The Fallen God Page 5

  On its command bridge the Report Drone plugged itself into the main console; it was really not equipped to do this. The battle computer should have taken over but it had been destroyed many cycles ago in the war with the Drymac’s, at that time they had own the day but their computer was hit and its functions terminated. So for now the little Report Drone tried to take over its programming and do the best job it could.

  It tried to give commands for the ship to attack, “orders, attack oncoming ships and destroy them, make heading for...” but as it tried to complete the orders there was a massive feedback and its connections sparked with a white fire, the drones input connector was melted and its shuttered. “GRAAACKKKK!” It called out as it pulled what was left of its connector back into its casing.

  Again the crew manifest commented without being asked, “Careful, that will get you killed”, it said dryly.

  Back on the bridge of the Dragos Captain Molbon shifted back and forth near his command crew, he moved like a Vargarian she cat in a cage, he barked orders that would have frighten a seasoned officer. “I want continuous reading on that ship, give the orders to the other ships to close into attack formation, charge up all weapons and secure bulkheads, and do it NOW!” he sounded very angry, but inside he was feeling something else.

  Contentment.

  Maybe I won’t have to spend my last cycles as a broken old soldier? He thought to himself, Maybe I can end my life like a true soldier and not waste away until I am nothing. He tried to hide the smile on his scarred face but he could not. Knowing that he might be going into battle again made all aches and pains melt away and in their place a feeling that he had not felt in a long, long time...Courage.

  “We have a reading on that ship Captain”, reported the attractive trainee, “its configuration coincides with an ancient signature of a Trajion battle ship”.

  The Captain gave her a look. “Trajion? They haven’t been seen in over two hundred standard cycles, are you sure your readings are correct?”

  The ensign quickly checked over her console, “yes sir, all readings are confirmed, it’s definitely of a Trajion design”.

  Molbon’s face no longer smiled, and if he had looked around his bridge he would have seen the same look on the faces of his crew. Trajion were the stuff of legends in the Outer Rim. The stories of their wars and the viciousness of their battles were written about in hundreds of books and used for many eye-screen entertainments, but no one had ever thought they would ever be seen again moving through the Outer Rim. It would have been impossible, unthinkable, but there it was on the console screen, it was a nightmare come true.

  Molbon straightened his uniform and spoke loud enough for everyone to hear, “all crew at battle stations, charge weapons, prepare for attack!”

  In an instant all crewmembers were relaying those orders throughout the ship, and everyone hearing those commands followed them without question.

  On the other ships in the attack fleet the orders to battle stations were also followed, their Captains were much younger then Molbon and many of them had not seen any real battles. But when their sensors reported the Trajion ship they knew that they would soon have their invitations, so the battle alarms sounded and each ship took up their designated formations and waited for the orders to open fire.

  The M-91 did not turn from his flight plan and on the Battle Bridge the little Report Drone tried to load data into the main console. But its mind-lock capabilities were just not strong enough, so after trying unsuccessfully to coordinate a battle plan it gave up and simply waited.

  “Approaching target” sounded the navigation console; “we will have contact in approximately three point nine time breaks”.

  The word “approximately” was something new to the navigational console. In the past it would have known down to the micro second exactly how much time would pass before any contact would have been made but that was long ago and its calculating circuits were not what they use to be. But to the Report Drone it was enough, three point nine time breaks or four point nine, what did it matter, its orders were to find an enemy and terminate and being on time was not in his mind mass right now.

  “Understood” replied the Report Drone, “continue on path”.

  Once again the crew manifest spoke without being asked too, “so you’re just going to stand there and let us all die, is that it?”

  The Report Drone did not answer but went to the weapons console, “weapons, when in range open fire with all available guns and keep firing”.

  The weapons console sparked to life, “unnnnderstood, all weaaaapons will fire on commanded”.

  “It’s not going to work you know” the manifest said, “you’re just going to die like everybody else”.

  The little Report Drone was getting tired of the constant input from the crew manifest, ordinarily it would have disregarded its comments but this time it did not. It moved over to the console and reached out with its programming tentacle, there was a spark as it found the input connector.

  “What are you doing?’ ask the manifest, then it realized just what the Report Drone was trying to do, “wait, don’t shut down my input connections, I don’t want to die, please don’t let me die!”

  But the drone continued its input and with a last connection it terminated the crew manifest and the console went dark, then it turned and went back to the main control console.

  “We have reached contact point”, reported Navigation, “you can commence weapons fire”.

  For a moment or two the little Report Drone stood unmoving, maybe it was trying to find some kind of alternative program that might let it disregard its primary orders. Or maybe it was just thinking about what was to come? But after a few more moments it spoke in a clear command voice, “weapons, ...FIRE!”

