corals from the deep seas. The house was arranged with an artist's eye, with each element enhancing everything around it. A perfect balance of space, dimension, color, and art. The eye of the Duchess ensured the natural energies of her estate flowed freely enhancing reproductive fecundity. The household boasted three clutches in fifteen years, an extraordinary number considering the state of Sjurani reproductive politics.
There was a quiet hum of activity until Essver entered the chamber and stood awaiting the attention of the Duchess. As he strode into the room, the lesser males quieted the children they were attending and retreated backward into the room. As he approached, Duchess Su-xian-qu spoke and the room grew silent. "Greeting beloved, I understand you are making plans to depart the system. But I say to you, nay I implore you to reconsider your plans. Your duties lie here, my mate. Your clutch is barely three standard years of age. They need thy strong influence for them to imprint properly. Thoomas can take care of himself. Your days of constantly gating all over the galaxy are over. I regret being the one to say these things to you. I know you value your freedom and I have done all I can to allow it."
With a smile on his face and a light tone, Essver looked at the duchess, deeply into her terrible green eyes. "I say to you, dear Duchess, these tiny hellions can take care of themselves. The Nine Devils pray daily none die before they are able to evacuate the Seven Hells for these beasts to roam free in. Imprint on me? They are more likely to feast on me whilst I slept."
Undeterred by his commentary on the strength and beauty of his children, she continued, "We have a duty, Dream-Singer, our people have been devastated by plague, war and now a pestilence of our own devising. Your genome is strong and produces healthy and viable offspring. There are too few Rex remaining who are able to do that in these days. The Gene Council has begun to consider taking samples of our clutches for gene bank profiles. The time for saving the galaxy one world at a time is over. You must save our people too." When she finishes her statement, one of the second husbands brings a youngster to the Duchess and she gives the child some meat from a nearby platter. The child, beautifully formed with scales of a glittering greenish gold, hungrily stuffs the food into his mouth and chews noisily.
Essver watching this bonding ritual is only mildly repulsed and continues, "This is not about Thoomas, my lady, this is about our contractual obligations to the Imperium. We would be poor citizens if we did not employ our capabilities to the benefit our families as well as the Triune Council. My mother, three starred general, though departed, would be unhappy to know her son turned completely away from the Gentle Art before his two hundredth birthday. Would you be the cause of such personal shame for me?" Essver paused for a second, before making the next pronouncement. "I will consider turning fully toward the First Trade upon the completion of this assignment." Essver was actually very good in the First Trade, and had made several fortunes even as he performed his work in the Gentle Art, or working with Thomas Wilks and his human interpretation of the Gentle Art.
A look of deep sorrow crossed the reptilian face of the Duchess and looked as if she wanted to say something that would sooth her mighty Rex but knew no words for what must come next. The Duchess raised her arm and several distant doors opened and some shadowed forms had begun to move into the room. Their scent and their movement indicated their youth. The glinting of their scales reinforced that supposition.
Strong forms in a variety of colors, golden, red, green and teal scales approached him and he recognized them as they came into the light. They are all dressed in ceremonial armor and weapons. Essver knew this was his first clutch with the duchess. These were the survivors. Of the original twelve, seven survived to adulthood, the others lost to disease, weakness, carelessness or put down by the Duchess herself, if they were unfit.
They were approximately fifteen cycles and ready for their final adulthood rites. Several of the middle clutch and almost all of the youngest were upset as the seven surrounded their Rex in the center of the audience chamber.They would be forced to watch as their siblings became adults. "They need you, my Rex," she began, with her voice louder and more angry, "today you are here for their blooding and passage into adulthood, but your next brood will need you again. You cannot risk being lost before they are adult. They will need you to provide for their genetic stabilization and their social status. We are slaves to our genetics. Without you, your children may not be able to become parents themselves, should they survive."
The children moved gracefully as they gathered their weapons together. Sword, spear, axe, ranthip, each chose weapons according to their body types, mental prowess and physical power. They were all graceful killing machines, trained since they were five to be the best warriors the next generation of Sjurani could want.
Ten years of vigorous and aggressive combat, tactics and military education was their birthright. Essver was proud of his children as they surrounded him and prepared to show him their fighting skills. He would try his best to kill as many as possible. It was the Sjurani way. Only a fight, where they believed they might die would galvanize their genetic potential into actuality.
