“Hi. You must be Larry,” a young woman, no younger than 20, said to Larry at Sara’s family reunion. He began to try to remember how to form the word “yes” but was soon supplemented.
“Yes, he is,” a mischievous Summer Early said as she snuck behind Larry, placing both her hands on his shoulders. Larry jumped slightly, and Summer laughed. “Larry, this is Sara’s cousin, Nora. She’s in her second year of college. Nora, Larry is a brilliant martial artist. Aren’t you, Larry?” She gave Larry a knowing look.
“Uh, yeah,” Larry finally chipped in. “I guess I’m alright. What are you studying, Nora?” He wasn’t sure exactly what Summer was playing at, but he was fairly certain that she was trying to atone for dating Angus when she had been friends with Larry for so much longer. Whatever reasons she had, Larry didn’t mind the effort.
“Oh, I’m taking Pre-Med classes right now. I really want to be a doctor, but I’m also studying Judo. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I really like martial arts. Well, I suppose everyone in our family does. Angus just started studying Krav Maga.” She smiled. Larry wondered if Angus was looking for a rematch.
“Judo, huh?” Larry thought hard, trying to remember from all the martial arts books he had read. “That’s mainly focused on holds and throws, right?” Nora nodded, and the conversation took off from there. Larry mainly talked about football and training, and Nora talked about medicine and training. The two found out over the next couple of hours that they had quite a bit in common, and before Drake and Sara hauled him off to go to 53, Nora gave Larry her number.
“Well, that was more fun than you expected, wasn’t it, Lar?” Drake was teasing Larry over a game of Kohstr, a Thorlinthian card game that involved a deck of over three hundred completely unique cards that Larry still didn’t understand at all. Luckily, it was a game at which Terira was quite skilled, so she acted as referee, informing the boys who had just won the round and keeping score, which wasn’t even summative, entirely in her head. Remarkably, Larry was about as good as Drake at having absolutely no clue how to play the game, so they each won about as often as the other.
“Yeah,” Larry said as he placed one of the metal cards on the table, face-up. Terira almost laughed when he did, but she managed to stop just short of turning her face a red to match what her hair was supposed to look like after the dye but which had never shown up on her head. “Wait, what? Sara, what’d I do wrong?” Even knowing her real name, Larry was more accustomed to the name Sara, and he had difficulty saying, “Terira,” properly. She said it was like listening to a drig die, which could only be an insult.
“Well, you just played a ‘narr’ class card face-up.” When this apparently didn’t explain anything to Larry, she went on. “The narr is like a zombie. Playing it face-up turns all your face-down cards to narr, which means you can’t play them except to attack face-up cards with the heili attribute.” Larry gave her an exasperated look and a shrug before she added, “Well, no one has any heili cards on the table. You just wasted your entire turn.”
Drake and Larry looked at each other suspiciously. Drake was the first to speak. “Terira, we have absolutely no idea how this game works. We just like the pictures and the sound the cards make when they hit the table.” It was true. The cards were laser-etched with ornate pictures, and when they were placed on the table, they made a pleasant clinking sound. Also, Terira giggled a lot because they were both so terrible at the game, and she barely ever giggled.
“You’ll get the hang of it eventually. Anyway, a multiple of 1.1 goes to Larry,” she said, holding back another giggle.
Larry shuffled his Kohstr deck another time, showing off to his wife, Nora, as he prepared for his match against the Armadian Ensign, Carden. “So, you’re sure you want to keep playing, little Tee?” So far, Larry had made it through all but two of the final rounds in Earth’s first annual Kohstr tournament, making him the last Earther in the competition for the past five rounds. The crowds were cheering relentlessly, though most of the Earthers still didn’t comprehend the game. Still, it was the first rivalry between Thorlinthians and Earthers that had been permitted in the two years since Phoenix Day, and the fact that there was still one Earther standing was encouraging. The Thorlinthians had sent two players from each ultracarrier, and Earth had sent seven players from each continent, excluding Antarctica, which had been completely inhabited by the Thorlinthians.
“How did you get a Classics deck, anyway?” Carden asked. “Did you kill an Armadian for it? They’re very rare, even in the Armada. I’m pretty sure the Earthers don’t print metal decks.” Larry had gotten very good at this story, but he decided to tell the short version, which was almost true.
“I traded one of you Tees a bag of vegetable plant seeds for it. I understand you guys really like your veggies, especially after spending so long in space just to get here.” In honesty, he had given Terira a bag of crab apples for it, and she had been more than happy to part with the deck for the delicious morsels.
“Right. Whatever,” Carden spouted off. He was the Dragon King’s best player, and he was losing the game by twelve hringrs. “Just set the deck and play your hand.” Larry had been working the game to this exact point. He set the deck, which he had just shuffled for the third time that game, which was a sign of how long the game had been going. He picked up his hand from the table and played the next card face-up in a field of face-down cards: the narr. He had been holding the card that entire game, and Carden’s field was entirely filled with heili-attributed cards. The game was over. Larry had shuffled the deck to give Carden time to forfeit, but Carden hadn’t realized he was being played as much as the deck.
The next round was a piece of cake for the Lieutenant, who hadn’t taken off the borrowed Peacekeeper armor for the entire tournament. A month later, the Lieutenant would be known as one of the most well-known proponents of the Resistance, as planned.
“Lieutenant, is that really necessary?” The Muffin Man walked into the room, where Larry had been impatiently and rather loudly playing a game against himself. His deck still had that familiar clinking sound every time a card was placed, and not everyone enjoyed its tinny tone. “I must say, I had my doubts that you really were the same Lieutenant who’s had such a public presence in politics, but that deck seems to confirm it. You’re the only Earther with a Classics deck. I don’t think anybody’d forget that.”
“Sorry, sir. I hope you’ll forgive me if I leave my helmet on. My family relies on the fact that nobody knows who I am. The Lieutenant may be an outspoken Resistor, but I have no interest in getting my wife and children involved with any of that.” He put away the deck and stood to shake the Muffin Man’s similarly gloved hand.
“Now that, Lieutenant, I can understand. It’s no secret what the Tees do to the families of known Resistors. I have similar motivations, though admittedly, I think we both would rather not be publicly executed, either.” At that, he used his other hand to slap the Lieutenant’s shoulder. “On the other hand, there are those like Mr. Shore who just like to dare the Tees to find him with video transmissions with his face all over them.” He let out a mighty guffaw as he gave Mickey a bear hug.
“Now, about that mission I have planned for you all…” As soon as the embrace had ended, the Muffin Man was all business. There wasn’t much time for a man like himself to be social, and he was managing other matters on his HUD inside his helmet even as he continued. “I need you to perform an Oswald.” His voice was completely serious, and the team looked at each other nervously. Assassinations were dangerous, to say the least.
Eventually, everyone in the team looked to the Lieutenant, who shrugged and looked back to the Muffin Man. “Who’s the John, sir?”
The Muffin Man handed him a worn-out paper Kohstr card. “This has all you need to know.” It was the hraustligher card. The Dauntless.
“Understood, sir.” The Lieutenant handed the card to Mickey. “You know what to do, Mickey.” Mickey nodded, putting the card in the secret compartment of his cigarette box, which always had the fancy habit of having the same last cigarette in it. Mickey had quit smoking on the morning of Phoenix Day. The box had been a gift from his daughter, who had been a translator in the UN. She had refused to translate Drigondii Sheii’Cronell’s announcement, and she had been killed in the street in front of the UN’s headquarters. The cigarette was for the day he died, at which point he didn’t think she’d mind him having one last fag.
“Right, let’s get out of here,” Larry said. “Sir, I recommend you leave, too. I have a bad feeling.” He turned to leave, opening the door to the horrifying sight of a Dragon Rider whose Drigarmr looked like it had literally been hand-delivered from Hell. The kilt and sash were missing, having been completely burned away, and the skin of the armor itself had scorch marks covering its entire surface. Larry backed up, putting his arms out to defend his team and allow them and the Muffin Man to try to escape. They took his silent order, grabbing the Muffin Man and leading him to the other exit. As the Texan reached out to the door, however, a large knife flew across the room and into the jamb, jamming the door in place.
“Where’s everybody going?” asked Grie Khuda’Mundi, removing his helmet to reveal his green hair and violet eyes. “I just want to have a conversation with Mister Baker.” The Muffin Man turned at his name and fell to the ground in horror at the face he had feared ever seeing again for the past three years. “Well, I guess I was right on the money there. Get out of the way, Denton. I don’t have the patience for your games right now.” At the mention of his name, Larry frowned inside his helmet. He stepped out of the way without offering any more resistance.
Monthly Archives: August 2012
Memories
Drake Kendrick closed his locker. “Look, Lar. I don’t see what the problem is.” Drake had just invited Larry to come with him to his girlfriend’s family reunion that weekend. Drake had been dating Sara for about two years now, and he wanted Larry to come with him because they were best friends, and Drake and Larry had been like brothers since Larry lost his family to a car accident. “I just figured it’d be cool if you could come with me. You’re like a brother, man.”
“Well, Drake, to be honest, it’s because a few months ago, I got into a fight with Angus over Summer, and I know for a fact that he’s bringing her to meet the family, too.” Larry had had a crush on Summer Early since kindergarten, and they had been good friends for years. Larry and Sara’s cousin, Angus both happened to tell Summer about their feelings over the same break period, and they had decided to fight over her. Larry won the fight (barely), which made Summer feel bad for Angus. The two had been dating since, and Larry still wasn’t quite over it.
“Come on, Lar. My dad’s out of town. You’re the only other family I’ve got. Please?” Drake gave his best puppy dog eyes, which made Larry shove his hand in Drake’s face to stop laughing.
“Alright, alright,” Larry agreed. Drake gave a quick victory fist pump before Larry added the condition, “but! You have to agree that we will all three leave if things get awkward.” Larry gave Drake a stern look, and Drake looked to the incognito Terira.
