Behold: Humanity!: Total War, page 22
Its escorts dropped from hyperspace the instant they detected the loss of the flagship, scattering across several light minutes and orienting. The ship was broadcasting an emergency beacon, allowing the others to immediately find its location.
Onboard the flagship the Captain picked himself up from where he'd been thrown to the rec-room floor, instinctively reaching out with his implant to get the ship's status.
The ship had been temporal spiked, from the ambassador's suite, where medics were rushing even as the engineers locked down the damage to the ship.
He didn't bother grabbing his tunic or showering, instead heading straight for the ambassador's suite in his exercise shorts.
-----
Dreams of Something More sat in the corner and watched as the russet mantids worked on the comatose opalescent Sees.
The seer had only uttered one phrase when the temporal safety measures had been fired.
"The Devourers Lie Hidden but Asleep No More"
Dreams smoothed one antenna with slight annoyance. Poetic, for sure, but of little help.
We Mantid have always believed that the Terrans were the universe’s answer to something. We assumed it was us, then we assumed the Treana'ad, then the Mar-gite, and now the Lanaktallan, thought Dreams as she watched Sees finally relax as the anesthetic took effect.
The seers have all foreseen that the Terrans are the answer of the unknowable universe to a question.
But what was the question?
-----
MANTID FREE WORLDS
so then, get this, they flew on a liquid fueled rocket into space not even knowing if they could get back down!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
AKLTAK GESTALT
No! Really?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA’AD HIVE WORLDS
No kidding, kid. Get this, they used to fly wing planes made of wood and cloth and shoot at each other or drop bombs.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
AKLTAK GESTALT
No! Cloth and wood! Were they at least using gravitons or anti-grav?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
RIGELLIAN SAURIAN COMPACT
Nope. Propellors and internal combustion engines! Can you believe it!
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
AKLTAK GESTALT
That makes my pinfeathers quiver.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TNVARU GESTALT
No! Internal combustion? Like, liquid fossil fuel explosions?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
DIGITAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS
Oh, it's more than that. they would REFINE it. Make it more explosive.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
MANTID FREE WORLDS
Oh, wait till you hear how they first broke the sound barrier less than a century after their first powered flight.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
AKLTAK GESTALT
Wait, between their first powered flight and breaking the sound barrier was less than a hundred years?
You have to be
//////////
SEER WARNING
WARE! WAR AND STRIFE! WARE!
THE DEVOURS LIE HIDDEN BUT ASLEEP NO MORE
WARE! WAR AND STRIFE! WARE!
SEER WARNING
/////////
kidding
What was that?
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
BIOLOGICAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS
Get CONFEDMIL in here! Someone find TERRASOL.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TELKAN FORGE WORLDS
I know where he is. I'll go get him.
---NOTHING FOLLOWS---
TREANA’AD HIVE WORLDS> Sis, sis.
MANTID FREE WORLDS> What?
TREANA’AD HIVE WORLDS> A seer alert? Now?
MANTID FREE WORLDS> We might be getting an answer to that question soon.
TREANA’AD HIVE WORLDS> Why does that answer keep getting new questions? Can't we just eat ice cream, smoke a few, and watch a movie or something.
MANTID FREE WORLDS> Because the universe hates us. You know that.
TNVARU GESTALT> What are we whispering about?
-----
Pu'ulmo'o backed up against the wall, shuddering and making noises of distress. In front of him was the Night Terran, dressed in his black formal attire. He was menacing Pu'ulmo'o with a fanged arachnid that was suspended from the Night Terran's hand by a shining cord of web.
The Night Terran leaned forward, his eyes widening, suddenly turning into curved lines on a disc that was slowly spinning. It drew his will down, sucked him in. His jaw dropped open, his tendrils going slack, and he slowly started to sway back and forth.
Pu'ulmo'o blinked to see the Night Terran standing by the open window to his study.
"Hocuscadabra," the Night Terran intoned. The Night Terran seemed to explode, turning into a cloud of winged mammals that streamed out the window and into the foggy night.
Pu'ulmo'o shook his head, banishing the fog that had clouded his thoughts for a moment. He trotted over to his deskcomp, tapping at it. He entered his credentials and the computer booted up.
Combing through the data he began selecting files to send to a colleague.
File by file he copied the data from the deep space research program over to the GalMail.
Deep in the bowels of forgotten tunnels Do'orkness hurried over to the typewriter and began to type.
In a castle in Transylvania words started to appear.
LOCATION OF RESOURCE STORAGE CONFIRMED
COORDINATES TO FOLLOW
THE HEAVY BURDEN
The day was almost perfect. Warm but not hot. Humid but not damp. A steady breeze that came from the south, across the forest, to curl around the base of the bluff before slipping up past it. It had rained that morning, but by noon the dampness had all burned off.
Off in the distance a ship lifted off from the spaceport, too far away to feel or hear the rumble but close enough to see the twinkle off the metal as well as the contrails as the ship made for space.
It was the last days of spring before it would become summer. The trees were fully green and purple, the leaves having opened and grown from the buds.