As he dropped into a combat stance, he activated his force shield and flex sword and whispered while the blood-fury filled his veins "Show me, my children, your Gentle Art."
* * * * *
When Essver received his summons, he had already said his goodbyes to his mate, her lesser husbands, and his clutch and was already at the spaceport making the final preparations and checking the dossiers of new Pilots recently released from the Universitas Magistrorum et Humanitas. He had a slight limp from a deep cut his first son had made in his leg. It was a minor inconvenience he would heal on his way to the Lorissi system. He had a number of other smaller, less challenging injuries. A day of bacterial cellular regrowth and he would be fine. Four of his first clutch would be able to become parents. Their injuries were serious, however, and would require weeks in regeneration chambers. But the genetic activation took place. Two died and one would become a sterile male. This group was considered wildly successful by Sjurani standards. The Duchess was already considering to which families they would become affiliated with.
The University was the final training facility for homo sapiens conscientia, mechanical sentients of the highest order capable of being created by the combined sciences of the Triune governments of Pan-Humanity, the Sjurani and the Beteans who initially inhabited Galtan II. These mechanical humanoids work with soldiers of the Resurrection Corps and using modern psychometric tools maintain their humanity after the rigors and trauma of dying, potentially repeatedly in their line of work. These mechanical sentients function as Pilots, technologists, scientists and companions to their Soldier. Fully aware of themselves and their work in the Imperium, the Conscientia are highly paid and highly regarded in their own right and have made significant advances to the program during their long term study, analysis and support of the Corps.
There were several promising Pilots but only a few would be ready in time and none would have been assigned a ship in time for this trip. Essver did not let this deter him and had several ships of his own to draw from during his time as a mercenary. All had been kept fit and ready in case of need, so he would use the most heavily armed of them, Glorious, as a base while he and Thomas sought the stolen Frame. It could also be refit to mount the Frame facilities in less than a day. He made several calls and the Glorious would be ready in time to transit to the fleet. He also made a request to the University's dean to have several of the more promising students prepared, reviewed and the best of them made ready in a week to send to Lorissi, once issues had been settled there.
The communique arrived by an Council messenger while he was checking the Glorious and the messenger was officious and upon delivery retreated without much pomp, but surprising all the same, since Council messengers were rarely seen at the space docks of Rekein. His wardrobe had already been delivered to the Glorious and he chose his most impressive uniform, which was festooned with medals from his time as a leader of both a Sjurani ground assault team and as a mercenary commander in the employ of the Sjurani Council. Armed with his tribal weaponry, as effective as their modern equivalents but covered with more ornate and beautiful constructions, he arrived at the Council headquarters in the center of the Triune City of Rekein at the required time.
Led into the council and announced it was a long time since he had heard his full title: Triune Ambassador to the Imperium, Essver Dream-Singer, of the People of the Sjurani, son of Minru, son of Daor the Terrible, warrior-poet of Galtan II, Sjurani Rex, mated to the nugongjué, the Glorious Pielienhis (pe-le-en-hiss) seeking the audience of the Phoenix and the Triune Council.
The room was ornate, as is the habit of the Sjurani, covered with a variety of artworks, metalcraft, stonework reliefs reflecting ancient heroes of legend, of every caste and every race. The chamber had been held on one of the Greatships of the Sjurani fleet that landed here and was over twenty thousand years old. It had been moved to this location as the center of government for the Sjurani, Pan-Human and Betean Councils. The Phoenix stood and her august plumage was in full release with her arms outstretched. Her coloring was brilliant and each feather a work of natural art and genetic manipulation blended perfectly. Her proportions were strong and even indicating her supreme heritage and likelihood of descent from the greatest heroes of the Phoenix line, the Flame King and the Summer Queen, the first of the Line of the Phoenix. While she was a Phoenix and he a Rex, he felt some level of attraction at a subconscious level. He could also feel her powerful operant psychic presence even though his psychic potential was limited to physical expressions of power.
