It might have been a little delayed, but the next installment is here. Feel free to compliment, criticize, suggest, etc.
Chapter 12, pt 2
“Lord Hakkera, you are clear to dock. Welcome back,” said the Osiris docking officer to the approaching Sabre.
“Thank you, Osiris. Hakkera out.” The aging Order informant terminated the transmission.
Lord Hakkera had received an urgent transmission from Orillion only a few days before, telling him to report to Omicron Theta. What Orillion was doing there, Hakkera had no idea, but the tone of his superior’s voice had been filled with concern, worry, and irritation. Hakkera had wasted no time departing from Kusari and had been flying almost nonstop to the Edge Worlds. The whole trip had taken almost forty hours and Hakkera was exhausted. Still, he managed to stave off sleep; he simply had too much on his mind to allow himself such a luxury.
Hakkera’s ship disappeared into the Osiris’ docking bay, went through a pressurization chamber, and moved onto the ship hold, setting down comfortably between a freighter and cargo ship. The ship hold was much less crowded now; many of the transports had been moved to Freeport 9. By the ships Hakkera saw, we wasn’t the only notable pilot aboard the Osiris; to his left, he saw colonel Trent’s Sabre, bristling with advanced weaponry. And near the chambers exit, the tail fin of colonel Zane’s modified Defender was hard to miss.
Lord Hakkera shut down the reactor and exited the cockpit, descending the Sabre’s retracting ladder down to the cold metal floor. Now with his feet firmly on the deck, the aging Order affiliate let out a half yawn, half sigh, and looked up at his trusty ship. Hakkera knew that he was getting old, and climbing up and down that ladder was starting to become a chore. He would have to modify the ladder soon and change it into a small moving platform.
The sound of approaching footsteps caught Hakkera’s attention. He turned around and saw a middle-aged Rheinland woman approach with her head held low, staring at the floor in front of her. Hakkera did not move as the woman came to a stop in front of him. She stood there, unmoving for a few moments before she took a deep breath and brought her head up, finally looking the old Kusari native in the face with a face that was straining to hide the troubles that hid behind it. She saluted.
“Lord Hakkera,” she started, “welcome aboard. Commander Orillion has asked me to escort you to briefing room 2A. Please if you will… follow me.”
Lord Hakkera didn’t know what to say the saddened woman, so he merely nodded. He followed the Rheinlander silently, worrying about what had happened to the woman. From what he knew, Rheinlanders had hardened attitudes; nothing ever seemed to faze them. What kind of situation could be painful enough to move a Rheinlander to the verge of tears like the woman he was following? A sudden realization came to Hakkera: It probably had something to do with why the Osiris had fled Omicron Minor.
The Rheinland woman finally in front of a door marked Brief 2A. Bringing her hand to a small keypad on the wall, she entered a command into the device and the door silently slid open. She then turned to face Hakkera and slowly saluted him. Hakkera returned the gesture and walked through the door, which closed behind him.
The room was practically bare, save for the large grey table that stood in the middle of the floor. At the end of the table sat Orillion, holding a small glass of Edinburgh scotch, with the bottle sitting a short distance away. Orillion looked up and gave Hakkera a weary smile, motioning for him to take a seat. Lord Hakkera sat down beside his commander.
“I didn’t know that you drank,” Hakkera said, a look of concern on his face.
“Just to calm my nerves,” Orillion said reassuringly. He brought the drink to his lips and poured it down his throat. Setting the glass down, Orillion turned towards Hakkera with a serious look on his face. “I suppose you should know why I told you to come here.”
Hakkera nodded, recalling that his commander never told him about the problem at hand when he had been contacted.
Orillion sighed. “Let me start at the beginning…” Orillion then proceeded to tell Hakkera about the Invaders and their dramatic sweep through the Omicrons so far. It was obvious that Orillion was very worried; during his speech, he inadvertently stood up and started pacing around the room, and only realized it when he finished talking.
Lord Hakkera was both worried and angry. He had never seen Orillion like this before. In every situation that he had encountered, Orillion had known exactly what to do. But now, the man who had saved Sirius, the man who had taken the fight to the nomads and won… was helpless. But Hakkera was still angry at Orillion. Why hadn’t Orillion called him earlier? Hakkera could have done something.
“Why didn’t you call for assistance earlier?!” Hakkera demanded.
Orillion gave a hopeless shrug. “I don’t know…they overcame so quickly…I didn’t know what to do.”
Hakkera came to a realization; he understood. How could a man in Orillion’s position think straight when an unexpected threat decimated the majority of your forces as soon as it appeared? Such events in history had shown that even the most knowledgeable people were left lost and confused. Hakkera saw this, and he was now left to hope that Orillion would recover soon, before these so-called ‘Invaders’ could push further into the colonies.
Hakkera put a reassuring hand on Orillion’s shoulder. “Who else have you called, besides me?”
Orillion delved into his mind, and remembered those he had contacted. “I have notified the houses, and President Jacobi has already agreed to aid as necessary. The leaders of the other houses are having trouble believing my story, but I hope that they will be swayed soon. I have also contacted the Outcasts and Corsairs. The Corsairs already knew me and trusted my word, so they have agreed to help. The Outcasts are still discussing my request.” Orillion sighed at the arrogance of the richest criminal faction in Sirius. “They are still questioning the fact that they would be working with the Corsairs. As for individuals, I have contacted Michael King, colonel Kress, and Professor Quintaine. They have yet to arrive.” Orillion paused, trying to think of anyone else, but he could think of none.
Hakkera directed a small smile at Orillion. He was glad that the commander was already recovering from the shock the Invaders had given him. “Good, good,” Hakkera said, giving the Order leader a supportive pat on the shoulder. “You have made a good decision, calling for help like you did. I hope that the aid you receive will turn the tides on the fight against this new threat.”
Orillion’s personal communicator went off, demanding its owner’s attention. Orillion unclipped it from his belt and looked at the call tag. When he read that the call was coming from the Osiris’ communication room, he answered. “What’s going on?”
“Sir, one of our patrols reported that a small force of Invader fighters have appeared at the Omicron Minor jumphole! They say that they are accompanied by a larger ship, but they couldn’t identify it.”
Orillion was concerned about the pilots. “What is the status of the patrol?”
“The patrol is alright, sir. They managed to avoid being detected and are currently heading back here, sir.”
“Order all patrols to return to the Osiris immediately. We need to be ready if the Invaders attack. Orillion out.” Orillion cut the transmission.
Hakkera, who had remained silent throughout the entire ordeal, finally spoke up. “I see that you are definitely regaining your confidence and decision-making skills, Orillion. But now, let us prepare for the situation at hand.” Orillion nodded, and the two men left the room.
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 6/28/2005 11:06:25 AM
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Freelancer Fanfic: Ragnarok (Attempting to come out of retir
Read, add and comment on excellent written stories by fans, set within the Freelancer universe
Mon Jul 04, 2005 4:06 pm
Next Chapter is here! A bit of background info in our favorite alien informant, and Trent and Juni's relationship comes back into play. Tell me what you think.
Happy 4th of July!
Chapter 13
Invader Homeworld, outside Sirius
Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo sat down in the heavy iron chair in his residence area within the fortified walls of the Invader capital building. Selestren-Kulam had recently given Nalemo this room, having been thoroughly impressed with the informant’s work. Nalemo greatly appreciated his leader’s act of kindness; it was obvious that he didn’t show this kind of appreciation to many other Invaders. Nalemo had been surprised that he had been given such a generous reward. Even so, he was happy with it. With Selestren-Kulam using Nalemo as a personal messenger, the long travels that he was sent on were tiring. Nalemo knew that he was well past his prime; he was thirty-eight, after all. Had he entered service as a soldier, he would have probably already been discharged for medical reasons, as most soldiers usually were. The brutish conditions that the infantry personnel endured on a daily basis put a tremendous strain on their bodies. As a result, most soldiers developed severe arthritis later on in their lives, which greatly hindered their combat effectiveness.
Such thoughts made Nalemo think back to his youth when he had been training to be a soldier. Like all other Invader boys, he had been taken from his mother to be raised by the military when he was still very young. From there on he grew up with the rest of the boys in his legion, keening his senses and heightening his physical endurance through the teachings of combat specialists. (Exercise was for the most part ignored, Invaders didn’t need it; their muscles were incapable of strengthening or weakening.)
It wasn’t until Nalemo’s navigation skills were tested that his life took a drastic turn. The assignment was simple: find an enemy base that was hidden in the wilderness. Nalemo had been searching for his objective when he fell into a ravine and broke his leg. Nalemo, knowing well that any Invader that went missing would not be searched for, began the long crawl back towards civilization, a journey that took almost eight days, with Nalemo nearly starving to death. Upon his return Nalemo received medical attention and nourishment, but the damage had already been done. After being so severely deprived of food, Nalemo’s body ceased to grow, stunting his height and muscle mass. After that, Nalemo was no longer fit to be a soldier, and he was relocated to work in a division of intelligence. At the time Nalemo was devastated, but looking back on it now, he was actually glad that he did not become a run-of-the-mill soldier. Now he was one of Selestren-Kulam’s personal assistants, a position that was greatly respected by others.
