wow cool story. (starts suffering from withdrawal symptoms need more now
!)

You know its monday when your handgun backfires into your face

Very nice...very nice indeed...



---"Open the Pod Bay doors, Hal, and I'll give you a cookie."

Labor day is today! Enjoy your time off by reading the next chapter. (I know the ending stinks, but I couldn't think of anything else to do to fix it)

Chapter 21

Invader homeworld, G-32 galaxy

At the Invader capital, it was the time of day where dusk had passed and dawn had yet to come. Those who resided within the capital had settled down for the night, and with the guards standing motionless upon the walls, activity within the fortress had come to a complete standstill.
But on this night, there were two exceptions.
Selestren-Kulam stood wide-awake in the capital’s large central courtyard, his powerful figure illuminated by the wall-mounted torches, attending to business. This business was not military-related, however: it delved into personal matters. Accompanying him was Essehui-Guiteem-Ofnei, one of the females he had chosen as a potential mate. Selsetren-Kulam had arranged for her to be with him on this particular night and converse with him so he could come to know her, find out how she thinks, and discover just what made her the being she was. But the simple purpose: it was a trial, part of the elimination process to find the best mate.
Like all females, Essehui-Guiteem-Ofnei was much shorter than the glorified Invader leader, standing by human measurements at just under six feet in height. The majority of her body was covered in dark grey hair that was trimmed to an attractive length, about one inch, thinning out to nothing aaround the face, hands, and feet. The hair partially hid Essehui’s well-defined muscles – their size was one that was common in Invader women, but still much smaller in comparison to those found upon their male counterparts. Though few knew bothered to notice, she was a very intelligent female, with a serene face and bright eyes; features that Essehui hoped Selestren-Kulam would find attractive.

“The battleships should be beginning their attack on the humans now,” Kulam said, his attention upon the female.

“As the divine have requested,” Essehui replied, looking directly into the leader’s eyes, with an expression of confidence and respect for the male.

Kulam turned his attention to the night sky. There was not much to look at, however. With the system completely contained within the dark matter nebula, there were no stars to be seen; only the dim image of being inside a curving tunnel of dust, dust that trailed behind the planet as it was pulled out of the upper atmosphere by the sun’s powerful solar winds. For many seconds Kulam watched as the dust crept away into the great beyond at an astonishingly slow pace before curving away and disappearing beyond the horizon.
Essehui followed Kulam’s gaze and craned her neck to look skywards. Her attention, however, was focused not on the dust but upon space as a whole. Her mind delved into memories.

“Paerkye sul neefei,” she whispered, speaking in her native tribal tongue.

“What?” Kulam turned his gaze back onto Essehui.

Essehui smiled inwardly, having gotten the reaction she had wanted. “It means ‘from above.’” She returned her attention to the sky. “My mother taught it to me when I was young. It’s from an ancient tribal legend of hers that told of a time when the gods once came down from the sky and spoke to my ancestors.”

Kulam was intrigued. He had never expected for the female to talk about the religious history of her tribe, much less speak in her native language. This could put an interesting twist in their conversation.
Selsetren-Kulam could only assume that Essehui had translated the words truthfully - such dialects were not known to the male, thanks to the military gender regulation. Foreign tongues were only known to females, whose mothers would often teach it to them. The use of the languages in speech was very rarely performed, except for naming newborn Invaders, however, ever since Kulam’s ancestor had led the Great Unification crusade and united all the Invader tribes under one ruler, language, and religion.
Kulam casually glanced at Essehui, noting how she, as all females, was small and feeble compared to him. And only Kulam knew the reason why. During his time as ruler, he had learned that before the Great Unification, the Invaders on the planet had been split into hundreds of tribes that constantly fought each other for thousands of years. Over countless generations the males of the tribes would fight to the death for land, food, and territory. It was during this time of constant war that the males, then about the same size as the females, grew larger, stronger, and faster, all for the sake of besting their enemies in battle. This trend would have most likely continued had it not been for the introduction of advanced technology and fighting techniques that Kulam’s ancestor had introduced to the battlefield during his famed crusade.