The Phoenix was small in comparison to Essver, but it did not stop her from being physically imposing. Her two Raptors, armed with dual pulse pistols, flex-swords and the highest quality flex-field armor stood vigilant even though they were actually more ornamentation than true defense. The courtroom, was liberally sprinkled with a variety of defensive technologies, mechanical sentience, and a good portion of the Sjurani council were capable and armed warriors themselves. She stood nearby as she paced in front of Essver who was in a supplication position on one knee in the center of the council chambers.
As he had entered she had been speaking about the Corvan government and their recent loss of a squadron of Resurrection soldiers and their support troops due to poor intelligence. It was bad enough to have been using them against the Dalrothi on the edge of the Imperium, but to irrevocably lose nineteen to the True Death was unthinkable. Now they wanted to take the one survivor, who had lived for two years in completely inhospitable surroundings and through over twenty deaths without a Pilot and accuse him of treason?
This soldier, Wilks and his Frame were a treasure trove of data that simply must be recovered. He was sent to Bel-ha to allow his suit's information to be downloaded and for him to experience psychological support of the type the Bel-ha's superior technology could provide. He was the perfect example of the superiority of this program and why we must be allowed to continue to develop it further. The Imperium was the primary client of the Resurrection Corps, but the technologies created allowed this group to manufacture something of lasting value to the Imperium and take their rightful place as quality sentients in the eyes of the elder galactic races, who considered Pan-humanity to be upstart races at best and vulger abominations at worst.
She turned her sharp eyes toward Essver and he could feel her psychic might pressing against him. "You must recover that Frame, there is no alternative. Use all means at your disposal to discover what has happened to the technology. We sent a recovery team to Brennan 326 and nothing remained of Those That Served. In the proper procedure, Majoris Wilks disposed of any remains that survived the crash, and the normal automated self-destruct procedures. We must continue to maintain our patents and you will see to this, Ambassador.
On another note, since you are making a trip to the Bel-ha Collective's main planets, we would like you to establish a connection to the planet and see if it will be possible for us to establish a more solid trade arrangement. We already get many of our nanite programming from their world but the distance simply makes it difficult for us to maintain our relationships. We would like to establish one of their facilities, complete with scientists, on Galtan II near the Resurrection facility. That mission is both a cover and a secondary objective. Recover that soldier and that Frame."
She stopped for a moment and shuddered, her feathers fluffing and spreading. "I understand he is your friend as well," she began, "I am happy to hear he has survived his ordeal and I have reviewed your service records together and find that you have both been extremely successful and fruitful as agents of Pan-Humanity and the Sujurani. We are at your disposal. What would you ask of us?"
Essver considered himself and then raised his eyes. "Your greatness, the Corvan Fleet is leaving today and will arrive in four days in Bel-ha space. The Corva are going to expend a considerable amount of energy to make the jump in that short a time. The fleet commander, Admiral Lolikai has requested an opportunity to speak with me, in regard to our people and continued good will between the Imperium and our tiny piece of the Empire."
Making eye contact with the Phoenix, he declared, "I believe the Imperium values the durability, accessibility, and resourcefulness of our agents. I do not think this Admiral will want to do anything that will risk that relationship considering the quality of the success of our operations in Imperium Space. I have all that I need, save a new Pilot. One will be selected, outfitted and sent to Lorissi in less than a week. Thank you for your generosity and I will return with our technology and our Soldier. You have my word."
Blood . Fire. Death. Mutilation. Piercing screams of soldiers with limbs blown off. The eyes of the recently dead, bulging, staring in disbelief. Vermin-ravaged corpses, insects crawling in and out of their twisted mouths. Blood erupting from the bodies of women and children as they tried in vain to escape the deluge of gunfire. The dance of the refugees as they smelled their own flesh burn, as the napalm flames consumed their skin, their bones, their souls. Agony stored for later years as villagers watched their wives and mothers raped, beaten, and left as if dead, as if never alive. The sizzle of hot pokers on flesh, or in eyeballs, or thrust deep into open wounds. Tanks, driving over the bodies of children that squelched and cracked and were crushed like eggshells ...