Nalemo withdrew from his memories, shaking his head. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Selestren-Kulam had given Nalemo strict orders to write down everything that had happened during his conversation with Orad-Porel, the captain of the battleship Relentless. He was to write down every word, every gesture, and every other minute detail in the conversation to tell exactly what happened. He was to then personally give his report to Selestren-Kulam, who would then take it and store it in the capital’s sole tower. What was up there, Nalemo had no idea; the area was closed off unto everyone, the only exception being the great Invader leader himself.
Sighing, Nalemo conjured a typing pad and set it down on the small table in front of him. Scratching his crest thoughtfully, the old Invader began to tap the keys in sequence, a report slowly forming on the pad’s small screen. Nalemo took a moment to think about how his job was incredibly contradictory to the common outlook on Invader society. Most of Invaders saw their society as one of powerful force, with everyone being in on or behind the kill. If you weren’t a leader, you were a fighter, and a damn good one at that. Yet here sat an Invader unto whom such principles did not seem to influence. But Nalemo knew that the reality of his job was extremely easy to overlook, so it did not bother him. Feeling secure, Nalemo continued to write his report.
*****
Juni looked down at the engagement ring that Trent had given to her just a few weeks prior. “What is this war going to do to us, Edison?” She looked up at her fiancé with a disquieted look on her face.
Trent tried think of the best way answer Juni’s question. He didn’t want to see her like this; he needed to reassure her that somehow everything was going to be all right. The problem was that both of them knew that if the Invaders kept advancing into Sirius like they have been, there was very little hope of everything turning out ‘okay.’
Trent finally gave up, unable to think of anything. He huffed in self disappointment. “I have thought about the same thing, Jun’ko, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know.” Trent mentally scolded himself for not saying something supportive as he watched his fiancée’s face grow sadder. Trent tried to think of something else to say, but once again came up with nothing. He sat there, totally silent, staring into the eyes of his beloved fiancée, feeling sorry that he could not say anything to comfort her.
Juni looked into Trent’s eyes and saw his love and concern. She saw that he was regretting being unable to comfort her in the discussion of their future. She saw that they both needed comforting. Juni leaned towards Trent and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him close. “Hold me,” she whispered.
Trent hesitated, but then proceeded to gently wrap his arms around Juni’s small waist. Suddenly he felt calm, relaxed. He remembered how Jun’ko always seemed to be able to ease his tensions like this. Trent pulled his fiancée tighter against him, not wanting to let go. He gave a slight smile, sighing with a what-would-I-do-without-you expression.
Juni felt tears welling up in her eyes. She loved Trent so much; it was almost unbearable to think about losing him. She cared about him deeply, and it was obvious that he cared about her just as much. Juni knew that behind her fiancé’s rugged appearance and demeanor, there was a kind and loving man that she had fallen in love with.
Juni looked up at Trent, and he looked down at her. As they gazed into each other’s eyes, they exchanged their deepest feelings for one another through an emotional bond that suddenly tied them together. Slowly, surely, their faces drew closer together, until they finally came together in a kiss.
Happy 4th of July!
Chapter 13
Invader Homeworld, outside Sirius
Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo sat down in the heavy iron chair in his residence area within the fortified walls of the Invader capital building. Selestren-Kulam had recently given Nalemo this room, having been thoroughly impressed with the informant’s work. Nalemo greatly appreciated his leader’s act of kindness; it was obvious that he didn’t show this kind of appreciation to many other Invaders. Nalemo had been surprised that he had been given such a generous reward. Even so, he was happy with it. With Selestren-Kulam using Nalemo as a personal messenger, the long travels that he was sent on were tiring. Nalemo knew that he was well past his prime; he was thirty-eight, after all. Had he entered service as a soldier, he would have probably already been discharged for medical reasons, as most soldiers usually were. The brutish conditions that the infantry personnel endured on a daily basis put a tremendous strain on their bodies. As a result, most soldiers developed severe arthritis later on in their lives, which greatly hindered their combat effectiveness.
Such thoughts made Nalemo think back to his youth when he had been training to be a soldier. Like all other Invader boys, he had been taken from his mother to be raised by the military when he was still very young. From there on he grew up with the rest of the boys in his legion, keening his senses and heightening his physical endurance through the teachings of combat specialists. (Exercise was for the most part ignored, Invaders didn’t need it; their muscles were incapable of strengthening or weakening.)
It wasn’t until Nalemo’s navigation skills were tested that his life took a drastic turn. The assignment was simple: find an enemy base that was hidden in the wilderness. Nalemo had been searching for his objective when he fell into a ravine and broke his leg. Nalemo, knowing well that any Invader that went missing would not be searched for, began the long crawl back towards civilization, a journey that took almost eight days, with Nalemo nearly starving to death. Upon his return Nalemo received medical attention and nourishment, but the damage had already been done. After being so severely deprived of food, Nalemo’s body ceased to grow, stunting his height and muscle mass. After that, Nalemo was no longer fit to be a soldier, and he was relocated to work in a division of intelligence. At the time Nalemo was devastated, but looking back on it now, he was actually glad that he did not become a run-of-the-mill soldier. Now he was one of Selestren-Kulam’s personal assistants, a position that was greatly respected by others.
Nalemo withdrew from his memories, shaking his head. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Selestren-Kulam had given Nalemo strict orders to write down everything that had happened during his conversation with Orad-Porel, the captain of the battleship Relentless. He was to write down every word, every gesture, and every other minute detail in the conversation to tell exactly what happened. He was to then personally give his report to Selestren-Kulam, who would then take it and store it in the capital’s sole tower. What was up there, Nalemo had no idea; the area was closed off unto everyone, the only exception being the great Invader leader himself.
Sighing, Nalemo conjured a typing pad and set it down on the small table in front of him. Scratching his crest thoughtfully, the old Invader began to tap the keys in sequence, a report slowly forming on the pad’s small screen. Nalemo took a moment to think about how his job was incredibly contradictory to the common outlook on Invader society. Most of Invaders saw their society as one of powerful force, with everyone being in on or behind the kill. If you weren’t a leader, you were a fighter, and a damn good one at that. Yet here sat an Invader unto whom such principles did not seem to influence. But Nalemo knew that the reality of his job was extremely easy to overlook, so it did not bother him. Feeling secure, Nalemo continued to write his report.
*****
Juni looked down at the engagement ring that Trent had given to her just a few weeks prior. “What is this war going to do to us, Edison?” She looked up at her fiancé with a disquieted look on her face.
Trent tried think of the best way answer Juni’s question. He didn’t want to see her like this; he needed to reassure her that somehow everything was going to be all right. The problem was that both of them knew that if the Invaders kept advancing into Sirius like they have been, there was very little hope of everything turning out ‘okay.’
Trent finally gave up, unable to think of anything. He huffed in self disappointment. “I have thought about the same thing, Jun’ko, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know.” Trent mentally scolded himself for not saying something supportive as he watched his fiancée’s face grow sadder. Trent tried to think of something else to say, but once again came up with nothing. He sat there, totally silent, staring into the eyes of his beloved fiancée, feeling sorry that he could not say anything to comfort her.
Juni looked into Trent’s eyes and saw his love and concern. She saw that he was regretting being unable to comfort her in the discussion of their future. She saw that they both needed comforting. Juni leaned towards Trent and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him close. “Hold me,” she whispered.
Trent hesitated, but then proceeded to gently wrap his arms around Juni’s small waist. Suddenly he felt calm, relaxed. He remembered how Jun’ko always seemed to be able to ease his tensions like this. Trent pulled his fiancée tighter against him, not wanting to let go. He gave a slight smile, sighing with a what-would-I-do-without-you expression.
Juni felt tears welling up in her eyes. She loved Trent so much; it was almost unbearable to think about losing him. She cared about him deeply, and it was obvious that he cared about her just as much. Juni knew that behind her fiancé’s rugged appearance and demeanor, there was a kind and loving man that she had fallen in love with.
Juni looked up at Trent, and he looked down at her. As they gazed into each other’s eyes, they exchanged their deepest feelings for one another through an emotional bond that suddenly tied them together. Slowly, surely, their faces drew closer together, until they finally came together in a kiss.
Mon Jul 11, 2005 4:35 am
Many thanks to my loyal fans out there. Next chapter is up, feel free to rewiew, suggest, criticize, etc.
Chapter 14
Outside Freeport 9, Omicron Theta system
Orillion stood at one of the windows on the Osiris’ bridge, looking out at the fourteen Corsair Titans that waited patiently for any approaching Invader ships. There was just one problem: they had been waiting for half an hour and the Invaders had yet to leave the area around the Omicron Minor jumphole. This was a drastic change from their normal routine of engaging the human forces ASAP. What were they doing? That’s what Orillion wanted to know. Suddenly he got an idea, and he turned to Ensign Wellington, who operated the Osiris’ radar and scanners.
“Wellington,” Orillion said, getting the young woman’s attention. “I want you to scan all transmission frequencies for communications.”
Wellington nodded. “Yes sir.” She returned her attention to her control panel and began scanning.