“Tell me, Essehui-Guiuteem-Ofnei,” Kulam started, breaking the silence, “Why do you speak about your family’s past?”

Essehui answered with carefully chosen words. “Because we should learn from the mistakes we make. My tribe made the mistake of worshipping false gods, and we crumbled under the power of yours. Your gods aided you, and they aid you now, so surely they must be real.” She cast Kulam an attentive eye. “I will tell you that I have come to realize that it is our religion that holds our society together. Should we once again idolize gods that are false, history would repeat and we will collapse into untold years of tribal warfare.”

The Invader leader struggled to the hide the fact that Essehui had totally blown him away with her reasoning. He hadn’t expected ANY response from a female to be that intelligent. He could now see that she was a very strategic thinker, insightful and daring to challenge rules that were not set in stone… he liked that.
Kulam allowed himself a slight smile. As a mating candidate, Essehui had just put herself ahead of the game.

*****

The Liberty Navy had significantly stepped up their patrols and safety measures in the past few days, the reason being that the Outcasts had made daring attacks on several key areas within Liberty Space. No one could have suspected, though, that the attacks were tied to the both Order and President Jacobi, and was all part of a grand scheme to protect Liberty.
Liberty’s system of checks and balances in the government would prevent the president from increasing military activity inside its own space without a just reason. Jacobi knew this all too well, and so she had contacted Orillion, and with the consent of the Outcasts, they had arranged for multiple remotely controlled Outcast ships to come in, fire their guns for a while, and allow the Navy to destroy them. It was a simple task, but it would scare the politicians enough that they would not only allow, but encourage a buildup of naval defense. It had worked, almost too well; now there was a battleship at most of the major locations in Liberty.
The armored skin of the Liberty battleship LNS Michigan was once again touched by white sunlight as it pulled out from behind planet Manhattan in its continuous thirty-minute low-orbit patrol. The ship looked all the more majestic as it bathed in the lambent glory the emanated from the life-giving fire at the center of the system.
That is, until it disappeared in the shadow of another ship, heard the cries for help, to save them from a self-declared tyrant of space, the outstretched arm of that which ruled with an iron fist that took pleasure in strangling its opponents till their bodies fell forever still. This is what the Michigan saw as it first saw Newark and Trenton Outpost in a light that had become tainted with the blood.

“To all Liberty peacekeeping forces, this is battleship Michigan above planet Manhattan! A massive unknown ship has somehow bypassed the planetary defense grid and has opened fire! Trenton and Newark are taking significant damage! To all ships in the area, converge and attack!”

On the bridge of the Michigan, Captain Janet Grayson terminated the signal, silently praying that there was a support group nearby. That monster absolutely dwarfed anything in the Liberty arsenal! What is that thing?! Who built it? Why was it attacking… and how do you take it down? That last question was the major priority in Captain Grayson’s book. She was about to order her crew to scan the ship, but then decided against it… the target was simply too large to make an effective search. Scanning object that size would take several minutes… time she didn’t have. Therefore, the captain just had to resort to thinking with her head, as well as her gut instinct for her strategies and quick decisions.
Captain Grayson analyzed the ship, scouting out for a weakness. The first thing she took note of was its cannons. They had an unbelievably long range, over three times the reach of the Michigan’s. So a direct assault was ruled out. What about fighters? Yes, launching fighter attacks on the ship just might work. But did the red ship have fighters of its own? The captain turned to 2nd Lieutenant Peter Warnack, the small man who ran the Michigan’s sensory equipment.

“Lieutenant Warnack, run a long-range scan. See if that thing has any fighters.”

“Yem, M’am,” Warnack responded in his unusually high voice. He put his hands to work, rapidly entering a series of commands, the computer making audible pings in response. A few seconds later, the scan was completed.

“M’am, there is no evidence of the ship having fighter support.”

Grayson found this a little confusing. A ship that large could be vulnerable to an attack by smaller ships. Also, due to its size, it would be extremely easy to hit it with torpedoes from a distance. Nevertheless, the captain decided to take advantage of the situation and sent the order to scramble the fighters.

