Chaotic Futures, page 3
Z sent, as he examined the controller recordings.
The other sisters quickly communed with Nebulon. They’d noted how the protectors’ experience shaped their understanding of struggles yet to unfold.
The following morning, the protectors received a request to meet with Fygthurn, Ogdurg, Gurderg, and Pregfert.
Miranda and Z arrived at the enclave’s courtyard meeting with the five original suits.
“Greetings,” Miranda said.
“Greetings, conclave members,” Fygthurn returned.
Before anyone else could speak, a group of sisters marched through the near gates carrying crates. They passed through the courtyard, tipping their heads to the protectors, their companions, and the enclave members.
When the Radags saw where they were headed, they chortled.
“More equipment for the classrooms,” Ogdurg explained.
“Korvath says our young are woefully uninformed,” Fygthurn added.
“Soon, we must attend classes,” Pregfert said. “I look forward to them. Korvath says that there is much to learn about the many races who inhabit space.”
“Will the city have educational accommodations for the young?” Gurderg inquired.
“Korvath has already requested support,” Escher replied through Miranda. “He’s asked for educators, equipment, and a director for the school. As well, he wants to see a university established that will allow graduates to be qualified to join the conclave.”
“He carries anger within him about the Krackus,” Fygthurn opined.
“Not for all Krackus,” Ceda corrected. “It’s the assembly, which is run by the executors. The means by which the executors rule is what disturbs Korvath.”
When eyes focused on Fygthurn, he returned to the meeting’s subject. “We must inform you that the enclave is growing anxious,” he said.
“Do members have concerns?” Z asked.
When Ceda saw brows knit, she asked, “What do they want?”
Immediately, the frowns disappeared, realizing that Fygthurn’s statement might have been misinterpreted.
“The adults and older young want to help,” Ogdurg explained. “They want to take part in building their city.”
Nebulon was flooded with comments. They were similar in nature and remarked that the first-gen sisters would never have apologized.
“Would the enclave families want to plant the fields that surround the city?” Miranda inquired.
“Would we be protected?” Gurderg asked.
“Always,” Z replied.
“How much space is there?” Gurderg queried.
“Come,” Miranda urged.
Gurderg issued a warbling howl, and Imphastid and Temstag came running.
Then the group boarded a cargo traveler. Soon they were over the new city, and the ramp was lowered.
The suits sat on the edge of the ramp to protect those who leaned out for a view.
“That’s a lot of land,” Fygthurn commented. “The enclave families have no experience with farming large tracts of land.”
“It’s time to learn,” Gurderg pronounced. “I grow a small garden, but the soil is poor. I assume the conclave will teach us how to manage this amount of land.”
“We’re building bots to do the work,” Miranda replied. “You must learn to maintain them and program them.”
“Where will we get the seed to plant?” Ogdurg asked.
“It appears that we must liberate the initial quantities of seeds from the local warehouses,” Z lamented.
“You would steal from the merchants?” Temstag queried. He seemed shocked by the notion.
“The conclave prefers to offer exchanges,” Pregfert explained. “In this case, that’s not an option.”
“My youngest one is correct,” Gurderg said. “You must raid the warehouses, and you must do this at night. Don’t be subtle. Otherwise, the owners might appear complicit, which will cost them dearly.”
While Gurderg spoke, she leaned farther out, and Escher and Ceda braced her legs.
“Can we land?” Gurderg inquired anxiously.
Immediately, the traveler dropped toward the field. When the ship was near the ground, Gurderg freed her legs and jumped over the suit’s protective arms. After landing, she fell to her knees and grabbed a handful of dirt. Breathing in the scent of moist dirt and grasses, she declared, “This is wonderful for planting.” Then she stood and surveyed the wide swath of land between the two walls. “We must have the seed soon,” she said, “The growing season has already started.”
The protectors, suits, and sisters knew the preferred vegetables of the enclave families, but they had no idea where to locate the warehouses that would hold those seeds.
Miranda and Z searched for Radag information repositories. The few resources that they found related to general communications and shuttle control.
Gurderg pulled her device from a pocket, tapped out a long query, and sent it.
“What did you do, Gurderg?” Ogdurg inquired.
“I told my friends that I lamented the swift rate with which my young grew, and they would soon be on their own,” Gurderg replied. To the curious expressions she received, she added, “Then I said it’s a shame that I don’t know wherever I’ll discover the next crop of young.”
Gurderg’s conspiratorial grin had the entourage laughing and chortling. She shrugged and added, “Not everyone will understand what I implied, but many will respond in some form of code. Perhaps, we’ll be fortunate.”
3: Chiefs’ Revenge
Radag commanders and warriors did learn harsh lessons from the failed attack on the meadows. Unfortunately, they weren’t the ones who the conclave had hoped they’d assimilate.