Orillion looked back out the window at the idle Corsair ships. Corsair pilots were good fighters, everyone knew that. But he did not know any of the ones that were currently guarding his battleship. He wished that Hakkera was out there, as well as Colonel Trent and Zane. They were people that were worthy of his complete trust, as well as being very good pilots as well. But still, they were only human, and all three of them needed sleep. He had given them proper sleeping quarters; Orillion chuckled slightly as he recalled how Trent and Zane had requested to share a common residence. Orillion now knew that they were engaged, and even with the serious dilemma that stood before them all, he couldn’t help but be happy for them. It was a ray of hope in the dark and sinister world that was pressed down upon them by a hostile alien race.
The sound of Wellington’s voice met Orillion’s ears. “Sir, I think I’ve got something.”
Orillion turned back towards the ensign. “Let me hear it.”
“Yes sir.” Wellington tapped a control and the bridge speakers came to life, filling the room with coarse static. After a few seconds, the static turned into a sharp click, followed by a moment of silence. Another click, and the static started up again.
Orillion was intrigued. “Wellington, see if you can hone in on the correct frequency.” Wellington acknowledged the order and started to adjust the receiver. The static began to play in and out and finally faded entirely. What came through the speakers was both what Orillion did and didn’t want to hear.
“…Eshai tun att benkhujorl. *click*” The voice was deep and gruff.
“*click* Manoluh matoge jer selestren kulam holunegah attaweih! *click*” this voice was slightly higher pitched, and sounded as if its owner had spittle caught in its throat.
The sound that filled the bridge was that of two voices, both speaking in a strange, guttural language… the Invader native tongue. Everybody on deck stopped what they were doing and turned an attentive ear to the noise that came down from the speakers. No one moved or spoke as the two voices dragged on what was apparently an argument. Orillion stood motionless as the time slowly crept by, and the argument grew more heated and the voices grew aggressive, making threatening growls and open-mouth hisses between their words: at one point Orillion heard the gruff voice spit. The argument abruptly ended when a third voice presented itself. The third voice roared; it was obviously very mad at the other two. After shouting for a while in its alien language, the other voices fell silent.
Orillion was amazed at what he had heard. He looked back over at Ensign Wellington, and met her wide-eyed stare. Her hair had fallen into her eyes, and she made to attempt to brush it away.
“Please tell me that you recorded that,” Orillion said slowly.
Wellington’s face relaxed and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes sir.”
A smile crept onto Orillion’s face. “Good. Keep a tab on all transmissions on that frequency and record everything you hear. I want to know if whatever language they spoke in can be deciphered. Forward a copy of the recording to everybody on this ship who might be able to make sense of it.” As Orillion once again looked out the window and recognized two familiar ships that were inbound towards the Osiris. Orillion turned to the bridge personnel. “I have to meet some people. Notify me should anything arise.” With that, Orillion left the bridge.
*****
“ENOUGH!!!” Morl-Tefnul shouted through his comm. at the two arguing pilots. “As your wing leader, I do not want to hear any more fighting over such an unquestionable topic! You shall stop this nonsense or I will have you BOTH up for treason!” He clicked off his comm. and reveled in the ensuing silence. Morl-Tefnul leaned back and smiled; he was glad that the soldiers ender his command knew that he liked to “flare his crest” as the term went. He enjoyed being his strict self; it brought him respect. But he knew that the threat of being accused of treason by a superior officer was what really scared people; if the accused were found guilty (which they usually were), they were horrifically tortured, both physically and mentally. What was common in such procedures was that the accused was relieved of his claws, crest and one of his Achilles tendons. And that was only the beginning of an ‘easygoing’ practice. More severe cases usually ended in the death of the accused. Should loyalty fail to keep an Invader in line, fear made an excellent alternative. But still, there were those that stepped out of line and managed to escape the clutches of society; such information was rigorously suppressed, however.
Morl-Tefnul shook his head. Why would these fools here even question their orders, especially the ones they had now? Their orders were to stay and protect their fighter’s lifeline, a bleeder ship. This ship was essential to the survival of the fighters, because the fighters don’t carry their own generators. They need another ship to broadcast the necessary energy to them, ships such as a battleships and bleeder ships that were capable of doing such things. And these fools under Morl’s command not only questioned orders, but showed a lack of common sense by actually considering leaving the bleeder ship behind to attack the humans that sat outside the maximum energy broadcast range. Granted, they would be able to get there via teleportation, but they wouldn’t have enough energy left in order to fight, much less teleport again to a safer place. Besides, they were only here to confirm the location of where the scout they sent had been, and it obviously was. Now they were just waiting for the Relentless to finish getting ready and teleport to their location. THEN they would be able to attack. Morl knew that this would take time, but it would all pay off when the humans were obliterated.
*****
Trent woke up to find himself lying next to Juni, looking upon her sweet sleeping face. He lay there silently, not moving a muscle, not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber. As he quietly watched, Trent heard Juni mumble something; she must be dreaming. Trent smiled as he came to this realization, and wondered what she was dreaming about. Hopefully she would tell him about it later. Trent rather enjoyed listening to Juni tell him about the dreams she had; it helped him remember what it was like to dream, something that he had not been able to do for a long time.
Juni stirred, shifting her body to a more comfortable position, at the same time bringing her hand up to rest between herself and Trent. Trent took the opportunity to slide his hand into hers, and was rewarded when Juni gently squeezed his hand in response. Trent watched as a smile spread across her lips and her serene face became more relaxed.
“She is so beautiful,” Trent thought. He had always found her physically attractive. She had a soft face, graceful curves, and gorgeous eyes… not to mention a well-developed posterior. And as their relationship started to develop, Trent found that she also had an appealing personality to match. After their first few dates, Trent found Juni to have a kind and caring heart, and her attitude became lighthearted, even playful when she had something to be happy about. Ever since they met, Trent found that the only thing about Juni that he had to worry about was making her angry. He had upset her a few times before, and when she was mad, she was MAD. Fortunately, Trent was able to avoid her bad side most of the time. Besides, Juni had turned out to be a much better companion than Trent’s ex-girlfriend. “Damn Kate,” Trent thought. But he didn’t want to think about her and their dead relationship. He wanted to think about the close bond that he shared with Jun’ko. Their future together was what Trent was fighting for. He wasn’t about to let anything take her away from him, not even the damned Invaders. Trent swore that together, they would live to see the day that the Invaders were ultimately defeated and humans would emerge victorious once more.
Trent’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door. “Oh, great,” he mumbled. Careful not to wake Juni, Trent pulled his hand away and rose out of the bed. After donning a shirt and a pair of pants, he walked over to the door and opened it. As the door slid away, Trent found himself looking at his old business friend, Michael King.
“Hey, Trent!” King said loudly, a broad smile on his face. “How’ve ya been, buddy?”
Trent quickly put a finger to his lips. “Shh! Keep it down, will you? Jun’ko’s still asleep.”
King’s smile faded. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” he whispered, an apologetic expression on his face. He hadn’t realized that they would probably be sharing a room.
“It’s all right, you didn’t know.” Trent glanced back over to the bed and was relieved to see that Juni was still asleep. He turned back to King. “I’m fine, by the way.”
“Good to hear.” King’s face drooped and his voice turned serious. “Take a walk with me.” Trent obliged, and the two took off at a steady pace down the hall.
King spoke up. “I just got here. Orillion told me about what’s been going on… getting creamed by those aliens. And from what I’ve heard, they’ve got something up their sleeve.”
Trent was intrigued. “Go on…”
King gave Trent a slightly confused look. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a group of those Invaders by the Omicron Minor Jump hole.” Trent stopped, and his eyes grew wide. “But the thing is they’re not doing anything,” King said quickly. “Orillion told me about how they apparently liked to attack as soon as they got the chance. But these guys are just sittin’ there. They’ve been like that for about an hour now.” King shook his head. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I have a hunch that they’re not feeling sorry for what they’ve already done.”
Trent was bewildered. “I… think Juni should know about this,” he said slowly.
King nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” King looked at his watch. “I gotta go, Trent. Later.” King turned and headed down the hall, while Trent started to head back to his room.
“Hey, Trent!” King called back towards Trent, who stopped and turned back around.
“Yeah?”
“I just want to say that I hope that we win this war, for yours and Jun’ko’s sake at least. It’d be a shame to see this war deprive you guys of a future together. I want you to know that you have my unwavering support. If there’s anything you need me to do, just ask.”
Trent smiled appreciatively. “Thanks.” King nodded in response and continued walking, eventually disappearing around the corner. Trent headed back to his room.
Chapter 14
Outside Freeport 9, Omicron Theta system
Orillion stood at one of the windows on the Osiris’ bridge, looking out at the fourteen Corsair Titans that waited patiently for any approaching Invader ships. There was just one problem: they had been waiting for half an hour and the Invaders had yet to leave the area around the Omicron Minor jumphole. This was a drastic change from their normal routine of engaging the human forces ASAP. What were they doing? That’s what Orillion wanted to know. Suddenly he got an idea, and he turned to Ensign Wellington, who operated the Osiris’ radar and scanners.