“Can we do that, Sara?” Drake asked, amusedly scanning the hair she had dyed red to prevent suspicious glances at her naturally blue do. Apparently, though, dying blue hair red turns it lavender. She had already gotten quite a few rude remarks from staff members, but luckily, there wasn’t anything in the school’s dress code about hair color. Drake thought the entire situation was hilarious, but Sara found the whole thing irritating. She really liked her hair.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Besides, Angus has been talking about Larry ever since he transferred schools.” If there was one thing other than Drake that Sara loved about Earth, it was her father’s family. Unfortunately, Frederick Ayling had died a couple of months before Sara had come back to Earth, so she had never gotten the chance to see him again after leaving as a child. “I think he still wants to be friends.”
“Alright, but anything gets too awkward?”
“We leave,” both Drake and Sara say simultaneously.
“In fact,” Sara chipped in, “I think I know exactly where we can go after the reunion!” She gave an excited smile to the boys, who both grinned. Obviously, she was referring to Valkyr 53, the spaceship she had parked on the edge of town by Drake’s house and disguised as a large Airstream. Since Drake hadn’t been able to keep himself from telling Larry all about Terira and Thorlinthia and his mother, she had decided to let Larry train in Thorlinthian fighting styles while Drake worked on controlling his power.
Since Larry had always wanted to learn martial arts and take weapons training, it had been a great chance for him. He had only used some of what he learned once to beat Angus Ayling in a squabble over a girl, but he had proven that day that he at least knew how to hold back to appropriate levels.
“Awesome! I love hanging out in 53. It’s like the treehouse we never had as kids, right, Drake?” Larry looked to Drake, who chuckled.
“Yeah, well, I think we’d have played different card games in a treehouse, Lar. Still, the reunion’s going to go great. We’ll have a great time.” Drake looked at his watch. “Oh, crap, we gotta go!” He patted Larry on the back and took Sara by the hand. “Come on, Sara. Larry, we’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah! Absolutely! I’ll see you guys at Sara’s house. I’d better get to the gym. Coach Weber’s being a total jerk about us being late on game days.” He turned and started to head in the opposite direction.
“Oh, right, Larry,” Sara said, stopping in the middle of the hall. “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll do great.” She smiled encouragingly at him before starting back on her way out of the school with Drake.
“Thanks, Sara,” Larry replied.
“Lieutenant? You alright?” Summer Ayling asked as the SUV escorting them to Drury Lane came to a stop.
“Yeah,” Larry said. “I was just thinking about some times back in high school.” Summer and Angus may have known about Sara Ayling and Drake Kendrick, but no one else in the vehicle did, and he had put a lot of effort into keeping it that way.
“Oh, god, don’t remind me,” Angus said. “I still can’t believe you beat me that badly in that fight. I mean, I was twice your size, mate. Not that I’m complaining. I think I got the better deal.” He smiled at his wife and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Summer just rolled her eyes and gave an amused smirk, “Is that why you transferred schools? Too embarrassed about losing?” Larry gave her a quick fist bump, and the three laughed it up.
“Nah. I just wanted to study martial arts, and there was nothing in that town for that sort of thing. Still can’t beat the Lieutenant in a fight, though,” he added, trying to put it in as an afterthought.
“Well, anyway, I suppose a lot’s changed since then, hasn’t it?” Larry knew it was time to refocus on the present. Now wasn’t really the time for humor, as much as they needed it. He opened the door and stepped out. “Let’s go meet the Muffin Man.” The whole team cast aside their grins and chuckles, taking on a somber tone more befitting to the situation before following him out.
“Oh yes,” Grie Khuda’Mundi said quietly to himself as he approached their location. “Let’s…”
The Importance of Good Intel
“Well, I don’t see how that could have gone a whole lot worse, Lieutenant,” Wilhelm said to Lieutenant Larry Denton over the shuttle’s wireless. “Even with the original objective complete, the rest of the world is only hearing about the tour group. The Tees are in complete control of the media. All anyone’s hearing about is the fact that the resistance just blew apart the only ship in the fleet with civilians on it. The Resistance has been officially marked as a terrorist cell. Even the general population is backing the Tees right now.”
“Sir, by the time we knew about the civilians, there wasn’t even enough time to abort the mission, let alone evacuate the civilians or change the target. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a set-up.” The Lieutenant looked away from the comm unit to think about that possibility. “Sir, do you think it’s possible that–?”
“I don’t even want to hear the rest of that question, Lieutenant!” The angry tone of the Muffin Man’s voice made it apparent that he wasn’t going to tolerate the direction in which the Lieutenant was taking the conversation. “I personally know the man who provided that intel, and there’s no way he’d sabotage the intel.”
“Sir, I realize that, but isn’t it possible his intel was wrong? I mean, he had to have a source of his own, and his source could have found out.” Larry wasn’t sure why the enigmatic Muffin Man was defending some random informant when bad information had just ruined the operation.
“No, the intel was solid. We screwed up the timing. The time that the tour group was supposed to arrive was in the time zone under the ship, not standard time. Their shuttle was supposed to be between the docks and the ship when the ship was attacked. We screwed up, L.T. Plain as that.”
“Wait, so you’re saying you knew about the civilians?” Larry was astonished. If he had known about the civilians from the beginning, he would have been watching for them, just in case. “Sir, if you had told me that in the first place–”
“It wasn’t a critical piece of information at the time, Lieutenant,” said Wilhelm. “If I had told you, some of the team members would have been overly hesitant. You may have had to call off the mission because someone got cold feet needlessly, and worse, you could have had someone freak out on the ship and get your fellows killed. Now, I’m not saying that what happened wasn’t a tragedy, and was sure as hell bad for our recruitment. Hell, we’ve even had three percent of our safe houses threaten to shut down. Luckily, we were able to talk them out of it, but to be honest, we’re even luckier no one threatened to turn anyone in. My point is, the operation itself was a success. The fact that we were able to take out five Dragon Riders in one fell swoop only adds to the fact that we’ve proven these ships can be taken out.”
“Sir, about that,” Larry inquired, “what makes these five Dragon Riders such a victory? I mean, sure, they’re elite pilots, and we just cut out over ten percent of their ranks, but they can’t be as powerful as the scuttlebutt suggests.”
“Let me stop you right there, Lieutenant,” Wilhelm interrupted. “I have witnessed first-hand the power of one of these Dragon Riders. They are the the Armada’s most elite warriors, and I have seen a single Dragon Rider take out an entire facility filled with hundreds of highly trained Secret Service agents and Navy SEALS. With two knives. So I want you to understand right now that the Dragon Riders are a great deal more powerful and dangerous than any rumors you may have heard floating around.”
At this, Larry took a loud gulp and sat back onto his seat beside the comm unit. “Well, sir, then I guess we’ll just have to roll with the punches the media throws at us and hope no one turns anyone else in while this is all boiling over. I guess it’ll have to settle down eventually.”
“Precisely,” Wilhelm’s voice sounded off slightly more enthusiastically. “Now, bring my people home. I want to brief you all in Drury Lane.”
“Drury Lane, sir? You want us to come to headquarters? I don’t think Mickey even knows where Drury Lane is right now.” Drury Lane was code for whichever safe house the Muffin Man himself was staying at. Only a select few resistance members had ever been trusted with Drury Lane’s location before, and it had been said that the Muffin Man had worn a mask the entire time to prevent giving away his identity. Now, he was asking Larry’s entire team to come and see him personally after such a disastrous mission. Whatever he was up to, Larry was sure he didn’t like it. The Muffin Man wasn’t the only one who had been hiding his identity all these years. Other than the Aylings, no one knew him as anything other than the Lieutenant. He couldn’t have few enough people know about his connection to Drigondii Sheii’Cronell’s past.
“Don’t worry, Lieutenant. I already sent Mr. Shore the necessary coordinates. An escort will be waiting for you when you land. I’ll be expecting you, Lieutenant.” With that, the wireless turned off, and Larry was left to his thoughts.
“Well,” Larry said to himself, “This ought to be interesting.”
‘Yes, it should,’ Grie thought to himself. He had woken up just in time to catch the conversation reverberating through the hull of the shuttle. His suit, having fully rebooted, had been so kind as to take the tiny vibrations it was catching through its sensors and allow Grie to listen in, though the conversation had admittedly been muddled up slightly. Still, he knew quite a bit right now that he was sure the resistance didn’t want him to know, and they already presumed him to be dead. ‘Not that that’s really a stretch in the least. I should be.’
Grie thought back to those moments falling through space, and as he recalled using lifeforce to make his way to the shuttle, he became a bit uneasy. What did this mean? How could he have done that? He couldn’t be a Sheii’Cronell or a Valkyrie, and they were the only people in his culture who were known to wield such power. He had quite a few questions, but they would have to wait. Right now, he had to focus on this unique opportunity. Still about ten miles out from the shuttle’s apparent landing zone, Grie released the locking mechanisms his suit had been using to let him sleep without letting go of the vents, and he slipped off the back of the shuttle. This far out, no one would notice, and his suit could protect him from serious injury falling from this altitude.
‘Now, then,’ Grie thought to himself as he landed, using one of his hands to balance himself and keep from falling to his knees. ‘I think I’ll go meet an old acquaintance about some muffins.’ With that, he stood in the slight crater he had formed and began to walk toward the shuttle’s landing zone.
The Fall
‘Well,’ Grie thought to himself as he fell through the silence of space away from the half-destroyed Fhit, ‘This is quite a predicament.’ He wasn’t sure if his armor would even handle re-entry on its own, but he was certain no matter what he hit when he finally reached the surface, he’d be pulverized. He wondered if any of his comrades had survived the initial blast of the explosion. Truth be told, he had only survived because he had gotten a bad feeling immediately beforehand and put his gloves and helmet back on before running into the main passageway to see if something was wrong. Had he not, exposure alone would have already killed him, even if the blast that ripped the galley to shreds hadn’t done so first.
