He knew he was just one promotion away from the real action. And if it hadn’t been for him falling asleep at the wheel during the last campaign, advancement would have been his. So Drekker had taken to Boruvian Smelting Brew, a contrivance normally reserved for those who had to stay awake for 24 hour vigils or extended expeditions. But no matter, once he hit his quota of 75 planets colonized, he would transfer to where he was needed most, the front lines.
Aelon was not even supposed to be on his itinerary, being a Level V, but given the inhabitants limited population, they were not deemed a threat by advanced reconnaissance. He was normally only dealing with Level IV or below. Two hundred and fifty thousand life forms, with an unknown percentage of that being between humanoid and native animals. It was an easy mark.
Drekker was about to begin his report when something struck him out of the corner of his eye. There was a mark on the Navigations Ensigns screen that wasn’t going away.
“What in God’s name is THAT!?” bellowed the Commander.
“Sir, we have a stray in the atmosphere. It’s one of ours”
“I can see that, but how is that even POSSIBLE!? One of ours? How did we have an unauthorized take off from the planet without my being notified? Sergeant Brak, didn’t we depart star base with a fresh new series of behavior inhibitors on all soldier class crew?”
Sergeant Brak, taken aback at the fact that something was actually happening for once, looked back at his CO with a bewildered look.
“Sir, yessir!”
“Commander, it looks like one of our scout craft have been commandeered” said the Ensign.
“COMMANDEERED!? By a primitive!? What’s his position?”
The ensign began triangulating the coordinates and zoomed into to get a better view. The lone craft was locked in an engagement with one of the automated proximity missiles that come standard with all Marauder class vessels like the Ravager. The rest of the bridge crew gathered round to gaze at the view screen. Every time the missile looped around to strike its target the interloper cut hard left to avoid, causing the missile to loop back once again, forcing him to cut right and on and on.
“How can anyone stand those G-Forces!?” gaped the Sergeant.
“Ensign, disarm that missile at ONCE! That’s our craft. But who is at the helm?”
The Ensign complied and seconds later the missile struck the craft with full force. What would have been a colossal explosion became only a hollow clank against its flanks, swallowed up by the empty silence of space. But the impact incited the ship into an inexorable spin from which few men could have survived as it drifted uncontrolled out into the vastness of black nothingingness.
“Engage a tractor beam and bring him in!” ordered the Commander.
An azure radiance panned through the nearby space debris onto the ship and stabilized it before it could hurtle even further away and began to slowly pull the craft back toward the Ravager. The crew all stood at attention, entranced. No one had ever survived their drones, and so no one had ever met a live member of a conquered species. Minutes passed and it seemed almost like every soul aboard, converged on the landing bay to sneak a peek at their new visitor.
The bay door crepitated and then slowly opened. The tractor beams of the automated system adroitly eased the craft onto the landing pad and after the dust cleared it left every member on board aghast, watching.
It was an anticlimactic entrance, as for the next many minutes nothing happened. The pilot must have been unconscious and rightfully so given what he had just been through. He could be dangerous, and not really having any training for such a situation everyone stood clear for what seemed almost like hours. Was he dead? It wouldn’t have been a surprise. Suddenly then the cockpit unlatched and slid forward…
* * *
L’el was in a complete daze, feeling like he had just been at the center of a whirlwind. His neck was very sore as if only strength of will was what still kept his head riveted to his torso. He could barely move without extreme pain and his extremities were all numb. Only the urgency of his situation kept him awake. Had he just awoken from a nightmare and all this would end? No… in front of him the cryptic console panels with their strange markings and alien symbology stared him right in the face. This nightmare was reality, there was no waking up from it. Realizing he was not in space anymore, suddenly brought L’el into full alert. He had landed some place and it wasn’t Aelon. How long was he out for? How did he end up here? All he could remember were disjointed images of an unusual metal shark flying at him at supersonic speeds and him careening off into space.
He wasn’t alone! He could sense the presence of others watching him. There were many others. Shaking his limbs into sensation again L’el, leaned in just up above the side panel to see what was there. There were eyes, many eyes. All watching him and his every move. There was no escape. He had to find a way out. Pressing all kinds of buttons and sliding knobs and clasps he finally found one resembling the glass bubble he was in and gave it a yank. Suddenly, a great hissing sound cut through as the air pressure changed and gas vapors emitted from his craft. He carefully made sure that his suit would retain his own breathing matter as the air just mere centimeters from his face could easily prove very deadly. He prodded his way up and looked out over the masses of people, who were somehow, different. He couldn’t tell if they were in space suits, or if they were just naturally hideous. Serpentine in nature, their eyes resembled black spheres with the center a crimson gimlet core. But they weren’t moving, they were just staring. L’el, without making any sudden movements, climbed down off the catwalk, onto the bay. Cautious of his every move, knowing each could be his last, he sidled across the ship looking, hoping for a way out. There was none. They were everywhere.