“Wellington,” Orillion said, getting the young woman’s attention. “I want you to scan all transmission frequencies for communications.”
Wellington nodded. “Yes sir.” She returned her attention to her control panel and began scanning.
Orillion looked back out the window at the idle Corsair ships. Corsair pilots were good fighters, everyone knew that. But he did not know any of the ones that were currently guarding his battleship. He wished that Hakkera was out there, as well as Colonel Trent and Zane. They were people that were worthy of his complete trust, as well as being very good pilots as well. But still, they were only human, and all three of them needed sleep. He had given them proper sleeping quarters; Orillion chuckled slightly as he recalled how Trent and Zane had requested to share a common residence. Orillion now knew that they were engaged, and even with the serious dilemma that stood before them all, he couldn’t help but be happy for them. It was a ray of hope in the dark and sinister world that was pressed down upon them by a hostile alien race.
The sound of Wellington’s voice met Orillion’s ears. “Sir, I think I’ve got something.”
Orillion turned back towards the ensign. “Let me hear it.”
“Yes sir.” Wellington tapped a control and the bridge speakers came to life, filling the room with coarse static. After a few seconds, the static turned into a sharp click, followed by a moment of silence. Another click, and the static started up again.
Orillion was intrigued. “Wellington, see if you can hone in on the correct frequency.” Wellington acknowledged the order and started to adjust the receiver. The static began to play in and out and finally faded entirely. What came through the speakers was both what Orillion did and didn’t want to hear.
“…Eshai tun att benkhujorl. *click*” The voice was deep and gruff.
“*click* Manoluh matoge jer selestren kulam holunegah attaweih! *click*” this voice was slightly higher pitched, and sounded as if its owner had spittle caught in its throat.
The sound that filled the bridge was that of two voices, both speaking in a strange, guttural language… the Invader native tongue. Everybody on deck stopped what they were doing and turned an attentive ear to the noise that came down from the speakers. No one moved or spoke as the two voices dragged on what was apparently an argument. Orillion stood motionless as the time slowly crept by, and the argument grew more heated and the voices grew aggressive, making threatening growls and open-mouth hisses between their words: at one point Orillion heard the gruff voice spit. The argument abruptly ended when a third voice presented itself. The third voice roared; it was obviously very mad at the other two. After shouting for a while in its alien language, the other voices fell silent.
Orillion was amazed at what he had heard. He looked back over at Ensign Wellington, and met her wide-eyed stare. Her hair had fallen into her eyes, and she made to attempt to brush it away.
“Please tell me that you recorded that,” Orillion said slowly.
Wellington’s face relaxed and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes sir.”
A smile crept onto Orillion’s face. “Good. Keep a tab on all transmissions on that frequency and record everything you hear. I want to know if whatever language they spoke in can be deciphered. Forward a copy of the recording to everybody on this ship who might be able to make sense of it.” As Orillion once again looked out the window and recognized two familiar ships that were inbound towards the Osiris. Orillion turned to the bridge personnel. “I have to meet some people. Notify me should anything arise.” With that, Orillion left the bridge.
*****
“ENOUGH!!!” Morl-Tefnul shouted through his comm. at the two arguing pilots. “As your wing leader, I do not want to hear any more fighting over such an unquestionable topic! You shall stop this nonsense or I will have you BOTH up for treason!” He clicked off his comm. and reveled in the ensuing silence. Morl-Tefnul leaned back and smiled; he was glad that the soldiers ender his command knew that he liked to “flare his crest” as the term went. He enjoyed being his strict self; it brought him respect. But he knew that the threat of being accused of treason by a superior officer was what really scared people; if the accused were found guilty (which they usually were), they were horrifically tortured, both physically and mentally. What was common in such procedures was that the accused was relieved of his claws, crest and one of his Achilles tendons. And that was only the beginning of an ‘easygoing’ practice. More severe cases usually ended in the death of the accused. Should loyalty fail to keep an Invader in line, fear made an excellent alternative. But still, there were those that stepped out of line and managed to escape the clutches of society; such information was rigorously suppressed, however.
Morl-Tefnul shook his head. Why would these fools here even question their orders, especially the ones they had now? Their orders were to stay and protect their fighter’s lifeline, a bleeder ship. This ship was essential to the survival of the fighters, because the fighters don’t carry their own generators. They need another ship to broadcast the necessary energy to them, ships such as a battleships and bleeder ships that were capable of doing such things. And these fools under Morl’s command not only questioned orders, but showed a lack of common sense by actually considering leaving the bleeder ship behind to attack the humans that sat outside the maximum energy broadcast range. Granted, they would be able to get there via teleportation, but they wouldn’t have enough energy left in order to fight, much less teleport again to a safer place. Besides, they were only here to confirm the location of where the scout they sent had been, and it obviously was. Now they were just waiting for the Relentless to finish getting ready and teleport to their location. THEN they would be able to attack. Morl knew that this would take time, but it would all pay off when the humans were obliterated.
*****
Trent woke up to find himself lying next to Juni, looking upon her sweet sleeping face. He lay there silently, not moving a muscle, not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber. As he quietly watched, Trent heard Juni mumble something; she must be dreaming. Trent smiled as he came to this realization, and wondered what she was dreaming about. Hopefully she would tell him about it later. Trent rather enjoyed listening to Juni tell him about the dreams she had; it helped him remember what it was like to dream, something that he had not been able to do for a long time.
Juni stirred, shifting her body to a more comfortable position, at the same time bringing her hand up to rest between herself and Trent. Trent took the opportunity to slide his hand into hers, and was rewarded when Juni gently squeezed his hand in response. Trent watched as a smile spread across her lips and her serene face became more relaxed.
“She is so beautiful,” Trent thought. He had always found her physically attractive. She had a soft face, graceful curves, and gorgeous eyes… not to mention a well-developed posterior. And as their relationship started to develop, Trent found that she also had an appealing personality to match. After their first few dates, Trent found Juni to have a kind and caring heart, and her attitude became lighthearted, even playful when she had something to be happy about. Ever since they met, Trent found that the only thing about Juni that he had to worry about was making her angry. He had upset her a few times before, and when she was mad, she was MAD. Fortunately, Trent was able to avoid her bad side most of the time. Besides, Juni had turned out to be a much better companion than Trent’s ex-girlfriend. “Damn Kate,” Trent thought. But he didn’t want to think about her and their dead relationship. He wanted to think about the close bond that he shared with Jun’ko. Their future together was what Trent was fighting for. He wasn’t about to let anything take her away from him, not even the damned Invaders. Trent swore that together, they would live to see the day that the Invaders were ultimately defeated and humans would emerge victorious once more.
Trent’s thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rapping on the door. “Oh, great,” he mumbled. Careful not to wake Juni, Trent pulled his hand away and rose out of the bed. After donning a shirt and a pair of pants, he walked over to the door and opened it. As the door slid away, Trent found himself looking at his old business friend, Michael King.
“Hey, Trent!” King said loudly, a broad smile on his face. “How’ve ya been, buddy?”
Trent quickly put a finger to his lips. “Shh! Keep it down, will you? Jun’ko’s still asleep.”
King’s smile faded. “Oh, sorry ‘bout that,” he whispered, an apologetic expression on his face. He hadn’t realized that they would probably be sharing a room.
“It’s all right, you didn’t know.” Trent glanced back over to the bed and was relieved to see that Juni was still asleep. He turned back to King. “I’m fine, by the way.”
“Good to hear.” King’s face drooped and his voice turned serious. “Take a walk with me.” Trent obliged, and the two took off at a steady pace down the hall.
King spoke up. “I just got here. Orillion told me about what’s been going on… getting creamed by those aliens. And from what I’ve heard, they’ve got something up their sleeve.”
Trent was intrigued. “Go on…”
King gave Trent a slightly confused look. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a group of those Invaders by the Omicron Minor Jump hole.” Trent stopped, and his eyes grew wide. “But the thing is they’re not doing anything,” King said quickly. “Orillion told me about how they apparently liked to attack as soon as they got the chance. But these guys are just sittin’ there. They’ve been like that for about an hour now.” King shook his head. “I don’t know what they’re up to, but I have a hunch that they’re not feeling sorry for what they’ve already done.”
Trent was bewildered. “I… think Juni should know about this,” he said slowly.
King nodded. “That’s probably a good idea.” King looked at his watch. “I gotta go, Trent. Later.” King turned and headed down the hall, while Trent started to head back to his room.
“Hey, Trent!” King called back towards Trent, who stopped and turned back around.
“Yeah?”
“I just want to say that I hope that we win this war, for yours and Jun’ko’s sake at least. It’d be a shame to see this war deprive you guys of a future together. I want you to know that you have my unwavering support. If there’s anything you need me to do, just ask.”
Trent smiled appreciatively. “Thanks.” King nodded in response and continued walking, eventually disappearing around the corner. Trent headed back to his room.
Wed Jul 13, 2005 8:39 am
Thanks to all who have replied, your support is what keeps me going. This is the first story that I have written in a VERY long time.
