Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 3)

by Gibson Michaels

  Oddly enough, little Eryx inherited his sire and grandsire’s unique white coloring, a trait not known as dominant within the Raknii racial genus. His arrival brought hope to everyone in the budding regional capital, but little Eryx brought nothing but pure joy to both of his parents.

  * * * *

  The Planetoid Discol, City of Waston

  March, 3867

  In an ABS News Exclusive, ABS News has uncovered the mysterious disappearance of a unique national treasure.

  On, August 14, 3865 a message was reportedly received by the Heptagon’s Command, Logistics, Operations, Weapons, Navigation & Engineering Master System… better known as the United Stellar Alliance Fleet Defense Command Master Computer, from its counterpart on the Alliance planet of Indinara, for Admiral Enrico Melendez, Chief of Fleet Operations of the Alliance Fleet. This message reportedly informed Melendez that his chief of staff, Vice Admiral John Masterson had been injured in a freak farming accident, while on personal leave there.

  This message reportedly originated from a press release issued by St. Luke’s Hospital in Indinalis, where Admiral Masterson reportedly received initial medical treatment, which was forwarded to Alliance Fleet Headquarters on Indinara, detailing the circumstances and extent of the admiral’s reported injuries. Since that time, routine updates on Admiral Masterson’s condition have reportedly been received quarterly by Admiral Melendez’ office, along those same lines of communication.

  Earlier this year, while attempting to contact Admiral Masterson to arrange for an interview as part of a routine story that we were researching, ABS News discovered evidence that details provided in reports of the admiral’s alleged injuries were not factual, leading us to the questions… What really happened on Indinara two years ago, and just where is Vice Admiral John Masterson now?

  Reports from multiple high level sources in Waston tell ABS News that during the Confederate War of Independence, Vice Admiral Masterson routinely demonstrated uncanny psychic abilities, repetitively predicting future events with amazing accuracy, and it is speculated that it was these alleged clairvoyant powers that prompted President Arlene McAllister to name Admiral Masterson as her military attaché, in addition to his regular duties as chief of staff for the Alliance Fleet’s chief of fleet operations.

  Neither President McAllister, Secretary of Defense Douglas Campbell, Admiral Melendez, nor Admiral Simon Bradley, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, would comment on Admiral Masterson’s current whereabouts. But ABS News has learned that shortly after being presented with evidence uncovered by our affiliate in Indinalis, President McAllister reportedly summoned Fredrick J. Danforth, Director of the Alliance Bureau of Investigations, to the Oval Office.

  Was Vice Admiral John Masterson tasked to perform some sort of secret mission for President McAllister, or one of his Heptagon bosses, with the story of injuries supposedly sustained in an accident on Indinara concocted as a cover explaining his absence from his normal Waston duties? Or is it possible that Admiral Masterson was physically abducted by persons unknown, seeking to exploit the admiral’s extraordinary psychic abilities for dark reasons of their own?

  ABS News will continue investigating this story and will bring you more on the mysterious disappearance of Vice Admiral John Masterson, as further details become available.

  * * * *

  April, 3867

  With the number of new, human-inspired, high-speed spaceliners rolling off Rak assembly lines and the introduction of regularly scheduled passenger service between most major planets within the Raknii Empire, news of noteworthy events began disseminating faster than ever before. Unfortunately for the Raknii people, the news was not good, and the extraordinary speed at which they were coming, felt more like an avalanche burying them in disasters. First came news that the aliens had followed up on their victory at Golgathal by taking six more Raknii-inhabited planets. Just as cries for revenge began peaking amidst incessant demands for the Raknii fleet to attack and avenge the stain on Raknii honor, came additional news that the Rak Imperial fleet had done just that… and had been decimated.

  The loss of six planets, over 300,000 ships and over 20 million warriors and citizens was simply incomprehensible, and the horror of it sent a shockwave of fear reverberating throughout the empire, as the Rak people came to the realization that their military was helpless to defend them from these alien demons. After that heart-stopping news, a good day became when the average Raknii only struggled to get through the day inundated by the numbing chill of fear. On bad ones, they found themselves almost paralyzed in the icy tendrils of a new alien emotion… terror.