‘At least I have a few minutes to sort out my last thoughts.’ Based on the distance at which the Fhit had been orbiting, it would be another ten minutes at least before he even hit atmo. Grie pulled himself into a ball, using changes in his center of gravity to turn himself back toward the ship to see how it was faring. He wished he hadn’t.
The section of the ship that contained the TMDS itself had been torn open in the blast. As a result, the system was now providing additional forces on the frame of the ship and was slowly tearing the ship apart. After the TMDS containment unit was compromised, the crew should have had two minutes to reach the nearest escape shuttle. Unfortunately, whatever had caused the blast had blown open the main steam lines, which meant there was only enough pressure to operate the underbridge launchers, which ran on an auxiliary system. With those limitations, only about four hundred could get off the ship, maximum, and a Qzeno-class Ultracarrier had a crew in the tens of thousands. Whoever had planned this had either gotten very lucky or knew far too much about Thorlinthian ship design.
Looking about, he saw a few other possible survivors, but before he could even try to reach them on the wireless, the Fhit’s TMDS finally collapsed, and the resulting forms of radiation, while not particularly harmful to organics, knocked out any chance of communication for the next five minutes while the suits’ electrical subsystems restarted. Luckily, when electrical current was cut to the helmet, the darkened visor cleared up, allowing the wearer to see even if the suit was shut down by these exact types of conditions. Resigning from his attempts to hail the survivors, Grie lay his head back.
He did so just in time to see a shuttle create a small shadow over a star. It had to be more than a mile away, but for some reason, it gave Grie hope. It had the Armada’s insignia on it, after all, and that’s exactly the type of sight he needed right now. Now thinking along lines more in favor of living, Grie thought back to a conversation he had had with Drigondii Sheii’Cronell several months ago.
“Sir, there’s something that’s been bothering me for a while now,” Grie said as he looked up from his plate to his leader. “The day you saved me, your eyes shone red, just like the Sheii’Cronell stories, and they do every time you perform one of your incredible feats. Does it have anything to do with how you achieve them?”
Drigondii looked up from his own plate, grinning ever so slightly. “You know, now that you mention it, it probably does. My eyes shine like that whenever I manipulate lifeforce.”
“Lifeforce, sir? Like in those movies you like much?” Grie began to think of laser swords, energy shields, and other such impossible or simply impractical things that were also featured in those films. “Seems a bit fictitious to me, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”
“Well, that’s just what it’s called. Apparently, it’s derived from a very ancient word used to describe the powerful nature of the universe. I think it was even a religious term at one point. The word itself apparently has a strange interaction with some people’s brains, allowing them to access these types of powers. It’s really got more to do with quantum interdimensional connections between matter and energy than an actual life force, but I have to admit, I’m not exactly well enough educated in those matters to explain it to you, and I don’t know a better word for quantum interdimensional connections. Plus, whenever you use it, it’s like a million voices are speaking to you from inside and outside yourself at the same time. Lifeforce doesn’t seem unfitting.” At this Drigondii chuckled and took another bite of his steak.
“What’s the word, sir?” Grie asked. Drigondii looked up again, giving Grie a look that expressed both pride and amusement.
“The word, Grie? Are you asking because you don’t know or because you do?” Drigondii didn’t speak again until the end of the dinner.
Reaching out with every fiber of his being to the ship, Grie spoke into the nothingness the word that he could never have known and yet which now seemed so obvious. It was a word so ancient, it could not be expressed with sound or symbol. It could only be spoken with thought, feeling, and understanding. Grie thought of his child’s birth, his own growth to a man, his best friend’s death, the tree that stood in his yard. He thought of the cycle of a star, a cloud of gas, a bu
rning inferno, and a massive explosion leading to more clouds of gas which would do the same.
And as he thought these things, as he began to make all the connections between himself and every particle and thing and person around him, the word came, like a thundering voice in and out of himself. And it spoke power into him, and he spoke it out to the shuttle. For the shuttle was as much a part of that word as he was, as was the space between them. And for those few moments, as Grie found himself coming closer to the shuttle, he felt as though he could see all the expanse of the worlds. Was this how the Great One saw, he wondered, as if nothing were separate and all of space and time were the same?
But just as he had begun to form these thoughts, he found his hand grasping the cold metal of the shuttle, and the word was gone and took with it all of its profound thoughts. ‘Just in time, too,’ Grie thought, as the flames of re-entry began to wrap around the shuttle, barely missing him as he lay as flat against the top of the shuttle as he could while holding onto its piping hot throughput vents as hard as he could. And with that, he passed into an exhausted slumber.
Inside the shuttle, Angus Ayling looked up toward the thunking sound which had occured just before the deafening roar of re-entry. “What was that?” He looked to his wife, Summer, who shrugged.
“Probably just an insulator plate popping. I’ve heard they have a tendency to do that sometimes.” She placed her hand on Angus’s shoulder. He’d been thoroughly shaken since he had seen the face of one of the Tees back on the ship. It had been a young man, no older than seventeen, and he had looked more normal than any of the Tees Angus had seen thus far. No unusual or foreign trait was to be spotted on the boy. Angus had realized just as the shuttle’s door was closing that it was because the boy was from Earth, visiting the ship with a group of high schoolers who were being recruited for the Armada.
“Well, we can check it out when we land,” Lieutenant Denton said. He looked even paler than Angus. The Dragon Riders had been there as part of a recruitment ploy, and he had realized it far too late to abort or even alter the mission. “For now, let’s just get some rest.” The team retired to their rooms for a few hours’ rest as the shuttle moved across the Pacific toward their awaiting landing zone.
Dragon Slayers
Summer was sweating as she shakingly manipulated the final mechanisms of the device she had been assigned to build. If she did something wrong to one of these pieces, the entire timing assembly could fail, and the device would go off before the team delivering had time to get off the target ship. Just one… more… solder. Done. Leaning back, Summer let out a sigh and slumped her hands away just in time not to destroy all her work when a loud banging was heard through her door, and she jumped.
“Hey, Summer, is it done yet?” A man looking to be in his early thirties stepped into the room as he opened the door. He looked uneasy, as was everyone aboard the shuttle. The final stage of assembly had to be completed on the way to the target due to an emergency change in schedule, so the entire team was nervous.
Summer glowered at the man and reached out to her desk, grabbing the last bit of outer plating and placing it over the recently soldered area. “Yes,” she snapped. “And if it hadn’t been, you could have killed us all just now with that banging.” The man grimaced at the thought, then raised his eyebrows to hers in an apologetic manner. “Oh, it’s fine, Angus. No harm done, right?” She smiled crookedly at him, still a bit shaken by the timing of it all.
“Thanks, Summer. Listen, we really appreciate you filling in for Clayton’s part on this assignment. He just got moved to a top secret assignment by the Muffin Man himself. Apparently, it was a now or never type of deal. So, thanks.” He smiled back at Summer and extended his hand in gratitude. She took it, and they spent a few moments recalling easier times in each other’s eyes.
“Hey, Angus!” A booming voice called out, quite in contrast to Angus’s own light tenor. “Did you find out? Is it done yet?”
Summer let go of Angus’s hand, instead placing hers on his shoulder and yelling past him, “Yes, it’s done, you silly goat! Is the rest of the team ready?” She couldn’t help but shake her head at the Lieutenant. He’d done a fine enough job in the Navy, but all his protocol and properness flew out the window as soon as he got out on the eve of Phoenix Day. If this mission hadn’t been entirely his plan, she’d have thought the man had lost all military sense whatsoever.
“Good!” the Lieutenant shouted. “But do we really need to shout if the door’s open?” He turned his head toward her as she peeked out into the main cabin, in which he was leaning against the far bulkhead and grinning mischievously at her.
Summer’s smooth face formed a few creases as she glowered playfully at him, scrunching her face as tightly as she could and saying quietly, “No. We don’t. Are we almost there? I’m starting to lose my stomach to the simgrav. The Tees could have come up with something a little closer to normal levels. It’s weird being this light.” She exhaled slowly in an attempt to calm her stomach, which was not taking well to space travel.
“Aye, we’ll be there soon enough.” He bashed his hand against the door to his right twice. “Oi, how much longer d’you think, Mickey? Five, maybe ten minutes?” He pressed his ear to the door, just barely moving from his previous leaning position. After a few moments, he stood upright and said, “Yeah, he’s figuring about five minutes. Everybody’s suited up, Angus?”
“We’re all good to go, L.T.” Angus reported in a manner becoming of a military man, which was ironic because he was the only one on the shuttle with no military experience.
“Weapons are all good? No fingerprints?” The Lieutenants concern in this regard was shared by most of the crew. Even though they were willing to die if the need came about, they’d rather not be found out should they actually survive, and it was even more important that no one find out who had smuggled the weapons from the peacekeepers to the resistance. If the smugglers were found out, the Tees could easily crush the resistance’s supply lines.
“I wouldn’t worry about that, L.T. I checked ‘em all myself.” A bulking man with a thick Texas accent walked into the cabin. “If there’s anything I learned dusting for prints, it’s how ta’ get ‘em off.” The man grinned at the Lieutenant proudly and lifted the chin of his helmet The neck guard became tight, preventing him from leaning his head further back. “Cain’t say I’m too fond of these suits, though. Tees could’a given a bit more thought to comfort…”
“I don’t think the Tees give a rat’s–” Angus started before being abruptly interrupted by Summer.
“My studies have shown that the utmost care has been given to ensure the safety of the wearer in case of accidental venting due to hull breaches and the like. You may not want to wear these for pyjamas, but they’ll keep you alive in vacuum, under fire, and with a tank sitting on your chest.” Summer’s matter-of-fact tone made it clear that any further complaints would be pointless. The mission depended on the suits, so they were staying on. Besides, it would be critical in adding to the element of surprise when the Tees started to see their fellows firing on them.