Wilde, I understand about the story's lack of originality. I usually try to keep my stuff origional, but this idea had been stuck in my mind for roughly two years before I actually decided to do something about it.
Thanks again for your comments!
Paraniod Schizophrenic: Are you watching us?
Wilde, I understand about the story's lack of originality. I usually try to keep my stuff origional, but this idea had been stuck in my mind for roughly two years before I actually decided to do something about it.
Thanks again for your comments!
Paraniod Schizophrenic: Are you watching us?
Mon Jul 18, 2005 5:58 am
Come one, come all! The next chapter has arrived!
Chapter 15
Battleship Osiris, Omicron Theta system. 1 hour later
A large table sat in the center of the research lab on the Osiris. Around the table sat seven individuals, their ears ringing with the recorded sounds of blatant gibberish.
“*click* Ramlugh selestren kulam eih deh, uon eih deh! *click*”
“*click* Nehrasheh! Umluto paiise dhuln llomtaer! *click*”
Kendra Sinclair listened intently to the alien conversation for the umpteenth time in the last hour, trying to make sense of the alien argument on the recording. Yet all that she and the other people, including linguists and researchers such as herself, had been able to figure was that the phrase ‘selestren kulam’ came up often, hinting that it may be the name of an important individual or organization in their society, perhaps as well being be the topic of the argument. Other than that, the only other thing they knew was that the clicking sounds was their communications equipment being turned on and off. Everything else was hypothetical.
Sinclair was slightly sickened when she heard the gruff voice spit. It was so vile, disgusting… she had not expected any insight into the Invader culture to be like this. Everyone in the room agreed; for such an advanced race, the Invaders sounded surprisingly primitive.
The recording stopped, and Sinclair looked blankly at her analysis paper, its surface absent of notes. Sighing, she looked at the other people around the table. The look on their faces told her that they were stumped as well.
“Does anyone have a new lead?” a Kusari woman asked, only to be answered with disappointed murmurs and shaking heads.
After the room fell silent again, a Libertarian man spoke up. “Why don’t we take 15?” Everyone in the room looked at him with questioning faces. “You know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “just to rest up a bit. Give our minds a chance to freshen up.” Them man’s suggestion was met with approval, and everyone decided that a short break would do them well.
As everyone else filed out of the room, Sinclair lagged behind, her thoughts residing upon the Invaders and the threat they posed to Sirius. What would happen if they won this war? What would happen to the human race? These thoughts plagued Sinclair as she gathered her things and finally headed out the door, where she immediately bumped into an aging man, causing him to drop the papers in his hands.
Embarrassed, Sinclair bent down, gathering the man’s papers. “I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered. “I didn’t see you there. I should have…” Sinclair looked up and recognized the man. “Quintaine!” she shouted.
Quintaine smiled. “Hello, Kendra.”
“What are you doing here?” Sinclair asked, standing up and handing him his papers.
“Orillion contacted me, said he needed my assistance.” Quintaine’s voice turned grim. “Thing’s aren’t going too well, are they?”
Sinclair sighed. “No. Not very well at all. Ever since the Invaders showed up, the majority of the Order’s fighter power has been eradicated, and the Invaders have been quickly pushing us back into civilized space.” She looked into the professor’s eyes, somehow asking for assistance. “We managed to get their communication frequency, but no one can decipher their language. I’ve tried, but from what I can tell, their language is nothing like that of the Dom Kavash.” Sinclair lowered her gaze, saddened by the thought of a bleak future that now stood before Sirius.
Quintaine put a reassuring hand on Sinclair’s shoulder. “I understand what is happening here; it’s like the nomad incursion all over again, isn’t it?” Sinclair nodded glumly, and Quintaine gave her shoulder a small squeeze. “Well,” he said, “Keep your chin up. We beat them, so why can’t we beat these new aliens? All we need to do is find one weakness and exploit it, just like we did with the nomads.” Quintaine’s face pulled itself into a hopeful look, but still gave away a hint of concern.
“You’re right.” Sinclair said. Although the professor’s words were reassuring, she didn’t want to talk about the Invaders. “So, “she said, changing the subject, “when did you get here?”
“About twenty minutes ago.” Quintaine removed his hand from Sinclair’s shoulder and allowed it to drop to his side. He decided that it would not be wise to tell her that he had also met up with Michael King, and that he was also on board now. On the way to Omicron Theta, King had told the professor about their sour relationship, and how the two of them never exactly appeared to see things ‘eye to eye.’
Sinclair looked at her watch and saw that seven minutes of the fifteen-minute break had already passed. She turned her attention back to Quintaine. “Listen, Quintaine. All of the people working on deciphering the Invader language are stumped. We’re on break right now, but when we start up again, do you think you can help?”
Quintaine smiled. “I shall certainly provide my assistance,” he answered. “May I ask you; what do they sound like?”
Sinclair pointed a thumb back into the research lab. “Play the recording and see for yourself. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
*****
Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo found himself once again standing in front a large metal door, nervously fidgeting as he waited to see Master Selestren-Kulam. Nalemo had flinched when he found out that his report was to be the topic of this meeting, and knew that Kulam was most likely disappointed about how Nalemo had allowed Orad-Porel to wriggle his way out of trouble after he failed to wait for the orders to pursue the retreating humans.
The sound of footsteps caught Nalemo’s attention. He wheeled around, and found the footsteps belonging to an armored Invader soldier, who said nothing as he approached the smaller informant. Nalemo recoiled slightly as he eyed the antimatter mortar that was slung around the soldier’s torso. Those things could deal out quite a bit of damage, and from the looks of it, its owner would not hesitate to demonstrate the weapon’s destructive capabilities. “That soldier must be a Capital Guard,” Nalemo thought, judging by the amount of armor that the soldier was wearing (almost a full suit). Capital Guards were the most highly decorated soldiers in Invader society, and most were easily distinguishable by the amount of armor they wore, because in the Invader military, armor was not freely given out; it was earned by performing notable deeds.
The soldier silently walked by Nalemo without giving him a second glance. He walked to the door and grasped the handle.
The soldier paused, and spoke. “Master Selestren-Kulam will see you.” He slowly pulled the door open beckoned for Nalemo to enter. Nalemo nodded and went through the doorway, and the soldier followed him through, closing the door behind him and taking a post beside it.
Selestren-Kulam sat at an unadorned table, the carcass of a freshly killed marlaequeh (a large sea creature with a very durable exoskeleton) lying in front of him. The Invader leader took notice of Nalemo’s entrance.
“Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo. Come, sit,” Selestren-Kulam called to Nalemo. Not wanting to anger the large Invader, Nalemo approached and sat down across the table from his over-muscled leader, looking over the animal carcass to see Kulam’s face.
“I was just about to eat,” Selestren-Kulam said matter-of-factly. As Nalemo watched, Kulam grabbed hold of one of the marlaequeh’s six sturdy armored legs and pulled, separating the limb from the rest of the body in a small fountain of blood, which began to pool onto the table. Using a clawed finger, the Invader leader peeled away the leg’s protective plating, scooped out the raw flesh inside and ate it, enjoying to the fullest the meat’s unique taste and texture. He discarded what remained of the limb and licked the palm of his hand.
Kulam stopped eating and looked at the silver-haired Nalemo, who sat there, motionless. “So,” Kulam started, “can you make a guess of why you’re here?”
Nalemo inhaled sharply. “Master, is it because I allowed Orad-Porel’s disobedience to go unpunished?”
Selestren-Kulam blinked, surprised. “Yes… yes that is correct.” Kulam always asked this question to anyone that got in a spot of trouble with him, and it had been a while since anyone had guessed correctly. “You failed to see to it that an unjust action was met with fitting consequences. I don’t like it when that happens, it can make me look bad.” Selsetren-Kulam leaned over the animal carcass and lowered his voice. “Do you know how hard it is to keep everyone in line?”
Nalemo shook his head. “No, Master.”
“Let me tell you now, that it is very hard,” Kulam whispered with an air of deadly seriousness, “even with the guidelines that the gods bestow upon us. No matter how hard I try to keep everyone in check, there is always a traitor, always an infidel, always one who will turn his back on our mission for some foolish reason. These people humiliate me, point their fingers at me and laugh! I have absolutely no tolerance for these people, and of this I assure you: if I am even the slightest bit humiliated by their hand, I will make certain that they quickly die by mine.”
Without warning, Selestren-Kulam brought up his hand, formed it into a shovel, and plunged it into the marlaequeh’s heavily armored back. The thick exoskeleton shattered with a sickening CRACK, sending fragments of bony turquoise armor and globules of blood flying in every direction. Nalemo sputtered, wiping the organic debris away from his eyes and mouth.
Once Nalemo recovered from the initial shock, he watched as Selestren-Kulam withdrew his undamaged hand from the marlaequeh’s punctured backside and flexed his fingers, which were now covered in the dead animal’s blood. Nalemo was speechless. Marlaequehs where known for their tremendously durable exoskeletons; with proper knowledge, a soldier could fashion an effective armor out of it. The armor was extremely difficult to break apart, even for a full-grown Invader. And Nalemo had just witnessed the leader of his race form a gaping hole in the back of one of these creatures, and on his first attempt at that! Nalemo had never seen or heard of such a feat before.