Seeing his breathing matter capacity almost at empty, fear was replaced by terror. He would have only minutes to live, and any physical exertion now with this much air left would mean asphyxiation. His breathing had already become very labored. Looking up at all these strange beings, L’el then began to feel anger. These men were responsible for the death of his family, of his people and now himself. He couldn’t defeat them all, but he could at least take some of them with him. He plunged towards the nearest of the snake men and clawed! Putting up little resistance, L’el found they bled green and that this was how they naturally appeared. Strange that they weren’t putting up a fight, he reached for the next one, but stopped short, his chest having other ideas. He reached for his lungs which were now burning as each breath was a struggle. Stars filled his eyes and he became numb again. He sank to the floor with terrible wheezing pants.
Commander Drekker rushed into the hangar to see what was happening. He was startled to find the alien being collapsed on the floor and entering convulsions.
“Who did this to him?” He demanded.
“He went into this spasm by himself sir” said one of the onlookers.
The commander examined him closer, noticed the strained trembling of his lungs.
“He’s suffocating! Get me the medic, get him his own atmosphere to breathe!”
A small man in a grey suit carrying a suitcase as big as himself rushed in and with a few motions of his hands on the internals of his case seemed to put L’el into a sort of stasis, no breathing, no motion, no anything, and carried him away.
* * *
L’el awoke to find himself in a room unlike any he had ever seen. The ivory colored walls and floors were shiny, clean and perfectly straight and coextending to what appeared to be an invisible barrier at the far end. He was accustomed to caverns. This had an empty, spartan feel to it. He noticed that again, he was still alive. If only this had all been a dream, but reality just kept rearing its ugly head. He got up and oddly enough felt no more pain. Maybe this was heaven. All of his joints were back in place, he didn’t feel tired anymore, his cuts, everything physical was ameliorated. And he could breathe! He got up and decided to look around this new habitat. Walking up to the barrier he looked out be
yond. This must be the ship he saw in orbit. The interior was quite modern from what he could see. In the distance he could make out one of the serpentine beings he had encountered earlier. Why was he still alive, and why did they heal him? Why not just kill him off and be done with it?
Time passed, but he noticed a console in the wall. A bench stretched out before it and he sat down to study it. There was again a protruding button, but this time there was no avian symbol but a green circle with a dot and he pushed it. The screen lit up. L’el hadn’t seen anything like it before but he guessed it was an advanced data machine. Automatically without any further action by L’el at all a primer of language started playing by default and all commonly used words began to display along with their pictoral representations. L’el was fascinated! He forgot for a moment where he was and got lost in his studies of the primer. Image after image, L’el was finally now able to put symbol with concept, if he kept this up soon he would be able to read their language. Soon he would know more about them. Soon he would be able to take his revenge...
He was rudely interrupted by the loud voice on a speaker directed to his cell.
“Jesh, Krrytar Blok JemHaddar Tnsikular Bo Tannan” it blurted out.
It was gibberish to him, he didn’t speak their language. In so many words he spoke back to the voice and used several profanities and impieties. The Brikander were trying to communicate with L’el. If they want to learn my language,let them learn our swear words. To hell with them, he thought. He went back to his console. Minutes became hours, hours became days and days, and all the while L’el Mester was learning. Learning everything he could about his enemy. This console was linked into the general galactic database and he was able to glean data not only about the Brikander, but of many other races as well as advanced physical sciences, astronomy and pretty much anything he wanted to know. The advances that his own peoples would have achieved in the years to come were now suddenly all at his fingertips, but he still had to figure out how he was going to make use of them.
* * *
Word got around that for the first time in several thousand aggressive colonizations of the Empire, that someone had actually survived the atmosphere drones. It was all over the interplanetary wires and news. And Commander Drekker had him locked in his cell. He seemed to have studied the primer and his console enough to be able to speak a few words now. It was time to make acquaintances. Knowing he was about to meet someone famous-to-be, he donned on his best military suit and entered the turbolift descending to the brig.
Approaching the barrier, Drekker saw L’el hunched over his console once again. He walked right up to it and stood before his captive. He waited for himself to be noticed. Nothing happened.
“Greetings from the Empire.” Piped in the Commander.
L’el acted like there was no one present.
Clearing his throat again.. “ Ahem!! Greetings from the Brikander Empire” blared the Commander.
“#%@* off” said L’el in his own tongue. He was given a voco-dictator designed to heuristically learn a given natives language based on frequency of common words used and when they were used as well a voice tones among other things. It was a process, but it usually was very accurate in developing a foreign tongue into something that could be understood. L’el knew this from his console study but didn’t care. So far all the machine was able to learn were swear words for the most part with most of his language remaining hidden.
The Commander went on. “I understand what you’re going through. You’ve lost your home, your friends, family and all that you have. You don’t want to have anything to do with me or my kind. If I was in your position I would probably feel the same. I wish I could just let it be and move on but you see there is a problem. No one in out conquest of the galaxiesouter rim has ever survived our drones filling foreign planets with our breathable atmosphere. Therefore you are a unique individual Mr…? “
“#&$@!” brayed L’el
“Right. Um, anyways, an envoy from the galactic press want to come by and interview you in a few days to get your story. They want to know how you did it, your experience, your people. A lot of people have taken an interest in you. You are in fact a
media sensation!” The commander looked on hopefully.