The dark, mirrored visors that would conceal their identities were also designed to protect the crew’s eyes from radiant blasts caused by many battlefield weaponry and had the added benefit of a HUD wirelessly connected to the weapons in the suit’s immediate vicinity, removing any guesswork from ammunition count and aim. There were no sights on the Tees’ weapons, only small cameras used by the HUD to produce a reticle where each weapon was aimed over the wearer’s view of the battlefield, which was extended to 360 degrees by the cameras around the helmet. It took some getting used to, but it made suprise attacks from behind a thing of the past. Angus thought it was a lot like a video game, but when he mentioned this, the rest of the team scolded him for not taking the mission seriously.
Only a few minutes later, the shuttle was secured inside the target ship’s receiving bay, where Mickey would wait exactly twenty-eight minutes for the team to return. The rest of the team moved into the airlock, securing their visors and ensuring their weapons were loaded.
“Right, everyone,” Lieutenant Larry Denton said over the secure comm line for the team. “Let’s go Dragon slaying!”
The team nodded, taking a few possibly last glances at one another, and took off into the TAS Fhit’s receiving bay, making their way to the main hangar where five Dragon 52-Fs were waiting to be refueled. An explosion of the right variety there would take out not only the Dragons, but the entire aft quarter of the ship, including the aft galley, where five Dragon Riders were eating with other Tee pilots and flight officers.
Grie Khuda’Cronell was among them.
Eden
“Valkyr 53, this is Dragon King actual.” Your wireless goes off quietly beside you as you sit in the cockpit of your Valkyr, silently contemplating what dishes you should serve for dinner when your sister next comes to dinner.
“This is Valkyr 53. Go ahead, Dragon King.” You grow tired of the standardized protocols employed by the Armada, but they are a peeve which must be tolerated for the sake of this mission.
“53, we’ve been picking up some weird readings in your sector. We believe there’s an unidentified craft on the other side of the large gas planet. Please investigate.” Of course there is. Jupiter’s electromagnetic field makes for quite a light show on the sensors, which means anything suspected to be behind it probably doesn’t even exist. Sensor ghosts are rather common when scanning too close to a planet.
“I’m on my way,” you reply, ignoring protocols requiring you to terminate the conversation. You’re a Valkyrie, anyway, and the Valkyries are technically independent of the Thorlinthian government and its military. As such, you don’t have to follow Armadian procedures and protocols. After setting the hype coordinates, you secure yourself to the seat and engage the hype. A quick implosion and explosion later, you find yourself staring at Jupiter’s backside, searching for any possible ships using your close-range sensors.
After about half a day of scanning and nearly returning to Earth, you notice something strange out of the corner of your eye. There appears to be a slightly misshapen area on Jupiter’s atmosphere, which means only one thing to your well-trained mind: There is a gravitational disturbance beneath it. You fly closer to investigate.
Sure enough, once you get closer, you notice that there is a distinct change in the smooth appearance of the raging gases prevalent in Jupiter’s atmosphere. You perform a gravitational analysis using one of the auxiliary functions of the Timids and notice that there is a rather large ship floating about in Jupiter’s atmosphere. Due to the erratic trail it seems to have traced, however, it does not appear to be fully operational, if at all, and is being held up by the pressure of the gases surrounding it.
Sending a quick message to Drigondii detailing the situation, you take the Valkyr into the atmosphere, an action which any engineer would probably not advise. Many of Jupiter’s gases are highly corrosive, and the storms are extremely volatile. Keeping that in mind, you engage the plasma shielding around the Valkyr. While not strong enough to stop a projectile from making it through to the heavily armored hull, the plasma shield can maintain a comfortable bubble around the Valkyr through which the gases will not be able to pass.
Once you are within your entirely too limited visual range of the ship, you open the outer shields directly surrounding the cockpit, allowing you to rely on your eyes instead of the twitchy sensors in this highly electrical storm cell. What you can make out appears to be very old and shut down. You send out a few standard interrogative signals, questioning the ship’s identity, but you know that to be useless as you move back to your small office space in the area of the ship directly behind the galley.
Reaching your desk just as the third signal is being sent, you start looking through your drawers for a small box your mother-in-law had given you in case you encountered just such a ship and which you were expressly forbidden from opening otherwise. Taking it to the cockpit, you begin to fiddle with the complex symbol on top of the box, trying to return it to the same pattern you saw on it when it was closed in your mother-in-law’s private office. As the office she shared with her brother, the Director of Internal Security, there were no monitoring devices allowed in the entire building, which meant there were bugs everywhere, and she couldn’t explain the lock mechanism aloud.
Nonetheless, you are a Valkyrie, and you quickly remembered the pattern and took only moments to unscramble the lock. Once the symbol is restored to the Tyrian symbol of the Kuli, the box gives a slight whistle as the airtight seal is opened. Opening the box, you are surprised to find a single, handheld device with which you are well familiarized. It is an old-issue hand repeater. Remembering your instructions, you disassemble using only the mental powers you possess as a Valkyrie. As you reach the final pieces, however, you notice there are two pieces that very clearly do not belong in the repeater and which would have been damaged had the gun been disassembled manually. Removing the pieces, you reassemble the repeater and absent-mindedly place it in your armpit holster.
The pieces you’ve found are considerably less foreign, and you place them together in the only apparent manner you can. The completed device, no larger than the silence stone on your Valkyrie ring, begins manipulating itself and expanding in a manner that seems physically impossible. You then realize that you had just reassembled a small hype controller, though clearly not for the same hyping your people uses, as there is no popping as the device expands, turns, and contorts, only a light pouring sound as the air around the minute hype window is displaced as more and more of the device enters standard spacetime.
After several millidays, the device stops moving. Looking at the completely returned device now resting rather heavily on your lap, you are grateful for the systems actively countering the surplus gravity provided by Jupiter, as it would likely have otherwise crushed your legs. You feel as though perhaps Drigondii’s mother could have warned you to open the box on the deck of the ship. Giving the device a face you usually saved for a misbehaving Lihandii, who had incidentally been named after her paternal grandmother, you take it with one arm and bring it back to the cargo main, along with the box.
Upon reaching the cargo main, you place the device on the deck and begin to analyze it more thoroughly. Its lower half is rectangular in nature, with a lip around the middle of the device, revealing complex circuitry unlike anything you’ve seen in your lifetime. It does not appear to be active, however, and you quickly realize why.
Taking the box’s lid, you carefully place it over the device and lower it to the surrounding lip. The device responds with a whistling that informs you an airtight seal has been formed, and the symbol atop the box begins to flicker with a soft light. Just as a slight movement starts to be noticeable on the symbol and the flickering changes to a constant light, alarms begin to trip in your cockpit, and you move quickly to respond.
As you enter the cockpit, you are surprised to see the large ship rising steadily from its prior location. Looking to your alarms, you see that electrical systems have been detected throughout the ship, and the Valkyr is responding to the ship awakening. Securing yourself into the cockpit’s seat, you maneuver the Valkyr out of Jupiter’s atmosphere and into a geosynchronous orbit from which you can safely await the rising ship without the bother of more alarms indicative of excessive pressure, temperature, and gravity, and where you can return to the Kuli device.
Returning to the cargo main, you find the device floating helplessly in the air, and you bring it back to the deck, securing it with light cargo clamps. You notice that the Kuli symbol has protruded from the device, taking a more three-dimensional appearance. The device is clearly some sort of remote activation and control device for the large ship now rising out of the gas planet’s atmosphere.
A small hologram appears above the device, displaying the ship and denoting areas which are exposed to the vacuum of space or had been exposed to high levels of radiation. You make note of a few choice areas on the ship and return to the cockpit, maneuvering the Valkyr into the ship’s main bay, which has not yet recovered enough to initiate the docking shield. Securing the Valkyr to the deck of the bay, you take the device and grab a life support extender for your flight suit.
As the suit’s helmet activates, pressurizing the suit, you give your leg a reminiscent rub, remembering another occasion in which the suit had staved off death for you just long enough to save your life. Smiling at other details of the memory, you release your leg and move through the Valkyr’s airlock, passing into the larger ship’s main bay. This was clearly once a military ship, but the bay appears to have been repurposed to receive shuttles and other non-militant ships, as the bay’s many shiplocks appear to have been jury-rigged to fit a larger variety of ships and shuttles than it had originally been designed. As you enter the passageway through a malfunctioning airlock, you notice that quite a bit of the ship appears to have been pieced together in a hurry using other ships.
Deciding to consult the device’s map, you begin to head forward, toward the area most highly shielded and protected, an area that doesn’t appear to have lost any of its functions and therefore a likely important area. Looking about as you go through the damaged passageways, you examine the more highly exposed areas of the ship. Based on the damaged airlocks and the sheer depth of the hull, clearly apparent through the holes that have been corroded away by Jupiter’s atmosphere, the ship must have been sitting in the storms of Jupiter for a very long time, somewhere on the scale of hundreds of thousands of cycles, perhaps even millions.
Finally reaching a sealed area, you pass through an auxiliary airlock and are not particularly surprised to find the air to be nearly toxic in oxygen levels. Based on the ship map on the remote device, the ship got its oxygen from plants and bacteria, which would certainly outlive any crew to produce carbon dioxide. You smartly decide to keep your life support engaged, but set it to retrieve any needed oxygen from the surrounding air to maintain a steady level of oxygen to carbon dioxide in its contained air supply.
Passing by one of the arboretums on your way to the cockpit, you notice many of the plants have died off from lack of carbon dioxide in the air, a bitter reminder of just how long the crew must have been dead, though the lack of contaminants in the air had nearly halted the decomposition of the bodies, which were still strewn about the passageways. The problem with the air must once have been quite the opposite what it is now, likely due to the loss of arboretums throughout the ship, which appear largely to be the most heavily damaged areas.