*****

Orad-Porel Looked at the monitors mounted on the walls of the bridge of his battleship, enjoying the videos of the antimatter turrets discharge and sending their destructive orbs at the human stations, eating away at their protective shells to claim the lives of those who dwelled within. The site was invigorating, and made him happy.
Orad started to smile, but quickly stopped at he felt pain in his lips. He swore under his breath. The two jagged wounds that Selestren-Kulam had inflicted upon his muzzle were tender, and had become the ugly off-white color that signaled an infection. Already the affected areas had started to swell, noticeably distorting his battle-hardened face. Orad hated the wounds, and hated the Master for doing this to him, and he silently cursed Kulam’s name, and muttered ‘Koshadah,’ the name of an unholy being that had once fought the gods for control over the universe. Thankfully, Koshadah was defeated and his spirit destroyed, but not before he tainted the perfect faces of many worlds the gods had created.
Suddenly Orad came to a realization. The humans… they must have been one of the evils made by Koshadah’s yellow hands, the product of the evil that had once brought the universe to the brink of total chaos, the abomination that had made his body from the blood of the righteous beings he had slain. The humans were Koshadah’s servants. And the gods had sent the Invaders on a holy crusade to destroy them. Orad immediately repented his hatred of Selestren-Kulam and blessed his being, and thanked him for inflicting the wounds upon his face. To Orad, the wounds were no longer a punishment. They were now a reminder to uphold the will of the gods.
With newfound determination, Orad returned his attention to the monitors and continued surveying the attack. It was at this time that he noticed a large silver spot on the monitors moving out from behind the planet. It was still too far away to make out what it was, but Orad-Porel took no chances.

Orad swiveled his head towards an Invader at one particular station. “Armament! Open fire on that object coming from behind the planet!”

*****

On board the Michigan, Captain Grayson was busy thinking up new battle tactics when a bright red orb suddenly roared by the battleship’s starboard side.

“What the hell…” she said, as a bright red light illuminated the bridge. She looked at the giant sharp finned ship just in time to see it belch another red orb of destruction. She watched as the discharge rushed towards her at a breakneck speed and make contact with the Michigan’s prow. The super-condensed antimatter exploded and mushroomed into a large black cloud, obscuring the view from the bridge. The protective multi-layer armor peeled back as it was eaten away, its physical state effectively neutralized by the dark matter and its negative properties. Radiation in the immediate area spiked at dangerous levels.

“Sh**!” Grayson swore loudly as the ship violently lurched in response to the impact. The weapons range of that ship was even longer that she thought! This called for a revision in her plan.
Then she remembered something. The Michigan was equipped with sunslayer torpedoes. They were newer versions, though, Mark IIs – their surface was specially shaped and covered with a special skin that absorbed a variety of pulse signals, making it difficult for the package to be picked up by sensors and defense systems. After quickly forming a strategy, she gave the order to launch a salvo at the ship, and for the fighters to run a diversion and draw off the red ship’s turrets, leaving it open for the torpedoes to drive themselves into its sides. The orders were carried out, and the torpedoes were launched.
Meanwhile, as the Relentless continued pound away at Newark and Trenton, the alien battleship launched numerous vessels. Most were fighters, but among them were twelve dropships, silently preparing descend to the surface of Manhattan. And each one of them carried a platoon of soldiers, all with a burning desire to smite those who stood in their path.

Edited by - Steel_Fang on 9/6/2005 7:09:25 PM

'The ending stinks'? Are you nuts?

That was splendiferous! Bring on the next chapter!

---"Open the Pod Bay doors, Hal, and I'll give you a cookie."

Lol Neuro. Let me rephrase that: the ending's not as good as it could have been

steel_fang. i have an idea to help the Humans! give them matter cannons. if you fire it at one of their guns it should overload the system!

You know its monday when your handgun backfires into your face

Interesting idea xp194, I'll keep that in mind.

deleted by Fallen_Angel

figured as much, dont want to give away any potential plot developments so I deleted this =D

Edited by - [GR_Fallen_Angel on 9/7/2005 4:31:41 PM

Thanks, Fallen_Angel. That helps

Edited by - Steel_Fang on 9/7/2005 6:24:01 PM

no problemo, I'd hate it if someone did that to my Fanfic, so I know someone else would too...