Selestren-Kulam smiled. “That could have been YOU, Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo,” he said, making a casual gesture towards the dead crustacean. “I have already said that I have absolutely NO tolerance for those who humiliate me, and you almost became one of them. Fortunately for you, there were three things that kept me from killing you.”
Nalemo stared wide-eyed at Kulam and gave him his full attention.
“One,” Selestren-Kulam started, “I like you. Although you failed to see Orad-Porel be properly punished for his acts, I still find you as an overall good representative. You do your job quickly and without question, and that is a characteristic that I like to see in the people that work for me. Two: I don’t like Orad-Porel. For several years, he has been almost constantly toeing the line and testing my patience, trying to see just how much he can get away with. The only reason that I keep him is because he is a superb commander, and knows how to get the soldiers under his command to do what is commanded of them. And three: What Orad-Porel said to you was actually right.”
Nalemo blinked. This was certainly a surprise. Was Selestren-Kulam talking about the loophole in the battle code? “Master… are you talking about the conflicting statements in the battle code?”
Kulam nodded. “Yes. For the situation that he was in, that flaw in the code is what saved his hide. Thankfully, he will not be able to pull a stunt like that again. I have since rewritten the battle code and closed that loophole. And I have taken the liberty to punish him myself and see that he does not see action again for a while.”
Nalemo was curious. “Master, may I ask how you intend to accomplish that?” he asked.
Kulam allowed a smile to spread across his face. “I sent him a special package that will make sure that the Relentless stays put for a while.” He let out a low chuckle, then leaned back and motioned Nalemo towards the door. “Leave, and never speak of anything that you heard here. You are dismissed.”
Nalemo stood up, saluted, and left the room. Selestren-Kulam resumed eating.
****
Two hours had passed, and Morl-Tefnul was concerned; the Relentless should have arrived by now. It was very uncommon for battleship preparation to take so long. What could have happened that would cause the Relentless to be late? Morl had heard rumors that the battleship’s commander, Orad-Porel, had somewhat of a rebellious attitude. Maybe that was it? Morl-Tefnul thought about it, and came to the conclusion that Orad-Porel’s personality was not to be blamed; the commander always took the task of advancing the fleet seriously.
There was a THUMP, and an Invader fighter teleported into a designated safe-zone and established a communications link with the Invader fighter wing.
“Scouting wing, there has been a change of plans,” said the pilot of the new fighter. “Your wing will not attack the humans alongside the battleship Relentless. You will instead be joined by the Burners Turmoil and Agony, along with additional fighters. They will be arriving shortly.”
Morl-Tefnul was worried about the battleship. “What happened to the Relentless?” he asked, speaking for his entire wing.
The response was delayed, but the new fighter replied. “There was an explosion on board, and the main reactor was knocked out. It will be a few days before the Relentless is in fighting form again.”
Morl pushed for more information. “What caused the explosion?”
“I don’t know. The reactor must have backfired, that’s what I think happened. Others say that it was a bomb, but that’s foolish. Who would be able to do such a thing and get away with it?”
The conversation was interrupted as a group of Corsairs in titans chose that particular moment in time to crash the party. Morl was taken by surprise, but quickly came to his senses. “Engage!” he shouted at his fighters. “Protect the bleeder ship!” Looking over the attacking human ships, he spotted one that looked particularly vulnerable. With a speed that was only attainable through years of experience, he entered coordinate data into his ship’s database and pulled a large yellow lever over his head. Morl heard a loud, shrill scraping sound as his ship dumped energy into its teleportation system as it prepared to break the ship apart, atom by atom, and rebuild it at the coordinated that Morl had entered. A moment later, he felt searing pain as he and his ship disappeared…
…And reappeared behind the targeted human ship. In an instant, Morl-Tefnul felt his pain totally subside, and he fired his weapons at the large tan vessel. The orbs of super-concentrated dark matter that emanated from his weapons tore through the human craft’s shields and relieved the fighter of its right wing. Gleefully, Morl pursued the titan, thankful that he had finally found himself fighting a talented human. He became so absorbed in the fight, everything else around him disappeared. He was in his own world, just him and the human he was chasing, nothing else. After a minute of pursuing the human ship, Morl-Tefnul finally won the fight. He let out a mighty roar of triumph as he watched the finally beaten titan explode into a ball of flames. Craving the blood of another challenger, he turned his ship around, searching for a human ship that wasn’t already taken.
Suddenly Morl-Tefnul felt his ship shudder as it was bombarded by a powerful energy wave. The lights in the instrument panel went out, and he lost the ability to fire his weapons. “What happened?” he thought. Fortunately, Morl fighter’s engine was still powered up, and he turned his ship around to look at the source of the energy wave. He let out a cry of fury as he realized what had happened. The bleeder ship had been destroyed! That ship had been their lifeline, and now it was gone. The fighters were unable to defend themselves!
Morl-Tefnul felt his ship shudder again, and knew that he was being bombarded by enemy fire. He pulled the steering lever and pulled into a corkscrew, trying to dodge the attack that was slowly tearing his ship apart. The tactic worked for a while, that is until the Corsair pilot compensated, and packages of neutrons once again detonated upon the Invader fighter’s damaged hull, puncturing the armor and eating away at the framework. Finally, the stress on the fighter’s weakened skeleton became too great, and the red craft buckled and broke apart. With the internal environment compromised, Morl-Tefnul felt his body quickly succumb to the vacuum of space. He was in so much pain; it felt like his whole body was going to explode. Panicked, Morl tried to scream, but only to find that there was no air in his lungs. Only a few seconds had passed, and even though he was in tremendous pain, Morl refused to accept death as he felt his life ebbing away. However, despite his best efforts, he found that no amount of defiance could stave off his mortality. Finally beaten, Morl-Tefnul grimaced, twitched, and died.
*****
“Yeah!” wing leader Julius cried out as he watched the Invader fighter break apart in front of him. These guys were a cinch to take down, now that that one strange ship had been destroyed.
“Three down, four to go!” someone called out over the comm. as another Invader fighter was destroyed.
Julius tagged and pursued another Invader. As he opened his guns, he reveled in the joy of watching the alien fighter feebly try to dodge the attack. It did not teleport, nor return fire. Julius easily brought it down.
“Last one, people! The area is clear!” someone else shouted. Cheering was heard over the comm. channels.
Julius activated his comm. “Who took down that weird ship?”
There was a brief pause, and the reply came through. “This is Domica Silez. I did, sir,” the pilot said proudly. “I torped the damn thing into oblivion!”
Julius smiled and clicked the comm. “Good, job. I don’t know what that thing did, but it’s obvious that the fighters relied on it for something.” Domica smiled back at Julius through the comm. window.
Julius terminated the communication link and leaned back, smiling broadly. God bless Silez, she was a terrific pilot. Julius was glad to have her on his team, and glad that she was able to destroy the strange Invader vessel. The technology on board must have been very volatile, by the way it had blown up. For one, Invader fighters only seemed to break apart or blow up with a small explosion when they were destroyed. However, the ship that Silez had taken down, while somewhat larger, had exploded with tremendous force after it was struck by the torpedo, and the resulting energy wave had been felt by all ships around the Omicron Minor jumphole. Julius knew that the Order would have wanted to see the technology on board such a ship, but oh well. This was the first human victory against the Invaders. Julius was glad that the Corsairs had called for this attack.
Domica Silez came over the comm. “I just got off the horn with the commander. He congratulates us and says that he will see to it that we return to base with honors.”
Julius sat up and keyed the fighter wing’s communication channel. “Comrades, let’s go home.” The other Corsairs proudly agreed, and the Corsairs left the jumphole.
Not even two minutes after the triumphant Corsairs departed, an Invader attack force suddenly appeared at the now lifeless scene. First to arrive were the fighters, making their entrance with their characteristic THUMP. But a few seconds later, something new accompanied the fighters. With a continuous, loud crackling sound, a new class of Invader attack vessel teleported into place. It was much larger than the fighters; slightly larger than a Liberty cruiser. Two sharp fins grew out of the ship’s rear and swept forward. Another fin protruded out of the craft’s back, its base starting halfway down the ship’s back and stopping just short of a visible command station, dwarfing the other two fins. At the ship’s nose, the body pulled itself into a circular opening, housing a powerful seven-sectioned weapon cluster. Like most other large Invader ships, underneath the red chrome armor and deadly arsenal sat an energy broadcasting system, giving surrounding Invader fighters the power they needed to engage the enemy. All of this was propelled by a single oversized engine, making up the deadly weapon that was the burner ship called Turmoil. At first glance, anyone could say that the ship looked ungainly, but when should you judge something by its appearance? In reality, these burner ships were fast, agile, and extremely deadly.
A few moments more and the burner Agony made its presence known. After scanning their surroundings and figuring out what had happened to the scouting party, the burners and supporting fighters started to make their way out of the surrounding asteroid field. Not wanting to make a foolish miscalculation and teleport into a solid object, the small fleet navigated between the asteroids. Once clear of the field, the ships would teleport themselves to a common destination. At these coordinates lay the fleet’s targets: Freeport 9 and battleship Osiris.