Consulting the map again, you look for an area similar to a bridge, where many personnel would be present. The first few areas you check out appear to have been galleys and engineering spaces. Reaching one of the uppermost but aftermost areas in question, you notice the door holds the same Kuli symbol as the device. After trying for a few moments in vain to search for an opening mechanism, you roll your eyes at yourself. Well that should have been obvious. Almost dejectedly, you hold out the remote device to the door, and after several beeps, thunks and hisses, the door separating the rest of the ship from the bridge’s entry airlock opens.
You enter into the airlock and shut the door behind you. Once several more beeps, thunks, and hisses have taken place, a very loud whooshing sound comes from overhead as the air is ejected from the airlock back into the main filtration system. When the final hisses of air are gone, two thunks are heard, the first from above and the second from below. Another rush of air enters into the airlock, and you are shocked to see after a sample that this is ideally filtered air, a nearly impossible feat after all this time. Moments later, the door to the highly sterile bridge opens, and you are amazed at the sleek simplicity of the design as you scan the room with your helmlight.
A series of pedestals are sticking out of the deck on each side of the bridge. Atop each pedestal is a metallic orb. There is a sum total of seven of these pedestals, the foremost being at the center of the bridge instead of one of the sides. Directly behind each pedestal is a round hatch and beside each hatch are two slots, one on either side, in which a device exactly like the one you are carrying should be resting. There is one missing from the foremost control suite, and you make your way to it, making note of the lack of displays or viewports. However the ship was controlled, its operation was beyond the understanding of any Thorlinthian, excepting perhaps the elder Lihandii Khuda’Cronell, your mother-in-law.
Placing the device carefully into the slot, the symbol retreated again into its place on the skin of the device, and the map of the ship disappeared. Immediately, the bridge’s domed wall came alight with a gentle red light, and each of the pedestals came alight with holographic displays while the devices on each side of the hatches lifted their kuli symbols on columns of light to the same level as the pedestals. The symbols then activated holographic displays of their own, facing inward to the hatches.
Upon this task being completed, hissing can be heard from each of the hatches, followed by a metallic thunk and a hydraulic hum as the hatches lift to reveal cylinders, which when fully lifted from the hatches’ enclosure, slide aft on the deck silently as the hatches return to their position flush with the deck. At this point, you look about and notice that the cylinders are actually stasis pods, and though every instinct in you tells you to draw your repeater in anticipation, you instead remove your holster and place it on the ground before you without drawing it, sensing a power comparable to your own from each of these pods. You’re outnumbered, and at the very least, whoever are in these pods are alive and potentially as dangerous as yourself, if not more so, a thought you immediately wish you hadn’t considered.
Since you have no way of determining what kind of stasis this has been, you have no idea in what condition the crew will emerge. You only know that you are usually rather irritable after a long stasis, and there has probably never been a stasis this long before. You think back to Kahlisa, who was able to remain alive in a deep state of meditation for cycles without nourishment or a stasis system. You wonder how long she could have lasted in one of these pods.
Your thoughts are brought to a halt as an arm comes around your neck. Sensing no killing intent, you do not choose to fight against the hold, as this could result only in harm to yourself and your captor. Remaining calm, you reach out with what Kahlisa called the mindspeak and what Drigondii called telepathy and touch the mind of your captor, sending only the message, ‘I am not your enemy.’
The man holding you, however, does not release you just yet, responding with the thought, ‘Who are you, and what are you doing on my ship?’ The thought is not panicked. The man is simply taking the most cautious and logical course of action, neutralizing a possible threat while assessing its status as such. He communicates with the same calculated measures as Kahlisa, though he seems to be more highly trained. Putting the pieces together, you assume this man and, most likely, every other member of this small remnant of a crew is Kuli.
‘Let the girl go, J’Ulus. She’s the one who just brought the ship back online. The Watch must have sent her here with the secondary Key. It’s the only way our systems could have been reactivated.’ The second voice, though still in mindspeak, seems only to be such out of courtesy for the fact that not everyone in the bridge may speak the same language. ‘What is your name, young student? Do you bring word from Tyria? We’ve completed our mission. Twenty planets have been successfully seeded. We would have kept going, but we ran into… difficulties’
You don’t understand what he’s talking about and tell him such. ‘I don’t understand. I am Terira, but I am no student, and I don’t know anyone named Tyria.’ At these final words, the crew of the bridge all take on expressions of mixed sorrow and pity.
A female to your left with flaming red hair speaks, ‘Tyria is the home galaxy. Are you saying you are not Kuli?’
‘She’s at least Linthian, J’Hiloa. Look at her. Looks to be from the main system, too. That system went through the Tear, though. What are you doing here, Terira?’ The woman who speaks this time is on your right. She has hair white as snow, but her face shows no signs of age, and her eyes are a sight to match her hair.
A hiss comes from the foremost pod, and a man with red hair and a fatherly face emerges. All the crew look to him, and you do the same. This man, however, dons a mischievous smile and spoke aloud in a language you are extremely surprised to hear and that seems to take aback the rest of the crew as well: English. “I think I might be able to explain the situation. Welcome aboard the Seed Ship Eden, better known to its operating crew as New Beginnings 8, young Thorlinthian. I’ve been waiting a very long time for your arrival.”
Family Dinner
“Daddy!” A now ten cycle-old Gildr Khuda’Mundi ran into his father’s arms for the first time in his life only minutes after finally landing on Earth. The man catching him, Grie Khuda’Mundi, was quickly reduced to tears, a highly uncommon sight on a Dragon Rider, particularly when still wearing his Drigarmr. Still, Grie hadn’t seen his son since shortly after the boy’s first cycle-mark over nine cycles ago. His violet eyes filled with tears quickly, and he gripped his son more tightly as his cheeks began to cool from the tears evaporating in the wind.
“Oh, my boy! You’re so big.” Grie held his son out at arm’s length as he said this, then picked him up, making a small seat for him in the crook of his arm, a feat that most would no longer be able to manage at the boy’s current age; but Grie was a Dragon Rider, and his strength was second to very few, so it was to him as effortless as an atmo-hype. With the boy secured and tightly embracing his father around the shoulders, Grie pulled his wife closer for a kiss.
“We took the first passenger ship out of Osgord as soon as we could. Oh, Grie, I’ve missed you.” Priha’Di broke into tears of her own as she spoke. “I’m so sorry about Veriar, Grie.”
At this, Grie’s face took a more somber look upon itself for a few moments. “Accidents happened our first few cycles here. The people weren’t quite as receptive to the idea of the Monarchy as we’d hoped at first. It wasn’t even an attack. We had the English Prime Minister in custody at the time, and a protester jumped onto the shuttle to make it land and got sucked into the turbines. The whole thing was just an accident. So many people…” His voice trailed off into the same wind that was tousling his green hair. Priha’Di nodded.
“Now! Where’s that sister of yours?” Priha’Di smiled sharply at this, wanting to move the conversation to a lighter venue. Little Gildr even looked up from the hand that had been playing with his father’s short red cape to search for his aunt and playmate.
“Auntie Kehrann! Auntie Kehrann, where’d you go?” His boyish voice, loud as it was, carried across the entire room, and a short, green-haired teenager quickly scampered her way to the group with her backbag bouncing to and fro as she went.
“Hi there, Grie-ellr!” Kehrann worked her way into a one armed hug from Grie and then reached up and disheveled her nephew’s hair. “Thanks for calling me, Gildr. I thought I’d lost you guys!”
“Ungr-bug, what are you doing here? I’d have thought you’d go back to our parents’ home when these two shipped over here. I’m so happy to see you! Oh, hey, is this everyone? We have to go register with the umbodsmother before the housing office closes.” Grie looked about, half-expecting to see another of his sisters or his brother.
“Nope!” Kehrann beamed. “We’ve got one more family member to grab before we leave,” she said before scampering off in a slightly more intentional direction than that she had used when finding them.
“Who else is here, dear?” Grie looked to his wife, who bit away the smile creeping onto her face. Grie may not have seen that expression in a long time, but he still knew it meant he’d like whatever the surprise was. He grinned and looked back to his son. “So have you been learning a lot from your mommy?” The boy shook his head fervently, making his mother scoff and pinch his leg playfully.
“Yes, he has. We just finished hyping physics last week. Sorry, I meant to get to it a lot sooner, but there were some timing issues when we were getting ready to leave, so he got off to a late start.” At this, Grie laughed loudly. “What? What’s so funny?” Priha’Di looked totally bewildered.
“Oh, Pri, you would know if you’d been with me to the American school their last winter. You know, they don’t follow a standard cycle here. The planet revolves almost thirty-five days fast. Oh, but the local day is exactly one standard day. They split it up weird, though. You’ll get used to it.. Anyway, by little Gildr’s age, the locals haven’t even learned differential mathematics. He’s the best-educated child his age on the whole planet. There aren’t any other kids here with former Valkyries for mommies, after all. Well, except the Sheii’Cronell’s daughter, that is.”
“The Sheii’Cronell’s married?” Priha’Di was even more astounded at this fact than Grie had been when he found out. It was another exceptional trait of the man he had come to see as something of a friend and mentor. Sheii’Cronells didn’t marry. They were supposedly infertile. “Who’s his wife? Do I know her?”
“That’s the best part, Pri. It’s Terira.” Grie beamed at this particular statement. Priha’Di hadn’t heard anything from her sister since she had left for the Deep Space Navigation Program over her (the same mission, in fact, during which Terira found Earth), in main due to the fact that she hadn’t stayed on Thor when she married Grie, who had been a low-ranking enlisted Armadian at the time. By the time Terira got back, Priha’Di had already moved to Osgord.