Sorry about the long wait. Now that the beginning ot the year is over, college is starting to become more demanding. Anyways, I'm extending chapter 21, and I'm probably going to be doing that for a while. Feel free to comment, criticize, and make suggestions!

Chapter 21 pt 2

Twelve pillars of fire erupted from the sides of the Michigan as the Mk II sunslayer torpedoes were launched and in unison turned their warheads in the direction of the Relentless. These advanced weapons, designed to be as stealthy as possible, detached their launch engines and reverted the their second stage ion pulse-jets, leaving in their wake a faint shockwave ring of exhaust as they cycled the system once and exploded towards their target, speeding along at ninety KPS. From there the torpedoes would allow their own inertia to carry them towards their objective, the engines firing again only if a course correction was needed - all for the purpose of avoiding detection.
Although the torpedoes were hard to spot, to the trained eye they weren’t invisible. This is why Marcus and his fighter wing had been sent to divert the attention of the dark red chrome ship and open a wedge in its defenses, allowing the sunslayers to slip through.

“All fighters break and attack! Keep your eyes open for any ‘surprises,’ though.” Marcus cut off the transmission just in time to see one of the alien turrets warm up and discharge at his fighter wing. It screamed towards his position at an impossible speed, much faster than a tachyon bolt. Luckily his team was still a good distance away and was able to scatter just in time, and the boiling head of alien energy ate nothing but vacuum as it roared by, marking its path with a thick jet-black trail of antimatter. Another turret on the Leviathan ship cycled and unleashed its destructive charge, but this time at the Michigan, which still lay a good 7 K away from the battle. Marcus turned just in time to see the Michigan take a volley to the nose. He swore as he saw this and realized what had happened - the alien ship wasn’t particularly interested in the fighters anymore.
Marcus soon found out why. As he neared the ship, several new craft, plated in the same red chrome, suddenly popped into existence with a multitude of dull thumps. They began to move to attack the approaching liberty Defenders.

A voice came over the wing comm. “There’s a surprise for you, chief.”

Marcus knew who had made the comment. “Goddammit, Valentine,” he thought, “now is not the time to be making your stupid wisecracks!” Marcus took a precious moment to hit the comm. and angrily tell the man to ‘shut his f***ing mouth and pay attention to the task at hand.’ With that done, Marcus moved to tail an alien fighter, weapons unleashing gouts of plasma at its position.

*****

Orad-Porel keenly observed the battle, his breathing slow and steady. He had no worries about the outcome of this battle – against the Relentless, even the human battleship posed very little threat. Orad was sure that he would cripple the enemy offensive, destroy the alien defensive forces and move in to take over the port – this planet the humans called ‘Mehn-haht-ehn.’ Despite the fact that the planet would obviously reek of human aromas, Orad felt that the colorful ball of dirt would provide him and his forces with its bounty, at least for a while – rumors told that the human choice of meat was actually decent.
But was it worth it? There was very little honor in defeating an enemy who would flee whenever you attacked. Even now Orad could see the stations rapidly launching ships as they evacuated. They were cowards, every single one of them, ever since their first attack was shamelessly put down. What kind of being would retreat without a fight? Based on their cowardice, Orad tried to imagine what a human would look like, but his brain drew up a blank; he could not imagine anything that he had not already seen.
With a blink, Orad cleared his mind and averted his thoughts to spiritual reasoning. Why had Koshadah made his servants so fearful and weak? It made no sense. Orad thought, “If I had been Koshadah (and Gods forgive me for such a thought), I would have made them powerful and fearless.”
It was at this time that Orad realized that his rationality must have left him, because it decided to come crashing back down onto him. “Isn’t this a crusade?” Orad thought. Yes, the greatest crusade since the Great Unification. “Aren’t the Invader forces backed by the will of the gods?” Indeed it was. “So maybe they are terrified of the Gods.” The conclusion made Orad smile as he became even more confident of his immediate victory.