The chiefs were incensed at the commanders’ failure, and several commanders lost their lives in brief meetings held in derelict buildings. Afterward, the commanders kept their distance and communicated with the chiefs via their devices.
What the commanders learned from their exchanges with the chiefs was that their leaders had no idea about how to defeat the invaders. However, it didn’t stop the chiefs from insisting that the commanders retaliate and deliver a Radag victory.
A group of twenty commanders met in a building that bordered a major market. They entered the market from different directions during its busiest period. The ruse allowed them to obscure their movements from the invaders’ methods of tracking them.
“Four of our most senior commanders dead from face-to-face conversations with the chiefs,” a commander growled.
“If we don’t find a means of retaliation, more of us will meet our fates at the chiefs’ claws,” a second commander opined.
“Several of us believe the purpose of the new wall is evident in the invaders’ ships that float in the air,” a third commander offered. “No scorch marks from our initial attack have been seen on their ships. It’s highly likely that the new walls are made of the same material that coats their ships.”
“If that’s true, then there’s no use hauling more vehicle-mounted energy weapons from far districts,” a commander reasoned.
“If only we could build a more powerful beam weapon,” a commander mused.
“The chiefs wouldn’t be that patient with us,” the commander, who’d organized the meeting, said. “Whatever we’re going to do, it must take place within the next ten cycles, or there will be more blood on the floors of the meeting locations. And I don’t wish it to be mine.”
A heavily scarred commander said, “The greatest potential weapon we have is a shuttle.” He regarded the furrowed brows around him. It was obvious that they didn’t understand his meaning. “Do you think the chiefs would consider the dropping of a fully fueled shuttle onto the enclave or the new enclosure as a victory?”
Eyes widened at the enormity of the suggestion, but a deep chortle was heard from the meeting organizer. He responded, “I think the chiefs would celebrate our success.”
“We’ve no means of remote piloting a shuttle,” a commander objected.
“No we don’t,” the scarred one replied offhand.
“Are you saying this should be a suicide mission?” a commander inquired.
“If that can’t be arranged, we can trigger failure at the appropriate time,” the scarred one replied.
“It won’t work,” a commander interrupted. “Our shuttles drop tail down. Any pilot would be seeking a landing pad, and the enclave and the new enclosure don’t qualify as appropriate locations.”
Most of the commanders thought the idea had effectively been dismissed. However, there was an exchange of glances between the meeting organizer and the scarred commander that boded something different.
After several more rounds of ideas being submitted and shot down, the meeting broke up, with commitments to meet in two more cycles at the same time.
The pair, the organizer and the scarred one, pretended to head in different directions. However, as soon as they exited the market area, they circled toward each other.
“We’re in the group of the next most senior commanders,” the organizer, Harjath, commented. “You know what that means.”
“I don’t need simplistic explanations,” the scarred one, Demgrad, retorted. “The youths in that meeting believe that they’ll find some way out of our predicament. The problem is that they haven’t met the chiefs.”
“Well said,” Harjath remarked. “The chiefs will go through our ranks until they get results that satisfy them. It’s all they know.”
“Makes you wonder about the invaders’ protection of the negotiator families,” Demgrad said.
“In what way?” Harjath asked guardedly.
“What value have the chiefs been to any of us in generations?” the scarred commander asked. “The only ones who ever met with the chiefs were the negotiators. Our four most senior commanders walked into that council hut without a clue of what was waiting for them. They probably spoke their minds, which, more than likely, incensed the chiefs, and carnage ensued.”
Harjath regarded the other commander. He considered the thought that he was being set up — measured, as it were, for the depth of his loyalty. However, the deep scars on his companion told a story of a commander who had triumphed against horrendous odds. He had no need to play subtle games of domination.
“I like your idea about the shuttle,” Harjath said. “But some of the criticisms were just. What can be done about them?”
“I’m not a pilot, and I’ve no experience with shuttles,” Demgrad replied.
“Neither do I,” Harjath admitted. “We need someone who is knowledgeable to test our concept.”
The following day, a shuttle controller left his duty station and headed home. There was nothing for him and the rest of the shuttleport crew to do, but they hadn’t received any orders telling them not to report for duty.
On the street, the controller’s ears picked up soft footfalls approaching him from behind. He waited until they were close before he whirled to confront the individuals.
“Commanders,” the controller said in surprise, as he snapped to attention.
“Relax, and walk casually with us,” Harjath directed.
Immediately, the trio fell into a nonchalant stroll.
“This conversation will remain private,” the scarred commander warned. “Do you understand?”
“Completely,” the warrior replied.
“We’ve need of information,” Harjath said. “We wish to know how a shuttle can be used to destroy the enclave.”
The warrior’s footsteps faltered, and sharp claws in the back induced him to continue walking.
“Are we striking back at the invaders or the Radags?” the warrior queried.