At the base of the bluff, beyond a short strip of trees, was a village. Smaller than most settlements on the planet, it had the distinction of being the first. The buildings were rude by most standards, quick-shelters put in place by nanites under the guidance of beings working in a hurry. The plas was painted rather than formed with color, the glass nano-forged smartglass rather than properly manufactured, the doors plasteel rather than the carved wood of the doors of the world's other houses.
The people that lived there were proud of their homes. They had been the first of the people on the planet, like the village the houses were the first of the houses built. They had taken the risks, left their world, and stepped from the massive converted cargo vessel piloted by a crazed primate with the unlikely name of Max-a-Milliions to the firm earth of the world.
One house was slightly apart from the others. Not because the being who dwelled within it was shunned, not even disliked. As a matter of fact, the owner of the house was quite popular and many who dwelled on the planet, and the other planets that were part of the planet's alliance, viewed the owner of the house as one of the most important of their people.
Not that the owner of the house felt that way.
She was a solitary being. Content to watch the hatchlings exercise their wings, watch the pubescent play, watch the adolescent dance, and watch the adults go about their lives. She lived a quiet life, with only a few visitors now and then.
One was feared by everyone in the small village. Grey of skin and sharp of tooth, with eyes that never blinked and bore directly into another's soul. A predatory creature feared by all, a litigatus of the genus homo, that was avoided by all. The being often visited the small village to meet with the solitary figure that dwelled within the modest house. Occasionally laughter was heard and many of the village wondered what could be so amusing to such a fearsome being.
Another visitor was a Terran, a sapiens of the same genus, a recruiter for the Terran Confederacy's military. It was infrequent, but the villagers noted it always seemed quite formal.
The last visitor was Dulcet, usually in a robot body fashioned to appear as a Terran. She was a digitalis of that genus, a digital sentience that acted as the village's doctor. Many had noted that Dulcet often visited the little house late at night, or early in the morning, staying for an hour or more before leaving quietly.
The solitary being was often seen planting flowers, kneeling down in the dirt to coax living things to grow as if it weren't their nature. Her feathers were in good condition, which relieved those who worried about the solitary being, and she moved with a certain surety that showed confidence.
But she seemed sad to the chicks and hatchlings.
The spring morning was a nice one, almost perfect. Adolescents were challenging each other to jump from the top of the bluff and soar on the warm breeze, adults were chatting in the village market square, and the chicks and hatchlings were all peeping.
A car moved up to the solitary house, the electric engine a soft hum that went virtually unnoticed although many of the adults stared at it. It had Terran Confederate Space Force markings with two uniformed Terrans, one driving it. Hatchlings, chicks, and moltlings all stared as one of the humans got out, tucking a folder under its armpit, and moved to the door. The human knocked, the sound loud in the quiet, rather than ringing the bell.
To some of the adults watching the three spaced knocks seemed almost ominous.
When the door opened many more turned to look.
The solitary Akltak, known for planting flowers and living alone, was dressed in military formal wear. Those watching could see medals and adornments on her uniform and several matrons were startled at the fact she wore a pistol belt rather than a sash or belt around her waist, the belt weighted down by a mag-ac pistol.
The Terran handed the solitary Akltak the folder, opening it up and holding it in one hand. With the other the Terran provided a writing implement which the Akltak took with a strange formality, signing the folder. The Terran took back the writing implement, closed the folder before tucking it close to his side, then stood up straight and saluted the solitary Akltak.
The female Akltak, all knew her name, stood up straight and returned the strange salute. She then moved to the back of the car, waiting for the Terran to open the door before getting inside.
The Terran got inside the car, which turned around, and drove back to the spaceport.
The little house sat empty. Rather than seeming abandoned or forlorn it seemed to wait, as if it knew its owner would return.
The people of the village wondered why the owner of the house had left. Why it had seemed to be so formal.And why she had been armed with a pistol.
A moltling asked Dulcet, who simply replied: Citizenship is a heavy burden.
-----
"Captain on deck!" the Terran called out.
"At ease," the female Terran snapped out. She turned to the lift and made a motion. "Join me if you would, Commander Longflight."
"I thank you, Captain Drakovich," the Akltak female said. She was no longer in her dress uniform but rather she wore a standard adaptive camouflage armored vac-suit. At her waist was her mag-ac pistol, the same as the Terrans on board the TCSFN West End Girl, which Cheekeet touched with her fingers to remind herself of its presence.
When she had first been aboard a Terran warship her suit had to be built by the fab units on the ship, all non-standard, made by the ship's engineers. Now it was a standard uniform for Akltak service members.
And, she had to admit, a lot more comfortable.
"I was a little nervous about taking the position, Captain," Cheekeet said honestly, staring around the bridge. The lights were muted, the displays were simple and precise with very few buttons or switches. She noted quickly that there were backup controls if the touch-sensitive console failed as well as locked slide-out keyboards and controllers.
Backups for the backups before the backup bridge takes over, she thought. I learned the hard way why that is needed.
"Well, the West isn't like your last volunteer posting, I'll admit, but she's a fine ship with one of the best crews out there," Captain Drakovich said. "Your record as a Gunnery Officer speaks for itself. Although, if I may ask, why did you select returning to the military when the Citizen Recall went out?"