*****

Rames-Une-Teral was crouched in the large bay of a dropship, his massive body sticking out like a sore thumb among the other sixty-odd Invader soldiers that accompanied him. Due to the absence of gravity in the bay, each soldier had at least one hand clasped around one of a series of overhead railings, pushing upwards to keep their feet firmly planted on the deck. Each one sustained total silence and they turned their focus upon the lone Invader that stood up front, his importance made apparent by the bright blue war paint that had been artistically applied to his body, cutting jagged streaks across the skin and adding to his already menacing appearance.

“Lay waste! Conquer! Vanquish!” he shouted. “You are soldiers, and once we land on the battlefield, you will be representing the will of the Master, and through him, the wishes of the gods! They believe in you and your capabilities – do not fail them!”

Rames listened to the gargling voice of his battle commander with rapt attention, understanding his duty as an Invader soldier. He was here to fight, here to win. And he wanted to prove his worth… show that he was indeed a valuable addition to the growing Invader Empire.
As the seconds ticked by, gravity began to settle onto the dropship as it neared the planet and prepared for atmospheric entry. Rames sensed this and released his grip on the railing.

“Soldiers, dress, grab a weapon and prepare for deployment!” the battle commander shouted, pointing to the armory stacks on the walls of the bay. “Get moving, now!”

Rames joined the following chorus of brief pre-battle war cries and moved to equip his armor. After shoving through the crowd, he found the rustic metal dressings, easily distinguishable by their size. He grabbed it all – left shoulder pad, back plate, ankle cuffs (simple metal rings that protected the user’s Achilles tendons), and helmet. The soldier quickly donned everything but the helmet, which he took a moment to look at.
Rames had always liked his helmet. While it did not offer complete protection (most helmets were open at the bottom, exposing the jaw), the area it covered was quite decent. The mouth area consisted of a grill-like structure, providing protection while still allowing Rames to breathe. The grill was also slanted, so Rames could open his mouth and not expose the sides of his jaw. The helmet also had large eye holes, giving a wide range of view, and stretched forward to minimize any blind spots down Rames’ muzzle. And to top it all off, Rames’ crest would be protected by a large curving horn that added fright value to the helmet.
Rames smiled. Whoever had made the helmet for him had been very thoughtful and precise about the design.
The dropship began to shudder as it entered Manhattan’s atmosphere and was buffeted by the turbulent air. Rames-Une-Teral slipped the helmet over his head and moved to the weapons bin and pulled out his weapon of choice, an antimatter mortar cannon. He quickly inspected it, i.e. tapping the trigger to see if it stuck, lightly shaking the device and listening for loose parts, and sticking a clawed finger down the weapon’s short barrel and pushing down the launch plunger, testing its resilience. Satisfied with the results, Rames reached into a nearby basket of energy cells, pulled out one, and slapped it into his gun’s battery port. The battery contained compressed antimatter and was very heavy, and more than doubled the weapon’s weight. Rames then grabbed a weapon sash and filled its empty clips with spare batteries. Now he was ready to fight.
The dropship continued to descend into the atmosphere.

*****


Trent just stood rather stupidly in place, watching his fiancée hurriedly equip her sidearm.

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a dream?” Trent was bewildered that Juni thought that the Invaders were attacking Manhattan.
Juni directed a glare at her fiancé, then strode over to the couch, grabbed the TV remote and turned the television on to the public news channel. The screen instantly flickered to life and was filled with video footage of an Invader battleship.
The video came from a ship-mounted camera, made apparent by the how the camera footage trembled slightly, and a blinking red icon in the lower left corner of the screen indicated that the broadcast was live. The video also had voice commentary from someone at the scene, most likely the person piloting the ship.

“…The scene here is… it’s incredible!” the commentator shouted in a voice that was filled with both excitement and fear. “A massive red – thing has suddenly appeared just outside the Manhattan trade lane junction and has attacked the liberty forces! What the hell is that thing, I mean just look at it…” At this point, Trent didn’t need anymore convincing to believe that Juni’s prediction had been accurate.