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 7/18/2005 6:59:29 AM
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 7/18/2005 7:00:53 AM
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 7/18/2005 9:47:27 AM
Chapter 15
Battleship Osiris, Omicron Theta system. 1 hour later
A large table sat in the center of the research lab on the Osiris. Around the table sat seven individuals, their ears ringing with the recorded sounds of blatant gibberish.
“*click* Ramlugh selestren kulam eih deh, uon eih deh! *click*”
“*click* Nehrasheh! Umluto paiise dhuln llomtaer! *click*”
Kendra Sinclair listened intently to the alien conversation for the umpteenth time in the last hour, trying to make sense of the alien argument on the recording. Yet all that she and the other people, including linguists and researchers such as herself, had been able to figure was that the phrase ‘selestren kulam’ came up often, hinting that it may be the name of an important individual or organization in their society, perhaps as well being be the topic of the argument. Other than that, the only other thing they knew was that the clicking sounds was their communications equipment being turned on and off. Everything else was hypothetical.
Sinclair was slightly sickened when she heard the gruff voice spit. It was so vile, disgusting… she had not expected any insight into the Invader culture to be like this. Everyone in the room agreed; for such an advanced race, the Invaders sounded surprisingly primitive.
The recording stopped, and Sinclair looked blankly at her analysis paper, its surface absent of notes. Sighing, she looked at the other people around the table. The look on their faces told her that they were stumped as well.
“Does anyone have a new lead?” a Kusari woman asked, only to be answered with disappointed murmurs and shaking heads.
After the room fell silent again, a Libertarian man spoke up. “Why don’t we take 15?” Everyone in the room looked at him with questioning faces. “You know,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “just to rest up a bit. Give our minds a chance to freshen up.” Them man’s suggestion was met with approval, and everyone decided that a short break would do them well.
As everyone else filed out of the room, Sinclair lagged behind, her thoughts residing upon the Invaders and the threat they posed to Sirius. What would happen if they won this war? What would happen to the human race? These thoughts plagued Sinclair as she gathered her things and finally headed out the door, where she immediately bumped into an aging man, causing him to drop the papers in his hands.
Embarrassed, Sinclair bent down, gathering the man’s papers. “I’m sorry, sir,” she stammered. “I didn’t see you there. I should have…” Sinclair looked up and recognized the man. “Quintaine!” she shouted.
Quintaine smiled. “Hello, Kendra.”
“What are you doing here?” Sinclair asked, standing up and handing him his papers.
“Orillion contacted me, said he needed my assistance.” Quintaine’s voice turned grim. “Thing’s aren’t going too well, are they?”
Sinclair sighed. “No. Not very well at all. Ever since the Invaders showed up, the majority of the Order’s fighter power has been eradicated, and the Invaders have been quickly pushing us back into civilized space.” She looked into the professor’s eyes, somehow asking for assistance. “We managed to get their communication frequency, but no one can decipher their language. I’ve tried, but from what I can tell, their language is nothing like that of the Dom Kavash.” Sinclair lowered her gaze, saddened by the thought of a bleak future that now stood before Sirius.
Quintaine put a reassuring hand on Sinclair’s shoulder. “I understand what is happening here; it’s like the nomad incursion all over again, isn’t it?” Sinclair nodded glumly, and Quintaine gave her shoulder a small squeeze. “Well,” he said, “Keep your chin up. We beat them, so why can’t we beat these new aliens? All we need to do is find one weakness and exploit it, just like we did with the nomads.” Quintaine’s face pulled itself into a hopeful look, but still gave away a hint of concern.
“You’re right.” Sinclair said. Although the professor’s words were reassuring, she didn’t want to talk about the Invaders. “So, “she said, changing the subject, “when did you get here?”
“About twenty minutes ago.” Quintaine removed his hand from Sinclair’s shoulder and allowed it to drop to his side. He decided that it would not be wise to tell her that he had also met up with Michael King, and that he was also on board now. On the way to Omicron Theta, King had told the professor about their sour relationship, and how the two of them never exactly appeared to see things ‘eye to eye.’
Sinclair looked at her watch and saw that seven minutes of the fifteen-minute break had already passed. She turned her attention back to Quintaine. “Listen, Quintaine. All of the people working on deciphering the Invader language are stumped. We’re on break right now, but when we start up again, do you think you can help?”
Quintaine smiled. “I shall certainly provide my assistance,” he answered. “May I ask you; what do they sound like?”
Sinclair pointed a thumb back into the research lab. “Play the recording and see for yourself. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
*****
Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo found himself once again standing in front a large metal door, nervously fidgeting as he waited to see Master Selestren-Kulam. Nalemo had flinched when he found out that his report was to be the topic of this meeting, and knew that Kulam was most likely disappointed about how Nalemo had allowed Orad-Porel to wriggle his way out of trouble after he failed to wait for the orders to pursue the retreating humans.
The sound of footsteps caught Nalemo’s attention. He wheeled around, and found the footsteps belonging to an armored Invader soldier, who said nothing as he approached the smaller informant. Nalemo recoiled slightly as he eyed the antimatter mortar that was slung around the soldier’s torso. Those things could deal out quite a bit of damage, and from the looks of it, its owner would not hesitate to demonstrate the weapon’s destructive capabilities. “That soldier must be a Capital Guard,” Nalemo thought, judging by the amount of armor that the soldier was wearing (almost a full suit). Capital Guards were the most highly decorated soldiers in Invader society, and most were easily distinguishable by the amount of armor they wore, because in the Invader military, armor was not freely given out; it was earned by performing notable deeds.
The soldier silently walked by Nalemo without giving him a second glance. He walked to the door and grasped the handle.
The soldier paused, and spoke. “Master Selestren-Kulam will see you.” He slowly pulled the door open beckoned for Nalemo to enter. Nalemo nodded and went through the doorway, and the soldier followed him through, closing the door behind him and taking a post beside it.
Selestren-Kulam sat at an unadorned table, the carcass of a freshly killed marlaequeh (a large sea creature with a very durable exoskeleton) lying in front of him. The Invader leader took notice of Nalemo’s entrance.
“Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo. Come, sit,” Selestren-Kulam called to Nalemo. Not wanting to anger the large Invader, Nalemo approached and sat down across the table from his over-muscled leader, looking over the animal carcass to see Kulam’s face.
“I was just about to eat,” Selestren-Kulam said matter-of-factly. As Nalemo watched, Kulam grabbed hold of one of the marlaequeh’s six sturdy armored legs and pulled, separating the limb from the rest of the body in a small fountain of blood, which began to pool onto the table. Using a clawed finger, the Invader leader peeled away the leg’s protective plating, scooped out the raw flesh inside and ate it, enjoying to the fullest the meat’s unique taste and texture. He discarded what remained of the limb and licked the palm of his hand.
Kulam stopped eating and looked at the silver-haired Nalemo, who sat there, motionless. “So,” Kulam started, “can you make a guess of why you’re here?”
Nalemo inhaled sharply. “Master, is it because I allowed Orad-Porel’s disobedience to go unpunished?”
Selestren-Kulam blinked, surprised. “Yes… yes that is correct.” Kulam always asked this question to anyone that got in a spot of trouble with him, and it had been a while since anyone had guessed correctly. “You failed to see to it that an unjust action was met with fitting consequences. I don’t like it when that happens, it can make me look bad.” Selsetren-Kulam leaned over the animal carcass and lowered his voice. “Do you know how hard it is to keep everyone in line?”
Nalemo shook his head. “No, Master.”
“Let me tell you now, that it is very hard,” Kulam whispered with an air of deadly seriousness, “even with the guidelines that the gods bestow upon us. No matter how hard I try to keep everyone in check, there is always a traitor, always an infidel, always one who will turn his back on our mission for some foolish reason. These people humiliate me, point their fingers at me and laugh! I have absolutely no tolerance for these people, and of this I assure you: if I am even the slightest bit humiliated by their hand, I will make certain that they quickly die by mine.”
Without warning, Selestren-Kulam brought up his hand, formed it into a shovel, and plunged it into the marlaequeh’s heavily armored back. The thick exoskeleton shattered with a sickening CRACK, sending fragments of bony turquoise armor and globules of blood flying in every direction. Nalemo sputtered, wiping the organic debris away from his eyes and mouth.
Once Nalemo recovered from the initial shock, he watched as Selestren-Kulam withdrew his undamaged hand from the marlaequeh’s punctured backside and flexed his fingers, which were now covered in the dead animal’s blood. Nalemo was speechless. Marlaequehs where known for their tremendously durable exoskeletons; with proper knowledge, a soldier could fashion an effective armor out of it. The armor was extremely difficult to break apart, even for a full-grown Invader. And Nalemo had just witnessed the leader of his race form a gaping hole in the back of one of these creatures, and on his first attempt at that! Nalemo had never seen or heard of such a feat before.
Selestren-Kulam smiled. “That could have been YOU, Jori-Def-Olen-Nalemo,” he said, making a casual gesture towards the dead crustacean. “I have already said that I have absolutely NO tolerance for those who humiliate me, and you almost became one of them. Fortunately for you, there were three things that kept me from killing you.”