And in all the conflagration, wading through the carnage with a necklace of ears, eyes and fingers, and the smell of charred bodies as his perfume, his face bore no emotion as he killed and killed and killed -
Teacher awoke from his nightmare, his heart pumping painfully in his chest, his breathing spasmodic, and his body shaking. He had been strapped into an electric chair. For a moment, he struggled. And then somewhere in the room a circuit was activated, a small generator kicked in with a busy hum, followed by a surge of energy. Teacher braced himself--
The doors to the execution chamber slid open, buzzed closed behind the five men in military uniform who had entered the room. One of them approached Teacher, removing large dark round sunglasses from a wrinkled pale face. He folded them, tucked them into a khaki breast pocket, shaking his head ” Black Knight. What a soldier. What a waste,” the man said before adding “ Control room: This is Cleyff. Throw the switch. And this time make sure he’s dead. You know how hard these guys are to kill.”
As tertiary generators crackled into action, Teacher noticed his own reflection in the two-way mirror of the control room. For a moment he wondered just who he was looking at. He didn't know this person at all. No memories. Nothing. And then the current came. One hundred amperes, and urine dribbled shamefully down his leg. Two hundred amps, and he could smell the hair on his body burning.
Three hundred amps, and Teacher screamed from the depth of his being.
“Kun-Li it is you who must insure the opening of the way for bridges of consciousness, and in doing so you can not allow your essences to be dissipated or corrupted,” the octagon shaped crystal whispered in a raspy voice as the young hexagon crystal glistening eagerly awaiting the wisdom of the elder crystal. The elder crystal flickered within the bank of mist that hovered over the water. “At the top of the mountain is where you must find the Kundalini and become one with the fire element.”
“The fire element…you mean I must confront the serpent of fire?” Fear cloaked Kun-Li like the setting of the midnight sky.
“Do not let your fears darken your light….how will you successfully complete the Rites in the denser plains?” Immediately Kun-Li’s ambient light was absorbed by the mist; beckoning Kun-Li to ride the mist to the mountains of the moon.
Gazing down from the mountain peak was the fierce Kundalini. Diamond shaped black onyx scales covered the powerful body that coiled around the mountain’s peak. The slitted emerald eyes watched the approaching mist. “Ahhhh another wishes to descend down into the abyss of dark matter. Huuuummm how interesting.” Patiently the serpent sat awaiting the ascending mist. Kun-Li could feel the atmosphere changing with every breath the serpent took as the mist swayed back and forth. The hexagon crystal wondered how the serpent would react; considering none of the other crystals or gems returned from the denser plains. Kun-Li attempted to fight back the fear that threatened to dominate. “I can smell your apprehension and almost taste the fear that threatens to ravish you.” Kun-Li paused debating weather or not to approach the serpent that had been destined to swallow up the bringers of fear. “Tell me….shell I devour you now or later?” Fire sprayed forth with every word burning away the mist that had concealed the crystal. Kun-Li’s illumination flickered frantically; being so close to the serpent’s muzzle.
“If you devour me I will not be able to fulfill my destiny.”
“But it is my destiny to devour fear….after all I am Kundalini.” Kun-Li thought intently,”I must master my fear,” over and over Kun-Li repeated like some melodic mantra until the flickering illumination became an ambient and steady glow.
“Immmmpresssive,” the serpent hissed. “So tell me….what is it that is one with the darkness? If you answer correctly you may mount the Kundalini…do not let your ignorance doom you. Kun-Li thought long and hard before answering. The serpents head weaved back and forth waiting for an answer. Kun-Li’s illumination began to pulsate, “it is in the darkness where all colors are one.”
“Immmmpresssive Kun-Li you have earned the right to mount Kundalini, but before doing so remember….alternative realities can be terrifying so remember to always master your fear and you will prevail as we descend into the lower realms; there we will rise up burning away all lower base instincts of the seven bridges of consciousness of the temple up to its apex gaining enlightenment fulfilling ones destiny.”
So with one swift leap Kun-Li and Kundalini was one vanishing from existence to fulfill their destiny leaving you behind for your consciousness to be painted back on to the canvas of your physical world in another dimension of the Chaos Chronicals.
I've finished my first novel - The Horizon Venture - and I want to share it with you; positive critical feedback is welcomed! I'm going to publish a chapter every fortnight, up to chapter 5, and if the response is good, I'll publish more. First chapter goes up tomorrow.