What the commentator said next really got Trent’s attention. “Whoa, hold on… I don’t believe this! There are several large ships heading to into Manhattan’s atmosphere! It looks like a like they’re going to land their forces!”

“Grab what you need, Edison,” Juni said quickly as she started to hurry towards the front door. “We’re leaving.”

Trent nodded and dashed through the bedroom and grabbed one of his blasters. But something told him that that wouldn’t be enough, that he needed stopping power as well. So once he equipped the blaster, Trent went to the bed and pulled a long black wooden box out from underneath it. He fumbled with the latches, and a few seconds later, the box was open.
The weapon that lay inside was one that he had acquired in Rheinland. While not holding as many shots as a blaster, it was much better in stopping power. Instead of firing bolts of energy or plasma, though, this gun would send dozens of depleted uranium shards into the target, effectively shredding the inflicted area. Trent knew that if it came a certain point, the weapon could give him an advantage.
There was a problem, however: In the box there was only had one clip, for the thing. Trent grabbed it and slapped in onto the gun. One clip, seven rounds. Trent would have to use them sparingly.
Everything else Trent needed he already had, either in his ship or on his datapad. So not needing anything else, Trent ran back into the front room, where he saw Juni with her datapad to her ear, taking advantage of its phone system.

“Come on, wake up and answer…” Trent heard Juni whisper. Then with a huff of aggravation, she closed her datapad and pocketed it. Trent approached her, alerting the woman to his presence

“Juni, what’s going on?” Trent asked.

Juni sighed. “It’s my mother. We have to go get her.”

Very nice.

---"Open the Pod Bay doors, Hal, and I'll give you a cookie."

Hey! Sorry about the 3 week absence. My writing had been very forced lately. Forcing my writing made me stressed and I never liked the end result, since my last post I finally got fed up with it and have only been writing when I am in the mood. Unfortunately, this means that production has slowed to a crawl. Nevertheless, I have still been working and have made the newest addition below. As the story progresses, I will keep adding to this post until it is a full chapter. Enjoy and tell me what you think.

Chapter 22

Above planet Manhattan

A full minute had ticked by and Rames-Une-Teral, along with any Invader soldier, could very easily tell that the ship was still in the middle of its descent. It was so easy to tell, in fact, that you would have to practically be dead not to know.
The small trembling that had been felt onboard the dropship as it began its atmospheric descent had now transformed into violent quakes that seemingly possessed the ship as it punched its way through the turbulent air above Manhattan, the framework creaking and groaning loudly. Through the craft’s armored skin Rames could hear the deafening roar of the wind outside as it howled like no beast he had ever known.
Rames felt sweat bead up underneath his armor. The air inside the bay was growing considerably hot. The Invader had the atmospheric friction of reentry and the large, air hogging mouths of the sixty other soldiers onboard to thank for that. With no way to cool, circulate or replace the life-giving substance, the air was stale and had a bitter taste to it, as well as a certain itchiness that irritated Rames’ eyes and made them water.

“Two minutes till dirt!” shouted the war-painted field commander, his voice somehow carrying over the din of the wind and rattling dropship.

Two minutes was too long for Rames-Une-Teral. He wanted to be planet side NOW. The atmosphere in the bay was becoming unbearable, despite the fact that Rames had made such reentry trips several times, and should have been able to tolerate such conditions. Yes, he was a seasoned foot soldier, having survived many battles and skirmishes, with many approaches locations requiring a reentry drop. This drop, however, was… the word ‘different’ was the only description that Rames could think of.
Rames, careful not to hit his head on the ceiling, looked over his shoulder and casually glanced at his surroundings. He could see the other Invaders onboard. Most of them fidgeting, checking and double-checking their armor and weapons. One or two of them, most likely rookie soldiers, stood with their mouths open, a common signal of overheating bodies. But after his ventures, Rames knew from experience that this could be deemed as normal. But was he the only veteran who was suffering on this drop? He could find nothing out of the ordinary about it, yet somehow it was making him physically very uncomfortable. And to add insult to his discomfort, Rames knew there was nothing he could do about it. So, impatiently awaiting the landing, the soldier shifted to face the bay door and tightened his grip on his antimatter mortar. He wanted to put this uncomfortable experience behind him. He wanted a distraction. He wanted to kill.