“You’re joking!” Priha’Di exclaim
ed. “Daddy’s joking, huh, little Gildr?” She tickled the boy, who started wiggling and laughing, which made it considerably harder for Grie to hold onto him. Grie just kept smiling and looking at his wife. “Wait,” she said, her tickling slowing to a crawl as she looked back at her husband. “You’re not joking?” He shook his head. “Terira’s here?” He nodded. “And she’s married to the Sheii’Cronell?” Again, he nodded. “The same Sheii’Cronell who saved your life and got you into the Dragon Riders is actually our brother-in-law?”
“Now you’re getting it…” Grie smiled even wider. “She’s invited us to dinner, too, which is another reason we have to hurry up to register. That’s why I told you to dress nicely today in my last correspondence.”
At this, Priha’Di looked positively mortified. She had dressed with a slightly different type of appeal in mind when planning to see her husband for the first time in nine cycles. She hardly considered her present outfit, a sweater suit with leggings and a ladies’ kilt, appropriate for dinner with a Sheii’Cronell and a sister she hadn’t seen in about fifteen cycles. Grie must have sensed this, though, since his next words were, “You look great, Pri. I think Terira’s wearing something casual, though the men are obviously wearing our Drigarmr formals. Oh, speaking of which!” Grie reached into the Armadian pattern satchel he was carrying and pulled out a small set of Dragon Rider’s Drigarmr, though with the armor itself made of local leather instead of actual Drigarmr. “This is for you to wear, little guy.” Gildr grabbed excitedly at the armor and instantly did his best to wrinkle the material with his arms as children do when they hold clothes they love.
“Still making trouble, I see,” a familiar voice said from behind Grie, the speaker placing his wrinkled hand on Grie’s shoulder. Grie turned to look at the little, graying man.
“Hello, grandfather.” It was a phrase of caring practice, holding in it an old formality a little boy had once learned to make his grandfather proud.
“This is everyone,” Kehrann said from beside her grandfather. “Now we can go, Grie-ellr.”
“Sounds great,” Grie said enthusiastically. This was the third best day of his life, the second being his wedding, and the first being Gildr’s birth. He was looking forward to it. “Well, the Umbodsmother’s office closes soon, so we should get going. I’ve got a pulse car waiting for us. The office will send someone to get all your belongings.
Agreeing, they all headed off to the outer shell of the docks. “So, grandfather, what are you doing here,” Grie asked as the boy in his arm excitedly tried to work his way into the Drigarmor without taking off any of the clothes he was already wearing, which included a rather thick coat and made his task practically impossible.
“Well, you know your grandmother was my second wife. After she died a few months before Priha’Di here ended up leaving, I was offered to come live with these two young ladies and my favorite little man here.” At this, he pinched one Gildr’s cheeks gently. Gildr made a halfhearted effort to stop the man, but he obviously didn’t really mind. “When we got word that families were allowed to head out to Earth, Priha’Di asked me to come with. Said it’d be a good surprise for you and that I’d be good fun for Gildr during the trip.”
“It’s the beard, grandfather. Kids can’t help but fall in love with you when you’ve got that silver beard. You remind them too much of the Saint of Winter.” That was probably true. All children loved that old story and the presents they got every year ‘from the Saint of Winter’ on Drigan’di’s Day.
“Well, in any case, I’m glad I offered. Your parents were going to send him to an Ellrhome. That would have been a tragedy,” Priha’Di added into the conversation. Kehrann and Grie nodded.
“Still, I can’t believe my little Grie grew up to be a Drig Reidr. I remember when they first started up over a hundred cycles ago on Thorlinthia’s side of the Bifrost, you know. Who knows how long it’s been on this side. How that new Sheii’Cronell managed to synchronize the two sides still leaves me totally stumped, and I’ve been trying to figure it out for the past seven cycles.”
“It’s Dragon Riders now, grandfather, and it’s not as bad as it used to be. We aren’t all bloodthirsty Oa’din, you know. And the Sheii’Cronell isn’t a bad man, either. Something’s different about him. You’ll see what I mean. You’re joining us for dinner, I assume?” Grie hoped he could show his grandfather that Drigondii Sheii’Cronell wasn’t like Fargerre Sheii’Cronell at all.
“Of course I’m coming. Not even an old man’s prejudice could keep old Gril’Die from having dinner with family, and there’s no questioning that this is a family dinner. I still have my old uniform in good condition. I’ll change at the same time Gildr does. And trust me, I’d love nothing more than to meet a good Sheii’Cronell.”
A few hours later, according to Grie, the family was on the shuttle to America for the family dinner. Apparently, Drigondii had made his home in a small base in an area called Texas for reasons undisclosed. He seemed fond of the area.
In the shuttle, Gril’Die Khuda’Mundi stood out a bit with the standard Armadian uniform, admittedly much more highly decorated than most. The other two males were wearing the Dragon Rider uniform (which still seemed to fascinate Gildr), and the females were wearing the same semi-formal attire in which they had arrived. Every time Grie looked over to see if his grandfather was paying attention, he’d find the old man’s eyes gently fixed on the speaker even as his hands continued to fiddle with his uniform, trying to further perfect it.
A few minutes before they landed, Grie clapped his hands together loudly, and everyone jumped. “I just remembered to warn you that our hosts have another guest we’ll be meeting today.” When everyone gave him a look that said they clearly didn’t understand why this mandated a warning, he added, “She’s an alien. Just don’t freak out. She’s very kind, and she’s been very helpful with relations with the locals. Go figure, right? But she was held in custody by the Earthers for quite some time, so she’s become a bit shy around new people. I called ahead to let them know I was bringing more than just Pri and Gildr, but I just thought I’d let you all know not to act too surprised at her appearance. Just don’t give her any weird looks, please.”
Once everyone had agreed to this, Grie nodded, smiled, patted his boy’s head, and walked into the cockpit to oversee the landing procedures, since they’d need his authorization number to get through to the Sheii’Cronell’s residence. The shuttle touched down without incident, and the Khuda’Mundi family stepped out together to see a surprisingly small and plain house before them. It was quite unlike what they would have expected from a Sheii’Cronell, but nothing about this Sheii’Cronell was to be as expected, apparently.
Grie took Priha’Di and Gildr by the hand and walked to the front door with Gril’Die and Kehrann in tow behind them. He lifted Gildr again when they reached the door and had him knock. From inside, the scraping of wooden chairs against ceramic flooring heralded the fact that someone was coming to the door, which opened shortly thereafter.
A kind looking young woman with blue hair and green eyes who held a remarkable resemblance to her sister stood at the door in a sweater and ladies’ kilt. Smiling, she said, “Hello, Pri. I’ve missed you. Won’t you and your family come in. Hello again, Grie.”
“Hello, Terira. This is my son, Gildr; my sister, Kehrann; and my grandfather, Gril’Die.” Grie introduced everyone one at a time, gesturing to each of them.
Terira beamed, escorting them to the house’s dining room, in which waited Drigondii Sheii’Cronell and their alien guest. “Dear, this is Grie’s family, and this also happens to be my sister, Priha’Di. Pri, you’re very well known in this house. Umm, sweetheart, where did Lihandii go?” While shaking everyone’s hands, Drigondii pointed into the kitchen, where a young girl with blue hair no older than Gildr was grabbing a bowl to bring to the table. “Right, everyone, this is my daughter, Lihandii. Say hello, dear.” The girl managed out what was apparently a hello and set the bowl upon the table, finishing the final preparations for their dinner.
“Forgive me,” Gril’Die said. Everyone looked to the old man, who was looking to the alien with tears streaming down his face. “Forgive me, but I must ask you. What is your name?” The alien looked to the man, and its expression changed from one of curiosity to one of concern.
“Her name is–” Terira began but was interrupted when the alien began to speak, which was obviously something that did not happen often around strangers.
“This one’s name is Kahlisa. It is very good to meet you.” Kahlisa set one of her six hands on Gril’Die’s shoulder and whispered something into his ear. The man immediately embraced Kahlisa, a strange sight for everyone in the room but a calming and welcome one at that.
“I am honored to meet you, Kahlisa. And I am so glad that I have lived to this day. Thank you for your words. They mean a great deal.” Gril’Die wiped his tears and looked to Drigondii. Everyone finished introducing one another, and the family sat to the table. Kahlisa merely lowered herself onto her lowest set of hands to bring herself to the level of the table, where she had a quite different meal from everyone else.
Before the prayer, Grie noticed, Drigondii and his daughter made the same two sweeping motions with their fingers over their bodies and did so again at the end of the prayer. This was never pointed out or explained, but Grie did find it odd. “Now then,” Drigondii said to his extended family, which had become much larger this day, “I understand you’ve all been waiting quite some time to try Earther food, and I won’t make you wait any longer. I will say that this meal was made as a joint effort between myself, Terira, and Lihandii, so we all hope you enjoy it. I am very pleased to have such a large and wonderful family.” Drigondii smiled, and the family ate.
Grie’s Letter
My Dearest Priha’Di,
It’s been two whole cycles since I saw you last. I still remember what you said the day I left. To be honest, it’s part of what’s gotten me through this journey. Even with the Timids, we can only safely travel so far every day with a ship this large and highly manned, but today marks an amazing point in our journey. During the third hype today, we officially crossed the halfway point between the Bifrost and this new planet, Earth. I met with the Sheii’Cronell who’s taking us there about a week ago, and I must tell you, he’s nothing like the stories!
I had been going to the forward galley to talk to Veriar. You remember Veriar, I’m sure. I was one of his attendants at his wedding three cycles ago. It’s actually his third cycle-mark tomorrow, and I thought it would be fun to get together. So I was on my way to see him to make plans, and the ship encountered a planetoid cloud, so we started performing some of the flashier maneuvers these massive girls can do, and one of the pulse-cars beside me came loose of its fasteners and almost crushed me. I was terrified, Priha’Di. I must be honest with you.
