Behold: Humanity!: Dead Blood, page 7
He shook his head.
"I spent weeks crafting a meme that my experience told me would destabilize your people's morale," he said. He laughed, a soft bitter thing, saltier than the ocean water. "The memes mocking my meme are more popular and widespread within hours than my meme was in a week."
He turned over his upper left palm, the holo-emitter embedded inside throwing up a picture of the meme.
On the left was a Lanaktallan dressed in vest, sash, and flank covering. Wealth and awards festooning everything. The whole thing was covering in scrolling words, showing all the advantages there was to being Lanaktallan and part of the Unified Council.
On the right was a human asleep in a garbage can with the only words being "HUMANITY" above the picture.
Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd flicked the hologram to the table as it kept playing.
When Cortez yawned Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd shook his head. "Yes. That's the reaction."
Cortez checked his watch. "It's been twenty minutes," he said.
"It's almost a fifth of the way through," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd admitted. He pointed at the words. "This should have completely demoralized any lemur who read it."
He lifted his hand up and the meme showed Ba'ahn Ya’ahd’s meme in a box on the right with a cobweb draped skeleton on the left looking the meme with the words "Me waiting for my girlfriend to put on her makeup." Another one popped up with "Doctor, we're out of anesthesia!" being said by a nurse and the patient being shown Ba'ahn Ya’ahd’s meme. The last one read "We have to defuse this bomb before this meme ends!" and everyone going home for the night.
Ba'ahn Ya’ahd’s mournful expression almost made Cortez burst out laughing.
"It was perfectly crafted to destroy humanity's moral, yet," he sighed. "It did nothing. It was then I decided that I would be forced to use a meme of such power and danger that it is illegal in Council space and must be carefully recreated."
The hologram changed to a picture that slowly scrolled up. The Lanaktallan military, their spaceships, examples of their cities, how many worlds they had, how many races they had conquered. Then went into how they had defeated the other Precursor species and then gone on to dominate the base of the galactic arm spur, showing how Lanaktallan society and culture were a perfect machine that dominated all that it encountered.
"It lasts four hours," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd admitted. "No species has ever withstood it."
"It didn't work, sir?" Cortez asked, moving a piece.
"Some devilish reprobate set it to music," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd sighed.
"What happened then, sir?" Cortez asked.
"It won a Cannes Movie Festival Award for 'most auteur movie of the year' and came with a prize of two hundred thousand credits. It's going to be shown at theaters across the world as 'a triumphant look at the Unified Council and Lanaktallan Society' and has critics expounding upon its unflinching look at a 'bankrupt and empty society that only exists to consume'."
Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd sighed and made a move.
"But that was not the worst," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said. He turned and looked out at the waves again. "The worst part was when I found myself laughing along with the memes memeing my meme, when I find myself considering what to wear when I go to accept the award next to the female Rigellian composer who set my work to music."
Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd picked up his glass and sipped at the spiced bourbon.
"Your SolNet is designed to connect to other species information networks in such a way that it can be accessed easily without taking over the other network," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said. "Meaning the people in Council Space have had access to SolNet since before even the war started."
"Mm-hmm," Cortez said, pouring both of them another drink.
"Meaning, your people's memetic warfare will have overwhelmed my people's by the simple virtue of being humorous and brief," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said. He sighed. "The Black Ice Nebula Coalition, in your history is my people's rise, stagnation, and fall, compressed into only five hundred years."
"They destroyed themselves through interplanetary nuclear war," Cortez said without even checking his implant.
"Replace the nuclear weaponry with memes," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said. He made another move, taking Cortez's bishop. "My people are hilarious outgunned to the point where it makes me want to laugh at our pathetic attempts to resist you."
He looked back out at the ocean. "But I, Cortez, am a loyalist. Not just to Unified Council, but to the people of the Unified Systems. The Tnvaru, the Telkan, the Lanaktallan," he sighed, like a bagpipe slowly deflating. "My duty is clear, and it will be a heavy burden."
"What is that?" Cortez asked, feeling himself tense.
"Someone must keep watch for the best interests of those who have sought refuge here, who are prisoners of war, who fled here from the war against the war machines. Not someone obvious, but someone who understands how to keep track of public sentiment and the true desires of governments that lie behind their words," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said. "I am a patriot, Cortez. I believe in my people, all of my people."
He sighed again, taking another sip from his warmed bourbon. "I have decided to remain in the shadows, to turn all my nefarious schemes into watching over the peoples of the Unified Civilized Species and Uncivilized Species alike."
He made a move then watched as Cortez took his knight and checkmated him.
"A good game, Cortez," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said, standing up. He looked around. "Summon the men," he pointed at the hydrofoil when the mechanics were climbing down the ladder onto the dock.
"The first thing we're going to do, is ensure that Yu’uMo’o does not betray our people," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said. "I have been informed of a plot."
"Oh?" Cortez asked, summoning up Ba'ahn Ya’ahd’s preferred strike team members and firing off a quick memo to Lone Star Security LLC.