Nalemo stared wide-eyed at Kulam and gave him his full attention.
“One,” Selestren-Kulam started, “I like you. Although you failed to see Orad-Porel be properly punished for his acts, I still find you as an overall good representative. You do your job quickly and without question, and that is a characteristic that I like to see in the people that work for me. Two: I don’t like Orad-Porel. For several years, he has been almost constantly toeing the line and testing my patience, trying to see just how much he can get away with. The only reason that I keep him is because he is a superb commander, and knows how to get the soldiers under his command to do what is commanded of them. And three: What Orad-Porel said to you was actually right.”
Nalemo blinked. This was certainly a surprise. Was Selestren-Kulam talking about the loophole in the battle code? “Master… are you talking about the conflicting statements in the battle code?”
Kulam nodded. “Yes. For the situation that he was in, that flaw in the code is what saved his hide. Thankfully, he will not be able to pull a stunt like that again. I have since rewritten the battle code and closed that loophole. And I have taken the liberty to punish him myself and see that he does not see action again for a while.”
Nalemo was curious. “Master, may I ask how you intend to accomplish that?” he asked.
Kulam allowed a smile to spread across his face. “I sent him a special package that will make sure that the Relentless stays put for a while.” He let out a low chuckle, then leaned back and motioned Nalemo towards the door. “Leave, and never speak of anything that you heard here. You are dismissed.”
Nalemo stood up, saluted, and left the room. Selestren-Kulam resumed eating.
****
Two hours had passed, and Morl-Tefnul was concerned; the Relentless should have arrived by now. It was very uncommon for battleship preparation to take so long. What could have happened that would cause the Relentless to be late? Morl had heard rumors that the battleship’s commander, Orad-Porel, had somewhat of a rebellious attitude. Maybe that was it? Morl-Tefnul thought about it, and came to the conclusion that Orad-Porel’s personality was not to be blamed; the commander always took the task of advancing the fleet seriously.
There was a THUMP, and an Invader fighter teleported into a designated safe-zone and established a communications link with the Invader fighter wing.
“Scouting wing, there has been a change of plans,” said the pilot of the new fighter. “Your wing will not attack the humans alongside the battleship Relentless. You will instead be joined by the Burners Turmoil and Agony, along with additional fighters. They will be arriving shortly.”
Morl-Tefnul was worried about the battleship. “What happened to the Relentless?” he asked, speaking for his entire wing.
The response was delayed, but the new fighter replied. “There was an explosion on board, and the main reactor was knocked out. It will be a few days before the Relentless is in fighting form again.”
Morl pushed for more information. “What caused the explosion?”
“I don’t know. The reactor must have backfired, that’s what I think happened. Others say that it was a bomb, but that’s foolish. Who would be able to do such a thing and get away with it?”
The conversation was interrupted as a group of Corsairs in titans chose that particular moment in time to crash the party. Morl was taken by surprise, but quickly came to his senses. “Engage!” he shouted at his fighters. “Protect the bleeder ship!” Looking over the attacking human ships, he spotted one that looked particularly vulnerable. With a speed that was only attainable through years of experience, he entered coordinate data into his ship’s database and pulled a large yellow lever over his head. Morl heard a loud, shrill scraping sound as his ship dumped energy into its teleportation system as it prepared to break the ship apart, atom by atom, and rebuild it at the coordinated that Morl had entered. A moment later, he felt searing pain as he and his ship disappeared…
…And reappeared behind the targeted human ship. In an instant, Morl-Tefnul felt his pain totally subside, and he fired his weapons at the large tan vessel. The orbs of super-concentrated dark matter that emanated from his weapons tore through the human craft’s shields and relieved the fighter of its right wing. Gleefully, Morl pursued the titan, thankful that he had finally found himself fighting a talented human. He became so absorbed in the fight, everything else around him disappeared. He was in his own world, just him and the human he was chasing, nothing else. After a minute of pursuing the human ship, Morl-Tefnul finally won the fight. He let out a mighty roar of triumph as he watched the finally beaten titan explode into a ball of flames. Craving the blood of another challenger, he turned his ship around, searching for a human ship that wasn’t already taken.
Suddenly Morl-Tefnul felt his ship shudder as it was bombarded by a powerful energy wave. The lights in the instrument panel went out, and he lost the ability to fire his weapons. “What happened?” he thought. Fortunately, Morl fighter’s engine was still powered up, and he turned his ship around to look at the source of the energy wave. He let out a cry of fury as he realized what had happened. The bleeder ship had been destroyed! That ship had been their lifeline, and now it was gone. The fighters were unable to defend themselves!
Morl-Tefnul felt his ship shudder again, and knew that he was being bombarded by enemy fire. He pulled the steering lever and pulled into a corkscrew, trying to dodge the attack that was slowly tearing his ship apart. The tactic worked for a while, that is until the Corsair pilot compensated, and packages of neutrons once again detonated upon the Invader fighter’s damaged hull, puncturing the armor and eating away at the framework. Finally, the stress on the fighter’s weakened skeleton became too great, and the red craft buckled and broke apart. With the internal environment compromised, Morl-Tefnul felt his body quickly succumb to the vacuum of space. He was in so much pain; it felt like his whole body was going to explode. Panicked, Morl tried to scream, but only to find that there was no air in his lungs. Only a few seconds had passed, and even though he was in tremendous pain, Morl refused to accept death as he felt his life ebbing away. However, despite his best efforts, he found that no amount of defiance could stave off his mortality. Finally beaten, Morl-Tefnul grimaced, twitched, and died.
*****
“Yeah!” wing leader Julius cried out as he watched the Invader fighter break apart in front of him. These guys were a cinch to take down, now that that one strange ship had been destroyed.
“Three down, four to go!” someone called out over the comm. as another Invader fighter was destroyed.
Julius tagged and pursued another Invader. As he opened his guns, he reveled in the joy of watching the alien fighter feebly try to dodge the attack. It did not teleport, nor return fire. Julius easily brought it down.
“Last one, people! The area is clear!” someone else shouted. Cheering was heard over the comm. channels.
Julius activated his comm. “Who took down that weird ship?”
There was a brief pause, and the reply came through. “This is Domica Silez. I did, sir,” the pilot said proudly. “I torped the damn thing into oblivion!”
Julius smiled and clicked the comm. “Good, job. I don’t know what that thing did, but it’s obvious that the fighters relied on it for something.” Domica smiled back at Julius through the comm. window.
Julius terminated the communication link and leaned back, smiling broadly. God bless Silez, she was a terrific pilot. Julius was glad to have her on his team, and glad that she was able to destroy the strange Invader vessel. The technology on board must have been very volatile, by the way it had blown up. For one, Invader fighters only seemed to break apart or blow up with a small explosion when they were destroyed. However, the ship that Silez had taken down, while somewhat larger, had exploded with tremendous force after it was struck by the torpedo, and the resulting energy wave had been felt by all ships around the Omicron Minor jumphole. Julius knew that the Order would have wanted to see the technology on board such a ship, but oh well. This was the first human victory against the Invaders. Julius was glad that the Corsairs had called for this attack.
Domica Silez came over the comm. “I just got off the horn with the commander. He congratulates us and says that he will see to it that we return to base with honors.”
Julius sat up and keyed the fighter wing’s communication channel. “Comrades, let’s go home.” The other Corsairs proudly agreed, and the Corsairs left the jumphole.
Not even two minutes after the triumphant Corsairs departed, an Invader attack force suddenly appeared at the now lifeless scene. First to arrive were the fighters, making their entrance with their characteristic THUMP. But a few seconds later, something new accompanied the fighters. With a continuous, loud crackling sound, a new class of Invader attack vessel teleported into place. It was much larger than the fighters; slightly larger than a Liberty cruiser. Two sharp fins grew out of the ship’s rear and swept forward. Another fin protruded out of the craft’s back, its base starting halfway down the ship’s back and stopping just short of a visible command station, dwarfing the other two fins. At the ship’s nose, the body pulled itself into a circular opening, housing a powerful seven-sectioned weapon cluster. Like most other large Invader ships, underneath the red chrome armor and deadly arsenal sat an energy broadcasting system, giving surrounding Invader fighters the power they needed to engage the enemy. All of this was propelled by a single oversized engine, making up the deadly weapon that was the burner ship called Turmoil. At first glance, anyone could say that the ship looked ungainly, but when should you judge something by its appearance? In reality, these burner ships were fast, agile, and extremely deadly.
A few moments more and the burner Agony made its presence known. After scanning their surroundings and figuring out what had happened to the scouting party, the burners and supporting fighters started to make their way out of the surrounding asteroid field. Not wanting to make a foolish miscalculation and teleport into a solid object, the small fleet navigated between the asteroids. Once clear of the field, the ships would teleport themselves to a common destination. At these coordinates lay the fleet’s targets: Freeport 9 and battleship Osiris.
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 7/18/2005 6:59:29 AM
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 7/18/2005 7:00:53 AM
Edited by - Steel_Fang on 7/18/2005 9:47:27 AM
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