*****

A chain of explosions suddenly mushroomed out of the port side of the Relentless as all twelve Mk II sunslayer torpedoes smashed into their target. Their penetrating heads cracked through the alien armor, rattling the underlying over-engineered framework with shockwaves as the torpedoes unleashed a chemical hellfire inside the ships gut. Anyone who was caught in the blast quickly succumbed to the fire and vacuum, if not killed instantly.
But on the bridge of such a large ship, the only sign that the Relentless had been on the wrong end of a twelve-torpedo salute was when one of the monitors lost its video feed.

“Damned contraption,” Orad-Porel muttered. These things always broke at the most annoying times. He turned to Invader behind the communication panel. “Communications, get a mechanic up here to fix the screen.”

“Yes sir…” The communications soldier started, but was interrupted by a flood of frantic reports. His long face twisted into a look of concentration as he filtered out the voices. His eyes grew wide. “Sir! I am receiving reports that the Relentless has taken many hits on the port side! The hull has been breached in several places!”

Despite the other Invader’s nervousness, Orad remained calm. “Were any of the fuel ballasts ruptured?”

The communications office blinked, and then relayed the question into the communications panel, which sent his voice into the desired areas. After listening to the responses, the Invader cleared his throat. “No sir.”

A small, somewhat painful smile slowly crept over Orad-Porel’s face and he let out a single laugh. “Look at them! Their attempts are so futile! They throw rocks at us!” Suddenly Orad’s smile disappeared. “Return fire. Kill everything. Oh, and I still want that mechanic up here.” Orad made this order sound live a passive statement.

“Yes sir.”

Orad turned to view the working monitors, eyes drifting past the battle and at the planet. It looked so pleasing… the air lacked the blanketing cloud of dust that the Invader homeplanet had. The atmosphere was so clear; you could even see the ground. From the looks of it, it would be a decent planet to occupy, even if it was probably going to be a little bright. At any rate, Orad-Porel wanted that planet. But it was populated by humans… Orad would have to take care of that.

*****

Over the past two years while dating Juni, Trent had been able to meet and get to know his fiancée’s mother. Born and raised in Kusari, Ms. Kumiko Zane was half a head shorter than her daughter, with shoulder-length black hair, brown eyes and a round face. She was an adorable woman with a big heart and a sharp mind, and although she was much more passive than Juni, she could have a mean streak when you really made her mad. It was obvious which parent Juni took after.
Ms. Zane worked night shifts at a nearby hospital, working from dusk till dawn. This meant that with Manhattan’s 31-hour days, coupled with her increasing age, made her shifts long and tiring. Therefore, obviously, she slept during the day. That’s where the trouble was now. Juni’s mother was not at all a very light sleeper. From what Juni had told Trent, Ms. Zane could sleep through all sorts of commotion, and would explain why she had not answered her daughter’s call.
Juni was very close to her mother, so it didn’t at all surprise Trent when she firmly stated that they were going after her mother. He merely nodded, double checking his weapons as he followed Juni out the door.
A public road ran adjacent to the front of the house, typical of Manhattan residence areas that lay nestled in large clearings, well away from the skyscrapers (Manhattan might be a single giant city, but with a population of 300 million people, against Earth’s staggering 7.5 billion at the time of the 100-year war, the planet was very lightly populated, and had more than enough room for such areas). There was not a space worthy ship on sight; although space was plentiful, residential zoning laws prohibited landing a fighter or freighter in or near the area; they had to be held within designated landing zones, most of them within the city. From there, the main mode of transportation was by public shuttles or personal air skiffs. Thankfully, the young couple had a skiff of their own.

“We’ll be quick about this, Edison,” Juni said to Trent as she made her way to the skiff. “We’ll head over to my mother’s place and pick her up. Then we get to our ships and launch.” She unlocked the door. “I’m driving.”