"Yu’uMo’o intends on fostering discontent and strife in one of the larger civilian refugee centers. I plan on stopping him," Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd said, trotting toward the lift that would enable him to board the hydrofoil. He looked at Cortez. "Bring a hat. I hear Siberia is cold."
As the lift carried up to the level of the deck Ba’ahn Ya’ahrd examined his eight round rotary magazine 40mm grenade launcher.
"We shall dine on potatoes and vodka, whatever they are, when we are victorious over that plotter Yu’uMo’o."
-----
Lu'uvako'o was one of the longest settled planet in the Unified Civilized Council territory. Often referred to as one of the original nine settlements, it was only behind the Capital System in regards to lavishness, wealth, political power, and perfection.
Those who lived there were among the wealthiest and most powerful beings in the Unified Systems, with family lineages that went so far back they could only be tracked by the most powerful computers.
On Lu'uvako'o was the primary city of Stu'uku'up, the wealthiest, most lavish, most well designed city in all of Lanaktallan creation. Those who lived there were the most powerful beings on the planet. They ruled over vast political or economical empires and their power could not be denied.
Which is why every single one of them hid inside their manors at night and shivered in fear.
The streets were filled with fog so thick that lights were blocked out only paces away. Strange sounds could be heard in the fog. Strange shadows moved on unknowable tasks.
And in that fog, lurked the Night Terran.
Nobody was safe, no matter how many sec beings they employed. No being was beyond the Night Terran's reach, no matter how lavish the security system. No being was spared the Terror That Blah's in the Night if they were targeted.
Even armored and armed sec-men hid inside their cubicles or their guard shacks, nervously petting their weapons and their feeding tendrils trembling as the fog began to rise as the sun began to set.
None of that was known by the beings that, at first, was hundreds of light years ago.
Lu'uvako'o had, at one time in the past or future, occupied the same stellar position as the planet the beings were currently on.
The twelve of them gathered together, joined the vast power of their minds, and reached across space and time to step from the planet they one to the surface of Lu'uvako'o.
The twelve Atrekna appeared silently in the fog. They immediately cast out their psychic net, looking for any possible herd stallions or herd matrons.
A Lanaktallan galloped by, his sash askew, his vest rumpled, his flank covering slid off kilter. His tongue was hanging out and he was staggering with exhaustion as he clattered down the street making noises of distress and fear.
The Atrekna looked at one another as they watched the Lanaktallan ignore them. They could taste the terror, the absolute horror, the desperation to escape. So deep was the Lanaktallan's distress that the Atrekna shied back from his mind.
A squeaking noise got their attention.
As one they turned, bringing up their vast mental defenses.
A strange eddy in the fog allowed them to see the strangest sight.
A doll, a crude representation of the feral primates, was upon a three wheeled pedal conveyance. Its eyes were burning bright red lights, it had red spirals painted on the cheeks. It stopped, blinked its red eyes, and slowly, jerkily, looked from one Atrekna to the next.
The lowest ranking glided forward slightly.
FWOOP!
The doll, and its conveyance, shattered, flying back to vanish into the fog.
Satisfied, the twelve turned their attention to the roaring tides of time.
Four began to reach back, to find when the Atrekna ruled the planet. Four others sought out slave spawn that had crossed the planet's trajectory.
A ring had passed this exact spot fifteen million years ago. The ring was gone, destroyed in a howl of savage glee the Atrekna had come to equate with the feral primates.
The other four cast out with their minds, looking for leaders, looking for the easiest to dominate. They would take command of those ones, prevent any signal from going out, prevent the shelters from...
There was the sound of running footsteps, a black blur, and one of them vanished.
More than just physically vanished. They disappeared from the delicately intertwined psionic web.
All eleven opened their eyes and looked around.
The fog blocked even psychic vision, even phasic senses.
"You merely adopted the night, blah bleh blah," came whispered out of the fog.
FWOOP
All of them focused mental energy, each of them firing powerful psionic blasts, capable of cracking a half inch of warsteel, toward where they had heard the sound emanate from.
None of them could sense any living creature.
"I was, blah bleh blah, created by it," the whisper came.
FWOOP!
Nothing happened except the fog rippled slightly.
Light suddenly flared in the fog. Three of the Atrekna squealed in pain as their sensitive optic nerves were dazzled. The others turned away slightly. There was a bestial roar of a petroleum driven engine.
They gathered together, moving their hands, and raising a barrier of pure phasic energy between them and the light.
And were promptly hit by a garbage truck driven by three Savashan squirmlings who were swinging back and forth on the steering wheel and making squeaking giggles at the fun game. It came from the side, roaring, the right hand blinker on, running over four of them before they could even react. One managing to get one shaking hand up in front of the windshield before he was pulled beneath the truck to bounce and tear apart against the undercarriage.
The Shavashan squirmlings jumped up and down on the big bench seat, squeaking their laughter.
The truck roared on, leaving shattered and crushed bruised purple flesh smeared on the pavement behind it. It squealed to a stop, ground the gears, and backed up with a loud obnoxious beeping. The squirmlings laughing and jumping up and down on the seat. It came to a stop.
On the back of the garbage truck, dressed in a workbeing's uniform, the Night Terran stared down at the three mortally wounded but still alive Atrekna that had only been glanced by the garbage truck.