  Deep inside the ship the Orb felt a slight shutter wave as the Blaze-cannons started to fire, the energy levels began to dip as the banks of powerful weapons emitted a barrage of death at the approaching battle fleet. But to the Orb it felt good, at last its time had come, it could die now and let the universe to itself, an ending, it thought, No more wars or battles, at last I can rest.

  When the first wave of cannon fire hit the bridge of the battle ship its Captain did not give a command to turn the ship or open fire because he was not ordered to do so. It was a well-trained soldier and he and his crew died the same way, at their post and obeying orders.

  When Captain Molbon saw the Victorious destroyed he did not hesitate; he stood just like the statue of himself back on his Home-world, one hand raised while the other touched the gold buckle on his dress pants.

  “All ships...FIRE!” he screamed, and with those commands the entire fleet of warship spewed out a holocaust of blazing power beams that struck the M-91 dead center.

  The little Report Drone felt the deck under him buckle, then there was a sound of fragmenting hull plating and the lights began to flutter, in an instant smoke began to fill the command bridge and all the console sparked with shortages.

  “Navigation is no longer working, heading is...” the console lights went dim and there was nothing more.

  “Report all damage,” called the drone, “all damage report to central command”, but it got no reply, it seemed that the entire information network was no longer working. Any other creature of the Outer Rim might have turned and ran for its life now, a primal instinct that saved species from extinction, and it had to be said that the little Report Drone did turn away from its console, but only for a moment.

  Where would it go? There was no place that would be safe now, and although it fought hard against its primal programming it still could not go against direct orders from the Orb. So it just stood there and waited, waited for his input circuits to stop functioning and for his organic mind mass to feel nothing.

  Captain Molbon watch the view screens as the battle continued to rage, he saw his ships firing again and again at the Trajion war ship and waited for the giant war machine to fire back with all its terrible
power, Why isn’t it using its torpedoes or main guns? He thought, surely only secondary Blaze-cannons is not enough?

  He continued to think this over as his ship was hit by a low-level blast from the enemy.

  “Hit on level six”, damage control reported, “Minor damage to electrical terminals in level three”.

  “Very well” replied the Captain, “reroute as needed and continue firing with all banks”.

  Again the Captain watched as hit after hit struck the war ship, and one by one the Blaze-cannons no longer returned fire and its hull plating began to buckle.

  Why don’t they retreat, why?

  As more and more of his ship bombarded the mighty war ship the Captain continued to ponder this question.

  Deep inside the M-91, the Orb only thought of one thing, when will it end? It was strange, for ages the mind had calculated endless tactics of attacks on its enemy, it had gone over every possible scenario and factored in all the variables to try and continue its primary programming, and all that time seemed to pass very quickly. But now, now as it waited to die time seemed to stand still, seconds were ages, and its thoughts hung on every flash of its inner eye, it remember when it first sprang into being, a jarring flash of intelligence and memories and pain. Then the horrific battles and long cycles of repairs and more battles, it all came flooding back to the Orb now, all in a mere instant of time, an instant that was forever.

  Then came a great ripping of steel.

  The fire from the Eran battle fleet was intense, great chunks of the M-91s hull plating where being blown into space, its huge drive engines tore loose from their moorings and shattered into millions of blazing fragments. The docking ports were destroyed in a flash, and its communication tower ripped clear and drifted away until it was completely disintegrated by an over enthusiastic Captain of one of the smaller destroyer ships. That fool-hearted Commander wanted to see just how much damage he could inflict, and seeing the tower dissolve into nothing made him feel very proud.

  But on the bridge of the Dragos Captain Molbon was not proud, as he watched the destruction of the Trajion ship he should have been happy, but there was no contentment on his scarred face, on the contrary, his faced showed...pity.

  His long years of warfare had taught him that a victory against a strong foe is what soldiers really hope for. All that talk from the high rankers about not having to fight and what everyone wants is peace was so much air dung. What warriors really wanted is a worthy opponent, an enemy that is strong, powerful, dangerous, that makes victory taste all the sweeter, but this, this was just slaughter. The destruction of an enemy who could no longer fight back, it was empty, without glory or honor, the only taste here was bitter.

  On the view screen he watched as again and again his fleet ripped the Great ship apart, massive explosions began to shatter the Trajion vessel and there was no more retaliation from its weapons. It was over.

  No glory, The Captain thought, No glory.

  On the Command Bridge the little Report Drone was still functioning, all around it was fire and smoke as consoles began to burn and under its motivators the hull plating began to buckle. Then as the fire began to spread the drone began to move, it started to spin in a tight circle, round and round, like a child’s whirl head, and it began to speak. But its words had little meaning to the raging fire that was now flickering at its metal surface.

  “Mercy, mercy, mercy,” it cried out over and over again, but there was no one there to hear it scream, only a long dead crewmember who never knew what that word meant.