Anyway, there I am, standing certain of my death, and this Sheii’Cronell just appears between me and the pulse-car in a blur and just catches it like it was a fielded playball. I thanked him, and he actually looked at me as if to say it was no bother! I had always heard that Sheii’Cronell’s don’t look a man in the eye unless he either greatly respects him as a warrior or wants to kill him, but there was something about his eyes that was almost gentle. It was a sad softness, too, like he had once experienced a great loss.
So he looks at me and says, “Are you alright?” And, of course, I was so blown away that he would even talk to me that I just blithered about the words trying to leave my mouth. And do you know what he did next, Priha’Di? He actually escorted me to the forward galley and pulled aside Veriar for me. Then he took us to his personal wardroom, where we had the most delicious meats and vegetables that he claimed actually came from the world we’re heading to! I really hope the people there are willing to join the Monarchy. It would be wonderful to eat such foods regularly.
I only wish you could have tasted the food! There was one fruit in particular called a watermelon… Oh, Priha’Di, it was so sweet, and the juices literally just flowed every time I took a bite from my slice. And did I mention that they’re easily twice as big as a head? For a small one? And speaking of small ones, there was this root called a potato. Apparently, the people of Earth actually pull it out of the dirt, wash it off, and use it to make all sorts of side dishes. Who would ever think to eat the root of a plant? I mean, yes, we use some roots to produce chemicals for medicines, but that’s different from just eating something that spent its whole life covered in dirt. Anyway, we had what he called mashed potatoes, where you crush the potato into a paste and mix in a small amount of churned cream to give it some color and add to the flavor. He even said that these are simple dishes made quite often on parts of Earth. Can you imagine?
While we were eating, the Sheii’Cronell asked if I had someone dear to me, so of course I brought you up. How could I not? You’re such an important part of my life, even if we are separated by such a distance now. And the Bifrost. Apparently, there’s a chance that the time that passes here does so at such a different rate from over there that a milliday on one side could be cycles on the other. Still, I cannot help but pray to the Great One that I may see you again one day soon.
After the dinner, I got to talk to the Sheii’Cronell about my job here. I often regret not going to the Academy, but he said I should just apply for the Dragon Riders since there’s no rank in the Dragon Riders, and he says there aren’t enough Riders with my particular skill set. I wonder if he had that in mind all along when he saved my life… So I’m going to apply and just see what happens.
Oh, and there’s something else about this Sheii’Cronell. I saw his eyes shine red just like the stories when he had just caught the pulse-car, but they’re usually just a light reddish-brown. I’ve never heard of someone changing their eye color like he did. Something about him just makes me think he’s not the same kind of demon the Sheii’Cronells have always been. There’s just something undeniably good in him.
But enough about that. In your last letter, you said you’d gotten into a fight with my sister. What happened? I know she acts tough, but don’t let the green hair fool you. She’s pretty sensitive about some things, so please don’t be too hard on her. She’s doing us a huge favor by helping you watch after little Gildr. And make sure you’re taking care of yourself, too! You can worry so much sometimes, I can’t help but think you might forget occasionally that you need rest, too.
I’ve heard that once we get to Earth and work out arrangements with the locals, we’re going to try to build a base over its southernmost pole. Wouldn’t that be great? Then, you’d be able to move there with me. I have a pretty good feeling I’ll get that position as a Dragon Rider, and they get excellent benefits. You could bring Gildr, and we could keep our little family close. I hope things go smoothly on Earth. Halfway there…
I miss you, Priha’Di. No matter what else is going on around me, all I can think about is you and Gildr. We’ll be together again. I promise it. Stay strong. Hopefully, the next time you see me, we’ll be able to enjoy an entire bucket of potatoes,
and I’ll cook them all sorts of different ways for you and Gildr.
With the greatest love,
Grie
Last Day at Work
“Hey, Clayton,” Henry Nicholson whispered from his rack. He turned his head toward the other man in their shared quarters. The man just grunted, doing his best to stay asleep. “Clayton, come on. This is important.”
“What do you want, Nicholson? I’m trying to sleep.” Well, that was fair. They had another 24 hour shift in the labs in just a few more hours, and time spent sleeping was invaluable. Still, something was bothering Nicholson.
“Just listen!” Nicholson’s eyes expressed a slight sense of paranoia, which was not in small part due to the nature of the dream from which he had just awakened. Silence followed.
“I don’t hear anything, Nicholson. What am I supposed to– Wait.” Clayton sat up and looked at Nicholson, who gave him a ‘told you so’ look. “What happened to the engines?” The engines were loud enough to be an annoying sound wherever one happened to be on the Leviathan. Their silence could not be good news.
“I don’t understand. It’s Tuesday. What are the engines doing off?” In order to avoid being spotted as unusual, the ship remained in constant movement all days but Saturday, which was a work-free day for the Thorlinthians. That meant any movement on the sea for anything other than storm avoidance was not permitted on Saturdays, so even the Leviathan stopped, again in an attempt to avoid detection. This had been the pattern for four straight years, since the ship had headed out into the ocean and faked its own disappearance.
So why were the engines silent? This could only mean one thing: Thorlinthians were onboard. “How many do you think there are?” Clayton asked with a worried expression.
“If we’re very lucky, a lot. If we’re very unlucky, one.” Clayton’s eyes widened at this comment.
“You don’t think they’d send a Dragon Rider here, do you? I mean, they’re for taking down government facilities and being highly visible. Nobody even knows we’re still out here except top tier Resistance members…”
“I don’t think they’d send a Dragon Rider, no, but before we left, there had been stories on the radio about a Valkyrie called the Angel of Death. She doesn’t have a copilot, though. Some say she died, and others say she’s just that good. Either way, she’s supposedly been taking out Top Secret facilities single-handedly since Phoenix Day seven years ago. If there’s not a raiding party here, it’s got to be her. And if we’re very, very lucky, we won’t all die.” Nicholson grimaced at the thought as he sat up and began to dress. Clayton was doing the same.
“Well,” Clayton said with a slight, half-hearted smile, “I guess we’d better make sure we send as much information back to the Muffin Man before that happens, then.”
Nicholson nodded, and they both headed out. When they got to their lab, they immediately started the ERT protocol, which released a virus that would hack all the other computers on the ship and send their data to the Muffin Man, the leader of the Resistance. They didn’t know what all was being researched there, but they knew it wasn’t all oxygen production. They had heard rumors of a secret weapon being developed in the area beneath the lab decks, which could only be accessed through special hatches that remained closed at all times. The people down there must have their own way of getting food.
“Hey, Clayton,” Nicholson called out from one of the computers. “Why is he called the Muffin Man? You’ve met him, right?” Clayton nodded.
“It’s got something to do with his name. Before he joined up, he was CIA or Secret Service or something like that, but he was declared dead when all those organizations were taken out by the Dragon Riders. He’s still got a pretty nice scar from it, too. Anyway, if he uses his real name, they’d probably figure out he was alive and start looking for him, so he calls himself the Muffin Man.”
Nicholson made a sound that made it clear he understood and dropped the subject. Everyone knew the Muffin Man, which was kind of the joke. Since it was a children’s rhyme, you could ask anyone if they knew the Muffin Man, and they’d respond, which was also normal. What was not normal was that instead of replying with Drury Lane, a local who was part of the resistance would say the location of the nearest Resistance safe house.
“Talking about the Muffin Man always makes me so hungry,” Nicholson said, patting his belly in a way a larger man may. It was a habit he had gotten into before Phoenix Day, and his weight loss over the years hadn’t been able to end the tic. It was an amusing sight on such a thin man, but it reminded Clayton how much things had changed since the Thorlinthians arrived.
“I heard they legalized a standard trade system a couple of years ago. Apparently the trade freeze was just to stabilize the world economy. I wonder what else is legal again.” Clayton didn’t actually care what was legal anymore, but it was a common topic of conversation.
“Clayton, you’ve been using that line for two years now. I haven’t heard anything you haven’t heard.” Nicholson wasn’t in the mood to talk about the Thorlinthians, which was understandable. A few hours passed without much more conversation.
“Wow,” Nicholson said, surprised. “That’s everything. I guess we may as well go get something to eat since we aren’t dead yet. Maybe there’s no Thorlinthian here, after all.” He chuckled, hopeful.
“Yeah,” Clayton agreed as they headed out of the lab into the passageway. “Maybe they’re just performing maintenance on the… engines…” They stopped in the middle of their walk to the galley as they looked first at the open hatch, then at the blue-haired woman pointing a pistol at Clayton.
The woman, haggard and beaten in appearance, speaks in a voice that seems to have taken a few blows to the vocal chords, “What is this place, who are you, and where are we?”
Khuda’Mundi’s Confession
As a Minor Admiral, I remember, I was a bit less abrasive than I later became in life. My career had consisted only of quelling rebellions that were inevitable on the outer planets. Due to the dangerous debris from the remnants of other, less fortunate outer planets’ collisions during the Ragn’Rouk, the surviving outer planets were difficult to reach for most cargo vessels, which meant that they mainly had to fend for themselves, supply-wise. This gave them considerably more independence than other planets, which in turn made them more rebellious.
The most distant planet from the core of the system was Nivlahim, a planet which had itself not completely survived the Ragn’Rouk. The initial passage of our system through the Bifrost had altered Nivlahim’s orbit so severely that it had actually rammed another planet whose name was lost long ago. Were it not for the fact that Nivlahim had already had a rather extreme environment for which its inhabitants had heavily adapted, the impact alone would have destroyed all life on the planet. Its atmosphere had dissipated to near-nothingness, and the volcanic activity that followed the collision made what little atmosphere remained highly toxic. But the people of Nivlahim had built most of their society beneath the oceans, and so a loss of atmosphere had little effect.