Humming a tune, the Night Terran picked them up, one by one, and threw them in the back.
Still whistling, he ran the compactor, then slapped the side of the truck.
The still living Atrekna screamed in agony as the compactor slowly crushed them to death.
The gears ground and the garbage truck jerked into motion, the petroleum engine roaring as it vanished into the fog, trailing the agonized screams of the Atrekna.
The Lanaktallan who heard it breathed a sigh of relief.
The Night Terran had found a victim, and it wasn't them.
Chapter Eight
"Terrans, nay, humans are defined by the phrase 'how far will you go to attain victory? What will you suffer and do to yourselves to achieve victory when all is lost?" - Terran Diplomat Dreams of Something More speaking to the Lanaktallan Unified Council.
The flag bridge was a study in quiet chaotic order. It was not dealing with orbital mechanics, a fight for a stellar system, but rather was being repurposed to oversee the entire theater of ground combat. In the middle of the flag bridge were multiple holotanks, all of them displaying data. High ranking flag officers from multiple races studied the data and examined the maps.
There was not a single human present.
The commander of the fleet, Admiral Shtuklar, stared at the holotank that showed the entire protocontinent on the surface of the planet. The map was marked with not only geographical features, industrial locations, population centers, but also by who had control of what and where combat was taken place.
Things were looking bad to Admiral Shtuklar, who had never commanded ground side troops before.
Nine hours had gone by. In that time he'd seen the terrain around First Telkan Marine Division change multiple times, repeating itself three times so far. Casey's dust cloud and munitions detonations had begun moving toward the northwest, toward the mountains, but the Terran was still out of contact. The Atomic Hooves, First Lanaktallan Tank Division, was engaged in combat and being slowly forced to steadily retreat in the face over overwhelming enemy forces. First Armored Recon Division was finding it harder and harder to move through the spaces between enemy forces the enemy spreading out further and further, rapidly taking territory with what appeared to be an unending supply of reinforcements. The Treana'ad War Hordes were the only thing keeping it from being a disaster, the massive insectoid warriors advancing into the enemy in huge numbers. Eight Hordes had made planetfall, three more were in process of transit, and the last twelve were preparing to deploy.
But the enemy was endless.
For seven hours orbital bombardment had been useless. The hits would register but the interference would clear to show that the bombardment had apparently never occurred.
Admiral Shtuklar wasn't sure what to do as he turned to General NoDra'ak, who was staring at a monitor, the life support equipment attached to his robotic therapy frame beeping quietly.
"We could lose this," Admiral Shtuklar said softly.
"No," Smokey No said, lighting a cigarette. "It's going to be a tough fight, we'll win, but it's going to take much longer."
"I wish we had not lost V Corps," Admiral Shtuklar said. "The sheer firepower would come in handy."
NoDra'ak nodded slowly, staring at the holotank. "We don't have the troops to drop into this section," he said, highlighting the eastern fifth of the protocontinent. "The enemy is more or less unopposed here, and I believe that is what is allowing them to gain more and more troops somehow."
"Admiral, General, I've got something weird here," one of the techs called out.
The two officers turned to look and the Rigellian female tossed it up on the holotank.
All of the vehicles in V Corps were undergoing self-tests. The armories were being emptied out.
General Trucker's authorization code burned dully.
Ge'ermo'o, still acting as General A'armo'o's attaché to the Terrans, stared that words. For some reason they made his flanks prickle up.
Major General of the Iron Manuel G. Trucker, 3rd Armor - Commanding, 8th Infantry - Pro Tem Commander
Ge'ermo'o thought to himself that those simple words should not seem so coldly malevolent.
"How long ago was he released from the medical bay?" Admiral Shtuklar asked.
The analyst consulted her war station. "Just under nine hours, Admiral," she said. She looked up. "He's opened up the morgue, it was assumed that he was just going to witness his dead troops."
General NoDra'ak suddenly felt fear prickle up and down his damaged left side.
"Inform the General I would like to speak with him," Admiral Shtuklar said. He turned and looked back at the holotank holding the planet in it. "We need to figure out a way to stop the invaders from operating with impunity in this area," he said, tapping the large section that was marked as under enemy control.
Ge'ermo'o nodded. "I wish we had the military forces, but alas, we do not," he said softly.
"Sir, V Corps force's vehicles are being loaded into drop pods and drop cradles," an analyst said. He made an odd sound that Ge'ermo'o couldn't identify. "Mantid engineers have reported that they've done extensive modifications to the retrothrusters."
"What kind of modifications?" Admiral Shtuklar asked.
"The engines are normally calibrated and shielded to minimize radiation output at max thrust, but the Mantids were ordered to remove the interlocks and safeties and ramp up the radiation output beyond safe levels," the analyst said.
"Why would someone order that?" another analyst asked.
Ge'ermo'o knew why. To turn the retrorockets into a weapon. Fry the landing area and anything near it.
NoDra'ak's implant pinged. A high security authorization request.
He knew what it would be before he even opened it.
The flag bridge seemed to fade away around him as he stared at the request on his optic nerve interface.