  Captain Molbon had seen enough, although it was a standing order that any ship attacking an Eran must be completely and totally destroyed he no longer had it in him to follow that order. He did not know if there were any crew members still alive inside the great ship but he knew that he had to stop. It was not the end to the last battle that he wanted to fight but it was the one that he was going to have to live with.

  Maybe I’m growing old, He thought, maybe it was time to retire?

  So he once more straightened his starched uniform and called out to his command crew, “give the order for all ships to cease fire”.

  There was a look of disbelief on many of the crewmen who heard the order, this was not there way, but it was a direct order and there was no one who was going to question that.

  “Giving orders to cease fire Captain,” the signalman replied, “all ships will discontinue attack”.

  The Orb was still alive, safe deep inside its shielding it waited to die, it could feel the ship breaking apart and the fire spreading through the many levels but it would not bring and ending. The makers of the Trajion ship were masters of warfare, they had built the battle machine to withstand even a defeat, they never spoke of it but they put in safety measures so that even if the ships weapons and engines were gone its main brain command would continue. So the central core now closed itself off from all other parts of the ship, massive bulkheads moved into place and shielding that could withstand concentrated firepower came into effect, it was beyond even the control of the Orb. So as the M-91 ceased to be a weapon of war it would continue to hold the seeds of death.

  The Orb had no one to call out too, all its drones were now cut off from its orders, and there was nothing more it could do. It reached out with its mind and could feel the heat from its burning body and it wanted to scream out to anyone to let it die.

  But there was no one left.

  So it stopped feeling, it stopped its thinking.

  It let itself drift off into a world that no words can describe, it was not death as we know it, there was no ending, its simply did not think, it focused all its massive concentration on one single image. A thing that it had seen only once in its long existence of being, it was long ago, back to its beginnings, it had just awoken to a bright light, there were people standing nearby and they were patting each other on their backs and smiling. One of them, a female was holding something in her arms, it was a very small creature, and it was crying loudly. What purpose that creature had or why the female was holding it so carefully the Orb never understood, but there was something about it, something that the mind never could forget.

  So it held that image in its central calculating imagery and thought about nothing else, it did not know if it would ever figure out just what that tiny creature was? But holding it in its mind eyes made the Orb feel content.

  In all wars there are winners and losers, victory and defeat, but one thing is certain, all wars eventually end, for the crew of the Dragos there would be many more battles. Some of them would live long enough to see the great empire of the Eran move across the Outer Rim, others would fall and their names would be forgotten, as for Captain Molbon he would soon leave his bridge and return to his Home-world. There he would receive a hero’s welcome and more medals and accolades, enough to last many men their lifetimes. Then after all the cheering and shouting were done he would go to his home in the country and rest. Later on he would sometimes walk down to the local meeting house and share his stories of battles with his friends and they would listen and praise him for his courage and honor. Then one by one they would die until there was no one left who remembered his wars or his name, and at last he would no longer have the energy to walk or speak. He would only sit and look up at the stars on long summer nights from the safety of his observation porch.

  And in those remaining days he would think of his last battle and wish with all his heart that he had died standing on his command bridge facing a strong enemy with strength and courage. And in his very last hour he would cry a little for those days of honor and glory now long past.

  Chapter 4.

  The Waste Wanderer.

  Those who do not follow my laws shall be made Outcasts.

  Their home shall be the Wastelands and their food shall be bitter.

  They will not see my face nor know my love or feel my embrace.

  They will be forgotten and their names will not be written in the Book of Isarie.

&
nbsp; The laws of the Almardra.

  The sands of Omar-Ran were the places where Rimars came to die, the great Thundra beasts knew when their time was near and by instinct they slowly moved into the endless Wastelands and lay down never to rise again.

  It was a slow painful death, baking under the suns or freezing in the cold of the Frozen time. Then feeling the bite of sun droppers tearing flesh until darkness freed them of their lives, but it was the way of their species, and it had been that way since time began. They were born and fought for life, they battled other Rimar for the right to mate and raise their young, they fought against the Whiptails and all the other ravenous beasts that roamed the lands of Gorn. They hibernated during the Burning time and huddled together during the cold of the Frozen Time, all this they did because it was their nature and it was their way.

  So now one huge Rimar came to the cold shifting sands to end its life and be covered by the earth from witch it sprang, this old male was huge, even by standards of its kind it was immense. Its long nose horn was over three arm lengths and the secondary horn was almost as long, the horns were broken and worn but still formidable weapons; it was a sign of age for the Rimar was old, very old. Its thick hide plating was scarred from many battles and over is right eye it had a very deep wound from an attack from a ravenous Whiptail. But it had survived the hunts of the Nomads and even killed several of the Outlanders over its long lifetime. It had fought for mating rights and his females had born many strong offspring that would add to the strength of their kind, he had roamed over all the lands of his world from the Great Western Sea to the far off lands of Caltarine and beyond. Yes, it was one of the great creatures of its time.