Just so you know a little of what you're letting yourself in for, the synopsis is below:
The Horizon Venture - Synopsis
2056: the Colonial Wars have ended and, a fragile detente between humans and locals on the planet
Horizon -3 is in place. But the Xienom, a powerful and highly advanced indigenous majority, are still
angry at “the Terran maggot’s cancerous irruption” into the wider galaxy – and their own civilisation, and
are frustrated with the Interplanetary Federation’s inaction in bringing humanoid behaviour into line with
the rest of the planet, which they regard as humanoid favouritism.
In a seemingly unrelated incident one such humanoid, named Teacher, escapes from the private army
he’d been conscripted into at birth by Kane, a ruthless intergalactic industrialist whose company
KANECORP locates and prepares hostile alien environments for Earth’s future expansion using clone
supersoldiers.
Somewhere in Teacher’s memory is highly sensitive information which could reveal the truth of Kane’s
clandestine operations to the Interplanetary Federation. This would most likely see calls for humans to
be deported from the Horizon Galaxy, or incarcerated with immediate effect. Kane despatches some of
his best trained clones to “contain the situation”. But Teacher, armed with free improvised thought, is
more than a match for them; he leaves a trail of bodies in his wake, and draws the attention of local
news broadcasters and law enforcement agencies in the process.
Now desperate for asylum, but unsure of who he can trust, Teacher decides that the enemy of his
enemy is his friend - in this case Kane’s brother Ken, another industrialist, who has made it his personal
responsibility to curtail Kane’s interplanetary “ventures”. He knows that Ken will be able to make sense
of the information, and perhaps shed a little light on exactly who Teacher – code name Black Knight -
really is, and what Black Knight has done to the Xienom in the name of Earth.
Teacher begins transmitting highly sensitive information to Ken, but Kane intercepts, and blows Teacher
up, causing a major international incident in the process. Kane knows that Ken, his nemesis, will be
saddled with rescuing the fragile peace process on Horizon -3, giving Kane plenty of time to cover his
tracks, and make good his escape.
But Teacher survives the explosion; he is no ordinary clone soldier. And it turns out he’s only half clone;
the other half is Belusian, - a race that looks human, but are actually refugees from another galaxy.
That Belusian heritage also gave Teacher a twin sister, Lotti, who left Earth ten years ago to find him.
Freed of Kane’s influence, Lotti can now repair the telepathic link common to Belusian twins, and restore
his sense of who he really is. Through this Teacher learns that it is the planet Bluese – not Kane’s
genetic engineering- that has given him the power to reject Kane’s mind control, and to survive the
explosion, and numerous other encounters in his twenty years in Kane’s covert operations forces.
Armed with this knowledge, the twins join forces with Ken, and his private army THE MEN, who must
now do their best to stop a full scale war with the Xienom, who regard Kane’s explosion as a direct
terrorist threat by insurgents. The Xienom have abandoned diplomacy and now move to eradicate all
humans from their land.
The Interplanetary Federation look on, helpless and noncommittal, as Teacher and Lotti find themselves
holding the key memories and abilities that can a diffuse the crisis. Alone together, they will determine
the rights and reputations of humans in the Horizon Galaxy for many light years to come…
Copyright © 2000 – 2010 taylormade21.com Ltd all rights reserved. Characters in this work are fictional and
imaginary, and any similarities between people and events outside of this work are coincidental.
Right now we are considering who to invite to be in the program (anyone can volunteer, but we're making a point to reach out to some people, especially people who live in the Western US, near Reno, where the convention will be held next August).
I'd really appreciate it if people would let me know who their favorite living black science fiction and fantasy artists are, so I can consider them for this part of the process.
Thanks!
When the Corporate Masters say "shut up" even the voice of the mighty Keith Olbermann is silenced. Why the spectre of Brangelina is the fear of every marginal mate and Penelope & Otto review "Due Date" and "Mega Mind." Join Penelope & Otto at 9:30pm CST for In Like Flynn!
Call in and sound off with Penelope and Otto at 718/508-9683 or Join us in the Chat room.
We look forward to hearing your voice!
She was Annabelle’s shadow, trailing the dark woman as she rode in horse drawn carriages, sipped wine on balconies, danced in chandelier lit ballrooms. But she always returned home to her quarter alongside the river.
Now the twin moons shined through twisted branches. The vampire followed their light down the dusty road to the juke joint. Unseen **** walked alongside her.