“Alright.” Trent rounded the vehicle and got in the passenger seat. Once he closed the door, Juni tapped the ignition key and the engine turned over and the skiff rose a few feet off the ground, kept aloft by a gravpad. Juni pulled out onto the road and headed off.

“Edison, I need you to contact Orillion. Let him know what’s happening. Could you do that for me?”

Trent knew better than to refuse this notion, and agreed without hesitation. He pulled out his datapad and used it to establish a connection with the Osiris.
Juni impatiently flexed her fingers on the steering wheel as she leaned on the accelerator. Her mother lived several miles away on the other side of the city in the innermost parts of the residential areas. She needed to get there as fast as possible and pick her up before the Invader battleship took control of the space around Manhattan. Who knows what the Invaders would do if they barricaded the planet?

“Done.” Trent said a minute later as he pocketed his datapad. “Orillion knows.”

Juni was about to say something to Trent when she suddenly noticed something in the sky. There, a thin trail of grey smoke leading into the horizon. And there, another was also headed into the distance.

“What are those?” she quietly asked herself.

Trent overheard Juni’s remark and followed her gaze to the trails that cut through the sky. As he watched, the trail of the furthest smoke column hiccupped, creating a break in the contrail before resuming, the new trail having shifted to black.

Trent remembered the news report and winced. “I think those might be the Invader dropships,” he said slowly.

Just then Juni’s ears picked up a distant rumble over the low whine of air skiff’s engine. She nudged Trent and got his attantion. “Do you hear that?” she whispered. As the two of them listened, the rumble quickly turned into a throaty, stuttering roar, accompanied by random screeches of metal scraping metal.
The noise climaxed at an incredible din, and both Trent and Juni saw a strange ship thunder a few hundred feet over their heads. The ship, a strange flying wing by the looks of it, was plated in dark red chrome, and trailing thick black smoke out of its two engine cowlings. Juni’s eyes were locked onto the ship as it pulled up and gained altitude, slowing down as it reached the crest of its climb. It turned – and headed straight for the city.

“Dammit!” Juni leaned further on the accelerator.

*****

The wind died down, the air began to cool, and Rames-Une-Teral heard the engines ignite as the dropship began to pull out of its dive. At last, the ship was about to land, and the massive Invader would have his feet on solid ground again.
Rames did a last-minute double-check on his weapons and armor and, satisfied that everything was in order, brought the antimatter mortar to bear and firmly planted his feet on the deck, ready to run out and fight as soon as the dropship hit the surface.
The battle commander once again stepped out in front of the soldiers, donned in his armor, which included a helmet, breastplate, left armguard, right leg guard, gauntlets, and left ankle cuff. To signify his rank, the rustic metal plates were decorated with the same bright blue war paint that emblazoned his rough skin. He said nothing as he gazed at the soldiers under his command; he didn’t need to. Even the rookies knew what a standard drop was like, and knew this one was going to be no different. The dropship would land and the soldiers would spill out and establish a perimeter while a previously selected, experienced group would quickly work on the dropship and uncover armored ports and attach weapon turrets so the ship could provide air support (the turrets had to be removed before a drop, or they would be damaged or destroyed in the heat of reentry). Once a perimeter had been established and the dropship had lifted off, the soldiers would scout in groups called assassin patrols, which would search for and destroy any threat that presented itself.
Everyone was eager to fight: this was what they had trained for. Throughout the bay of the dropship, Invader soldiers began to show their eagerness. There was quiet laughing as many combat veterans took the time to think about total victory. Others grinned, and many rookie soldiers shifted impatiently, their claws itching with the need to kill.
Rames felt the ship shudder as the dropship slowed to a near stall, before igniting its belly engines and lower its landing gear. This was it. The soldier tensed his legs, ready to spring out as soon as the hatch opened. As the Invader watch his commander turn around to face the hatch, Rames felt thumps reverberate through the ship as it touched the ground.
A few seconds later, the hatch fell open, and all hell broke loose.

Edited by - Steel_Fang on 1/10/2006 2:35:27 PM

Edited by - Steel_Fang on 9/11/2006 5:42:23 AM

MOOOORE

MOOOOOORE

Write MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE

Death to the salad eaters!