L’el really couldn’t care less. It was interesting but that was about it. What really had his attention is what he was learning about the other cultures in the galaxy. Some were rich in history and the arts and were friendly to where they were able to develop partnerships for the benefit of all mankind everywhere. There were beautiful cultures, caring cultures, loving cultures. They did in fact exist. They weren’t all heartless snakes engulfing the galaxy with empty purpose. Even Brikandia was at one time with scruples.
Time passed and L’el continued his studies. The interviewers came and even entered his cell, but after an intimidating battle cry while making all of his 6 ft 3 frame as threatening as possible, they quickly retreated again. All audio invitations for his story through the speaker system were equally neglected. L’el had no time for those who would commit genocide only to further their own ends, those who would eradicate entire subcultures so they could posture themselves better against rival empires through the ownership of inconsequential territories on the outer rim which had no strategic value. A people who have the conquering of others down to a repetitive and insipid chore for their inured officers to drudge through. No they could write their own stories. L’el was preoccupied with other matters.
But try as he might, more and more cameras kept appearing in his cell. People were watching him, a great many people in fact as his console was telling him. This universe was not want in numbers. Some people even sent him gifts. Some exotic, some appealing, some just odd. However he did develop a taste for Andobellan Soup of the Lomak and anything from Ivtar was pretty much a no miss. However besides that, and the befriending of the officer who brought him his daily meals, that was about the extent of his interaction with the outside world. But there was a lot of attention directed his way which was pretty amusing to him, since all he was pretty much really doing was peering into his console day in day out. Every week some new camera was installed, all of them different.
There were truly so many worlds, so many peoples, so many cultures all over the galaxy it was almost overwhelming. He could study for the rest of his life and he would not have covered them all. Some races were tall, others were short and stocky, some beautiful, others battle hardened. They lived on planets of all sizes, some lived on moons like his people, others in gas giants, or asteroid belts or within nebula. The most dangerous appeared to live on massive planets. But life was truly ubiquitous. He even took a liking to some. But there was one thing he did notice in his perusals. There was just nothing that was like the Aelopians. There was nothing like his people.
It wasn’t soon after that L’el discovered that not only could he inflow and assimilate vasts amounts of information through his console and its network of data, but he could also create his own written works for others to read. He decided to write his own literature and use his own language so as for it not to be forgotten, there was plenty of technology around for it to both be translated, but also taught, should others wish to learn. So he wrote. After all, he already had the attention of the masses. And so it was that L’elland Mester of Tribark county on the continent of Havlon, Aelon, the last of his people, dedicated his life to the memory of his kind, the Aelopians. He wrote with passion of their children’s smiling faces, of the many festivals, he wrote of the beauty of the intricate prismatic mirror work which illuminated the caverns into a brilliance the likes of which had never been seen before. He wrote of the cuisine of the various regions. He wrote of how the youth were encouraged and challenged to be the best of themselves they could possibly be and how this created a magnificent society. And he wrote about Dreban his son and Mia his beautiful daughter. Much time passed. His life had some meaning again.
* * *
It was morning and
the guard of his block brought L’el his morning food. He was a half-breed but Brikander dominated his facial features. Over the months, he had gradually befriended Trevin the cook whose job it was to bring L’el his daily meals.
By this time L’el had learned to speak the Brikander language. Trev was the only one he could practice with, but this time his conversation was of a more sober nature.
“Why do the Briks continue conquer helpless cultures? Why can’t they see that it has no advantage for them? It in the least uses up valuable resources which could be used on the fronts?”
“If only it were that simple. Improper use of military resources is just one of many many problems that plague the Empire. In order to reallocate resources where they are most needed you would be flying in the teeth of customs and policy which has been in use literally for eons. Nothing has changed in methodology I would say for ages. And while the Brikandian Empire continues to swell in its frontiers and more and more sectors fly under our banner there are many internal factors which none of our armies or weapons could ever hope to stop.” Answered Trevin.
Pleadingly L’el continued.
“But something has to be done! Why not start a movement, there has to be change. Somebody somewhere has to do something, even if it’s small!”
“Change is not something that happens easily in the mindless Brik machine. And even the slightest sign of a possible defiance would be met by assassination of not only yourself, but your entire family. There would be no press to even announce your disappearance. Perhaps people have tried, we just wouldn’t know about it. In fact even the mention of any type of change of Policy would be viewed as mutiny and is a criminal charge, so as a Brik, you have be very careful of what you say, as every word you say is monitored. The only reason I am able to speak with you at all is because I know how to muffle the receivers which would pick up any common chatter. I have been monitoring some of your blogs and you are treading a thin line. While you may think that you are safe behind the confines of these walls and many millions now know your name, you are not. Don’t think that all the cameras that have been installed in your cell have been by those with benevolent intentions. Believe me you are being closely watched and if you keep on your path, you will disappear and your death will be made to look accidental. I read your last entry and if you continue with your rebellious demeanor, you may be guilty of being an accessory to incite revolt. If I were you, I would keep my communications back on the vain of being a historian of your people. Because they WILL come for you.”
Epic Page 23