They stepped inside a wooden shack, the air thick with tobacco smoke and the smell of frying meat… Annabelle felt the glances of the crowd and didn’t have to probe their minds to know their thoughts.
How she dress the way she do, when she don’t never do no work?
Where she been all this time, to come showing up now?
She still looks the same -- not a day older! It ain’t natural!
Envy. Curiosity. Fear.
Annabelle sauntered over to the far left corner to where Fatback, the proprietor, sat beside a tub of beer. A table of liquor and glasses was set up beside the tub.
The big, yellow man smiled up at her. “Hey pretty, whatcho want?”
“Moonshine.”
Fatback poured her shot of clear liquid. “That’s a mighty strong drink, little girl. Sure you can handle it?”
She favored him with a smile, and dug into the pocket of her dress for a crumpled bill. As Annabelle sipped her drink, she let her eyes roam over the couples grinding in one another‘s arms. Her eyes settled on one heavily built, brown man.
Fatback smirked. “That’s Roscoe, a married man. Not that you care.”
She sent her burning thoughts to Roscoe… his eyes found hers and slid down her body like butter.
He wound his way through the dancers, and after the briefest hesitation gave her his hand. “You wanna dance?”
Wordlessly she stepped into his arms and their bodies pressed together, his pungent odor in her nostrils, and slipped her hands down the hard muscles of his back.
At the front of the juke, on a crude wooden stage, a buxom young woman sang, accompanied by men playing the piano and harmonica:
“Like a gal starving
I’m hungry for your touch
Need your lovin’ bad
And just can’t get enough…”
Annabelle whispered in his ear: “I’m going home. Wanna come?”
He gave her a lazy smile. “We ain’t got to go that far… Let’s go outside.”
“You want me? Then meet me at the water pump behind my cabin.”
“Where --”
She put her fingers to his lips. “You’ll find it,”
She left him standing in the middle of the floor, staring after her. After the briefest hesitation, Roscoe walked outside. She was gone.
But her voice called to him.
It should’ve frightened him, but instead his desire swelled until he thought he’d lose his mind. Roscoe ran the length of the road, following her honeyed murmur… to the quarter. To her cabin...
Copyright 2008, 2009 2010
Coming Soon!
I was reminded to chase girls, drink booze, try pot, buy a dashiki, try to grow a fro, and to be millitant even when being civil was more profitable. This was the black pressure. My architecture class was as free wheeling as I expected, the art history class begain the white pressure. The first day till the last they did their best to tell me Greek culture and building was the beginning of civilization. I could not bear it, not hear it, not believe it. That history implied way more than it was explaning. I look back and I can see the questions I had deep inside were preventing me from engaging into that deception and manipulaton called their spin on history. I could not accept the white pressure because the black pressure was a pre-existing condition.
The whole white pressure thing was we had to drop our thing and pickup their thing in order to be considered for inclusion. Our realization was that they imagined themselves as the start of things, they also imagine our following their lead and culture, we will be like them, no different, a tourtured and twisted imagination even they can't accept. The pre-existing condition they ignore is that we were the origin, the beginning, the start, they came out from us and they learned from us. It is a rude assumption to claim origins just because you have progressed from what you were taught. And to efface history and tell it to your kids as the truth is lying. Your kids know no difference, they believe the lies with zeal, as truth.
How is this important? We talk diversity today, our latest attempt to embrace the good and the bad and set aside the ugly. The damaging things each culture did to each other in history, the hero/villians, the forced integrations, the exteriminations, the exclusions, it is impossible to face each other with a clear conscience along the lines of culture, religion, politics or other human institutions. We diversly say today "I am an individual and not personally responsible for the damage cause to any group and can not be held accountable for the actions or results of my family, race or any other designation defining man." "Who I am is consequencial, I am a self realizing entity, born on top of a past I did not chose, it's not my fault!"
No sweat, but I partly agree, but who did you learn from? What did you learn? Where were you inserted into life? How are you moving among others? Being effected? Influencing others? None is perfect, none is innocent. In your measure of life and understanding, where do you stand? Who is measuring, judging, accounting?
This is all why it is easy for me to say "what if". And why people are still able to change reality. Yeah yeah I know, only a Sith lord deals in absolutes. LOL