Cheekeet thought for a moment. "I want to help. The Lanaktallan, the Overseers, they were a bad enough threat with their boot on everyone's neck, but the Dwellers, they consume entire races, destroy entire planets," she shivered. "I imagined that happening to the little worlds I managed to acquire for my people and could not sleep."
"A good reason," the Captain gave a laugh. "A better reason than why I joined up in the beginning to be honest."
"Oh?" Cheekeet asked. She noticed that several of the bridge crew had a knowing smile as if they were anticipating a joke they enjoyed to hear.
The Captain laughed again. "My mother said I'd never be anything in life even if I did sign up for Citizenship, my father said that he'd rather be lashed in the town square than watch me waste my life as some faceless bureaucrat. Joke’s on them, I joined the Navy."
Cheekeet didn't quite get the chuckles.
"Well, how about I give you a tour of the West and then show you to your cabin, Commander," the human smiled.
Cheekeet just nodded.
The holo-pic in her pocket, an image of the little moltlings flapping their wings to strengthen them aboard the Dulcet forever ago, seemed to feel warm and heavy as she followed the human back into the elevator.
-----
Cheekeet moved into her quarters, unsealing the front of her duty-uniform. She had to press the tab at the top three times to let it know she wanted it to unseal, a safety precaution that Cheekeet wholly approved of. She shrugged out of it and took a moment to fluff up her feathers.
That was something she found gratifying. For the Unified Military Council any avian species had to submit to having their feathers chemically and surgically removed.
The Terrans said "Here, try this on" and, to use their words, cruised with it.
She stripped down then stepped into the fresher, enjoying the sonics, then stepped out to move next to her bed. As a Commander as well as the Gunnery Officer she rated a slightly larger than normal room. While many might have found it cramped, she found the sheer luxury of the space almost unbelievable.
Terrans build everything massive, she thought to herself as she slowly used the cleaning tool on her feathers.
She had to admit the ship was impressive. Listed as a heavy attack frigate, the ship boasted missile launchers, C+ cannons, mass drivers, torpedo launchers, heavy energy weapons, and, like any Terran military vehicle, meters thick warsteel armor. Heavy sublight drives, three different types of superluminal drives, and standard graviton drives.
Cheekeet hated to admit it, but she found the vibration of a deck under her feet, specifically the vibration of a warship, to be comforting.
She knew she should feel bad. She was going to be fighting her former home civilization.
But it had been a civilization where moltlings were hatched into debt and poverty, where their own culture was illegal, passed down through oral histories and quiet tales rather than any way it could be traced.
She queried the ship's computer and when she found the media she wanted in its library she had it display it in midair in the middle of her small room.
The young Akltak female, performing the Dance of Sorrow of Summer's End, would have been quietly disappeared had she performed it in her homemade costume and uploaded it to GalNet.
Instead, she had uploaded it to SolNet and been an instant celebrity. Billions of beings watched the young Akltak's SolNet three times a week shows on how to perform dances, how to make hand-made costumes, and how to sing songs taught to her by her great-grandmother.
Cheekeet watched the video, watched the young Akltak dance, and reached down onto the bed and touched what she had set there. What she had kept under her pillow since she had moved into the little house.
"I'll keep you safe, little one. I'll keep all of you safe," she whispered.
Beneath her wingtip feathers the legend CNV Jesse L. Brown gleamed on the barrel of the mag-ac pistol she had kept under her pillow.
-----
Ast'Lar, the Postal Most High of N'Koo, was well known to be a clever N'Kar female. She stood on the starport landing pad, shielding her eyes from the sun, and watched as the lethal looking black Terran ship landed and cut off its engines. She rather liked the sound the engines made, they were pleasing.
Behind her stood her assistants, nearly two dozen female N'Kar, all wearing their Postal Service hats and anxiously waiting for the ship to open up. The ship would contain grav-pallets loaded with bags stuffed with correspondence.
Literally millions of letters would be on the ship.
The cargo door on the ship slowly lowered, revealing one of the tall Terran primates in the oddly patterned uniform.
Beside her the former Overseer, a Lanaktallan by the name of U’urmo’ot, shuddered nervously. "You are sure he isn't going to suddenly attack and devour me?" the Lanaktallan asked, his voice quivering.
Ast'Lar had discovered that U’urmo’ot was not a brave person.
"No, U’urmo’ot, he has come to peacefully deliver the mail," Ast'Lar said.
"Are you sure you need me to stay? I could return to Unified Council Space. I had only arrived a few weeks before you started to receive mail," the Lanaktallan said.
"No. You must be present to witness that the Terrans are delivering the mail from the prisoners they have taken," Ast'Lar said. She sighed again. "You are an important part of this system, U’urmo’ot."
The Lanaktallan made a quiet noise of distress as the Terran walked down the ramp with a datapad. U'urmo'ot was proud of himself for holding his patty as the Terran walked up and held out the datapad with a sudden motion that surprised U'urmo'ot and made him want to scream.