As if the planet had not suffered enough from the collision, Nivlahim had also been sent into an elongated orbit, causing extreme winters two standard cycles long. Still, its people had survived. The ice above their homes grew thicker, which helped to insulate them from the cold above them. With an entire quadrant of the planet decimated, a hellish winter, and almost no atmosphere, the people of Nivlahim had to form a very different culture from that most formed before space travel became again viable well over a hundred cycles after the Ragn’Rouk.
It wasn’t until Nivlahim began sending out its own ships two hundred cycles after that, looking for other survivors of the Ragn’Rouk, that the other planets of Thorlinthia even knew they had survived. Because of this incredible feat, in fact, the people of Nivlahim became known to the Thorlinthian people as the heroes of the ice for quite some time. Then, upon the annunciation of the Monarch, they rejected the Thorlinthian identity. They were proud of their planetary heritage, and they refused to adopt the Monarchy and abandon their republic. The Monarch refused to accept this and sent the Armada to forcibly occupy Nivlahim. That sparked the beginning of the rebellions.
The Armada was never able to overtake Nivlahim. Due to the nature of the atmosphere, troops could not be landed above the ice, and ships were immediately overwhelmed when they tried to land in the cramped Nivlahim docks. The Armada’s assault ships held no measure against the ice, which was miles thick. Eventually, the planet was merely quarantined. No cargo would be taken to Nivlahim, and any ships leaving the planet were to be destroyed.
Upon word of the first assault on a Nivlahim ship reaching the planet, we discovered how well suited to war the Nivlahim were. Swarms of small fighters and bombers would launch against a single ship at a time, making short work of the quarantine. Larger ships followed. They were slow and clumsy, but they were so heavily gunned and armored that our ships were no match for their fleet, which flew in close formation toward the core. Then, when they reached the fourth orbital range, they stopped.
They had been sent out to remove the quarantine and any members of the Armada from stopping their trade with the other outer planets. Their cargo ships were unlike our own, equipped with weaponry capable of destroying any small debris in their way and maneuverable enough to work around any debris too large to destroy. Their technology was then shared with the outer planets, and those planets formed the Ginnung Domain. The highly militarized void between the Ginnung Domain and the Thorlinthian core worlds became known as the Ginnung Gap.
After over a thousand cycles of all-out war, the Monarch declared a cease-fire. But secretly, he had formed a military organization completely independent of the Armada. Composed entirely of Khuda’Cronell females who possessed unique genetic makeup, the organization was known as the Valkyries, alluding to the great Valkyri’din who had fought in the Eternal War of scripture. The Valkyries were assassins, straight and to the point. They utilized two-person crews and the latest technology to achieve nearly unlimited military strength with only a handful of ships, called Valkyrs.
Valkyrs 1 through 4 were all built within the same cycle, and they were quickly utilized to infiltrate the heavily armored ships guarding the Ginnung Gap. Within hours of arriving, the Valkyries left the ships to die in the cold of space, their crews freshly killed inside the only things keeping them warm. As they moved from ship to ship, the Armada moved in behind them, disposing quickly of fighters that had once been superior to their ancestral counterparts. As they worked through the Ginnung Domain, the Armada occupied the worlds that had seceded from Thorlinthia all those many cycles before. It was not until only Nivlahim remained that the Armada stopped moving outward.
The Valkyries moved in to infiltrate Nivlahim’s cities, but Valkyrs 1 and 4 were gunned down by the people of Nivlahim. Only Valkyrs 2 and 3 remained, but upon reaching the docks of Rym’Yotn, Nivlahim forces overtook Valkyr 2. Valkyr 3 managed to land, and when the boots of the Valkyries touched Nivlahim deckplates, the war was as good as over. More deadly than any ship, Valkyries had strange power that gave them impossible speed and reflexes. A single Valkyrie was stronger than a hundred Special Operations Armadians. Though they carried a repeater for suppressive fire, they tore their foes apart with their bare hands. In centidays, they had moved to the Capi
tol in Rym’Yotn. A full surrender was declared by the Nivlahim senate, and the war had ended. All the worlds of Thorlinthia were united under the Monarch, and the tales of the blue-haired angels of death faded into legend.
Nonetheless, the occasional rebellion still sprung up in the outer worlds, and the Armada spent most of its time providing a preventive presence in the Ginnung Gap, still riddled with dead ships such in number that it was just as hazardous to travel through as the debris fields.
So there I was, a Minor Admiral suppressing another small rebellion, when the Bifrost came alight. It was well known through the Armada that flying too close to the Bifrost would result in the total destruction of your ship, but this was not the light of a core explosion. “Admiral, we’re picking up some strange signals from the Bifrost!” A young ensign panicked as he announced his news without even standing from his console. “There’s a very large ship out there, sir. I’ve never seen anything so massive.”
It must be one of the ancient worlds, I thought. If a world collided with the Bifrost, it would surely spew strange radio signals, and small bits would likely remain of the planet, large enough certainly to be confused with a ship.
No such luck. “Sir, we’re receiving the signals on every wavelength. It doesn’t sound like noise. It’s almost like…” The ensign trailed off, concentrating more intensely on his displays. I pulled up the signal.
A noise rang throughout the bridge. It was almost like a voice, but there was something more animal to the sound. Nevertheless, the same sound repeated through the bridge. “See if you can clean that up. The ancient worlds produce all sorts of interference.” The ensign nodded and spoke quietly to a handful of enlisted men that worked under him. They nodded in turn and got to work removing the signal noise by comparing the signal on varying wavelengths.
“Garf’kan, Fehmadadi bara. Defri serai farjin? Fehmadadi jibah serai farjin!” Such was the content of the message. It was being broadcast on all wavelengths in raw audio. This was a distress beacon, but who–?
“Sir, the ship just passed Nivlahim! It looks like it’ll reach the Ginnung Gap in ten centidays.” The minor officer speaking from battlefield detection was frightened and rightly so. If that ship was moving quickly enough to close that void in only ten centidays, colliding with a planet could be enough to eliminate all life on the planet it hit within five.
“Does it show any sign of slowing?” I grimaced. Here was our first extra-Thorlinthian contact since our system’s passage through the Bifrost, and we faced rapidly expanding crisis. If it slowed down enough, we could aim our weapons to its foremost points and keep it from hitting a planet.
“Y-yes, sir. In fact, it appears to be slowing at such a rate that it will stop of its own accord by the time it reaches Valhal’s orbital range.” That was too quick. Acceleration that great would crush any ship.
“Double-check those calculations! Cease all cargo traffic between that ship and the Ginnung Gap. Maneuver all available Armadian resources along its previously projected flight path. If that ship isn’t really stopping on its own, I want to be able to stop it before it hits the core worlds. And take us as close to that ship as we can get.”
A chorus of “Aye, sir”s resonated through the bridge. Orders were spread along through the ship, and we moved with a military precision one normally only saw in battle. The next several centidays are well enough known to the public.
The ship stopped exactly where it was expected to stop. When we approached it, its hull became visible, and everyone on the bridge or with a feed to the external cameras could tell the ship had been badly damaged. When it began ejecting cylinders, we realized that there was a cargo ship still in the area. It was later discovered that it had lost its wireless to the debris field and hadn’t received the order to leave the unknown ship’s flight path. One of the cylinders hit the cargo ship, and the cargo ship vented into space. The fighters standing by reported later that they had received orders to do so, but no one ordered anyone to destroy the other cylinders. They did anyway. Other Armadian vessels began to fire on the ship, which released four smaller versions of itself that began to fly back to the Bifrost. All but one was destroyed or immobilized.
The final alien ship reached the Bifrost, which lit up brightly once again, and was gone. A few Armadian ships had followed too closely and disappeared into the Bifrost themselves. Investigations were launched, and technological advances in materials, plasma shielding, and drive systems were made in the next cycle that would have taken tens of thousands more cycles. Two cycles later, the Temporal Manipulation Drive System was announced, TMDS for short or Timids to technicians and pilots.
A cycle after that, the ships that had disappeared into the Bifrost reappeared, repo
rting having been gone only centidays, and the Monarch announced those unfortunate travelers that had been encountered to be the Murhan of old, citing the technology used as evidence. He announced that we would go after them with massive new ships of an entirely new design being built at that time and destroy them, finally avenging our ancestors’ fate of being thrown through the Bifrost.
After I had volunteered to test the first ship with a TMDS on a suicidal whim, I was promoted and assigned by Mi’Olnr Khuda’Cronell to lead the Armada with him in the newest flagship, the TAS Fhit, one of the new Qzceno class ultracarriers. A Sheii’Cronell would be accompanying us to test out his new team of fighter pilots, the Drig Reidrs.
I was told that I would receive the greatest honors if the operation was successful. Five cycles later, the new Armada, completely refitted with new hull designs and TMDS propulsion, headed through the Bifrost, and I left my home to destroy another’s.
I was going to destroy the homeworld of the one creature whose body had made it through that fateful day cycles ago. In my pocket still, I carried the soft slip of cloth that bore a picture of two of the creatures holding another, smaller. When I held that slip out, it still emitted a small sound which I could only assume was the laughter of that small child. When I ran my thumb over the characters on the back, it spoke that foreign word, “Kahlisa.”
Great One, my name is Gril’Die Khuda’Mundi, Grand Admiral of the Thorlinthian Armada, and today, my ship has arrived over a world innocent of my people’s blood. And I will kill them all. Forgive me.
I was going to destroy the homeworld of the one creature whose body had made it through that fateful day cycles ago. In my pocket still, I carried the soft slip of cloth that bore a picture of two of the creatures holding another, smaller. When I held that slip out, it still emitted a small sound which I could only assume was the laughter of that small child. When I ran my thumb over the characters on the back, it spoke that foreign word, “Kahlisa.”
Great One, my name is Gril’Die Khuda’Mundi, Grand Admiral of the Thorlinthian Armada, and today, my ship has arrived over a world innocent of my people’s blood. And I will kill them all. Forgive me.