“On any occasion, there are many invaders in the enclave,” Demgrad explained. “We’ll ensure that we strike when the giants are there. We hope to eliminate many of the suits and digital bots who killed our commanders and warriors in the meadows.”
The commanders were rewarded with a muted growl from the warrior.
“So, can this be done? And, if so, how?” Harjath pressed.
“I must think about this,” the warrior replied. “Physically, there’s no reason it can’t be done. However, executing it under the invaders’ watchful eyes will be difficult. Also, we’ll need the cooperation of many specialists to prepare, lift, and guide the shuttle.”
“When do we meet again?” Demgrad asked.
“In two more cycles,” the warrior promised. He was deep in thought when he noticed that he was headed home alone. The commanders had disappeared.
On entering the front door, the warrior was greeted by his partner. They were an older couple. The matriarch had birthed three younglings. One had met with misfortune, and the other two would soon be seeking mates of their own.
“Two commanders approached me today,” the warrior told his mate.
For a brief moment, fear crossed the matriarch’s face. If she lost her partner, it would be difficult to find support at her late age. It was her mate’s inflated chest that said he was proud of the contact.
“What did the commanders want?” the matriarch asked.
“I can’t share that with you,” the warrior replied. “However, if I serve them well, I could be made commander.”
That final statement did chill the matriarch’s blood. Her partner had often scarred her in anger. Although, he’d rarely touched her muzzle. However, a commander was rarely rebuked for killing a mate or their young.
The warrior prepared for the evening meal.
The matriarch set the table. She urged the siblings to be prompt to the meal and cautioned them about their patriarch’s mood.
During the next two cycles, the warrior contacted several individuals to ask questions about shuttle prep, flight paths, and available pilots. He was met with the same protest every time, which was, “Why waste the energy? Nothing’s getting off the planet.”
The warrior used his controller status to demand answers. He intimated that he was operating under directives. In which case, every individual cooperated with him. None of them wanted to be held to account by a commander, who they assumed was behind the controller’s questions.
When the controller left work on the rendezvous date, he didn’t encounter the commanders. At first, he was puzzled, but the more he thought about it, he worried that the commanders had originated this dangerous idea without the chiefs’ approval.
The warrior entered his house. There was no greeting by his mate. In fact, it was eerily quiet.
“In here,” the scarred commander directed.
The warrior followed the voice to the kitchen table, where he found both commanders.
“Your mate and younglings are in her room,” Harjath said. “They’ll come down only when you fetch them. Apologies, your evening meal will be late.”
“What do you have for us?” the scarred commander requested.
“The pieces are coming together,” the warrior replied excitedly. “The invaders have concentrated their ships above this region of the planet. A controller on a faraway tower reports that no invader ships have passed above him since the arrival of the first tri-hull.”
“How does that help us?” Harjath asked.
“It helps the first steps,” the controller explained. “We must prep the shuttle for liftoff, which includes fueling. These operations are best done during the day. Then the lift should happen soon afterward.”
“Then what?” Harjath pressed.
“The shuttle will make a low orbit pass around Darmian,” the controller continued. “However, this is where the problem occurs.”
“Explain,” Demgrad directed.
“Normal procedure is for the shuttle to invert and slow its descent,” the controller replied. “Unfortunately, the invader digitals are certain to realize that the ship isn’t headed for the nearby shuttleport. They will be able to intercept our ship and eliminate it.”
“What’s the alternative?” Harjath queried.
“Dive the shuttle at the target,” the warrior replied. “We can limit the fuel the shuttle carries so that we don’t spread the flames too far. But I must warn you. A strike by that much mass at its expected velocity will deliver an enormous kinetic impact.”
“To what degree?” Demgrad inquired.
“The enclave certainly won’t exist,” the warrior replied, shrugging. “Buildings up to several streets away won’t remain standing either.”
The commanders glanced at each other. Their thoughts were similar. A warning to families to evacuate would have been their preference, but anything that warned the invaders of a plot underway might endanger its success.
“Final problem,” the warrior said. “The shuttle can’t be remotely controlled. A qualified pilot must be aboard.”
“Is there no way for a pilot to evacuate the ship at the last moment?”’ Harjath asked.
The controller was shocked at the commander’s lack of knowledge about a shuttle flight, but he kept a neutral expression on his face.
“Unfortunately, not,” the controller replied. “Safety mechanisms preclude the opening of hatches while the shuttle is under propulsion or vacuum is detected outside.”
“Continue to make preparations for the shuttle to lift,” the scarred commander directed. “We’ll meet in two more cycles.”
The controller nodded and waited for the commanders to leave. As a warrior, he knew he wasn’t privy to the machinations of the commanders, much less the chiefs. However, sending a shuttle hurtling into the enclave was an act of revenge that was certain to invite the invaders’ repercussions. Still, the thought of achieving a commander’s rank for his efforts overruled any concerns he had.