  But the worst news of all, came not from the frontier, but from the Imperial capital on Raku. Supreme-Master Xior had been diagnosed by his physicians as having contracted a mysterious disease... a horrible wasting disease, where his body was literally eating itself from within. Although diagnosed as terminal, the Supreme-Master fought the specter of death as Raknii always fight, subjecting himself to the sickening horrors of nuclear radiation therapy, where physicians intentionally burnt his internal organs, bringing him to a state of near-death, in the forlorn hope the radiation might kill the disease before it killed the patient.

  A video of the Supreme-Master addressing his people had been released, that clearly displayed the devastating effects of the war being waged within his body. Instead of the healthy, vibrant Xior that they all knew and revered, there appeared in the video an emaciated creature who had lost half his body mass, with glistening sores showing where great chunks of his fur had fallen out. Xior’s once magnificent fur was no longer the brilliant white with which they were familiar, but was now gray… the flat gray noted only in a few incredibly ancient living fossils of their race. Gone was the deep, resonating voice that had always inspired confidence... replaced by the raspy, wheezing efforts of an elderly dying warrior.

  In the video, Xior detailed how all of his male offspring had fallen victim to accident and violent death over the past several years. He claimed that Dol had appeared to him in a dream and had informed him that the god had cursed him with this disease in retribution for his negligence, in allowing Dol’s people to fall into the apostasy of modern secularism, and no longer observing the old ways. In the video, Xior described a similar curse that Dol had placed upon their entire race for those same sins and the parallels between the disease ravaging Xior’s body and the demons ravaging the Raknii worlds along the frontier could not have been plainer.

  Xior told them that he was doomed to die for the sins of their race, but that they still had a chance for redemption. Xior claimed that he had one heir yet remaining, a seed scattered in his foolish youth, whom Dol had chosen from among all his other heirs to succeed him. They would know this chosen heir when he ascended to the throne, for he would appear to be his sire reborn… a destined one, to whom Dol was even now, giving the secrets to their redemption. Xior instructed and implored his people to listen and heed the words of his son, for in accepting his message they would find life, but he warned if they rejected his son’s message, their entire race was as surely as doomed as he.

  Life within the Raknii Empire became solemn after their leader’s disturbing message… a strange mixture of bleak despair, yet Xior had also left them with a glimmer of hope. Who was this destined one, whom Xior claimed had been anointed by Dol to redeem their race of their sins and save them from their own foolishness?

  Many rejected the supreme-master’s message outright, claiming the wasting disease was already eating his brain and the message was nothing more than a fanciful tale created in the depths of a diseased mind. Whatever the level of acceptance to the supreme-master’s message had actually been, few could deny that the Temples of Dol became more crowded than at any time in living memory, as people again flocked to hear the ancient tales of the old days and the old ways… many for the very first time.

  * * * *

  April, 3867

  Commander Allison Lucas, captain of the Confederate
Intelligence vessel CSS Wraith, sat in her command chair as they glided unobserved through the unexplored star-system they had just emerged into. “ECM, are you getting anything, Jonesy?” Lucas asked through her intercom.

  Electronics Countermeasures Technician 2nd class Barney Jones was manning the passive ECM gear, listening for any and all forms of electromagnetic radiation, be it communications or active scanning normally found within any inhabited system.

  “We’re being pinged, skipper!” Jones answered back. “Multiple scan sources, mostly on a bearing of 126/mark-7 by 268/mark-2. Looks like navigation scans. I’m also picking up comm signals, but they’re not on normal cat frequencies. Voice doesn’t sound like their growling either… higher pitched, almost melodic, or musical. It could be some kind of voice encryption, but I doubt it… too general.”

  “See if you can come up with anything intelligible, using that new beta-translator, Jonesy,” said Lucas.

  “Wilco, skipper… wait one,” replied Jones. Seven minutes later Jones can back on the comm, “That new translator is breaking some of it out, Captain. I’m hearing traffic control and what sounds like personal communications. Whoever’s out there, they’re not cats.”

  Whoever’s out there, they’re not cats. Lucas and her crew had found that mysterious group of new aliens the big-dogs in Confederate Intelligence had told them to watch out for. This discovery carried a “haul ass home quick” mission profile modifier on it.

  “Thanks Jonesy… Helm, prepare to come about,” said Lucas. “Scan, give me one sweep active and one sweep only. All hands, let’s get everything locked down. In two hours, as soon as that sweep comes back and gives us a snapshot of what’s out there, we’re shagging ass for home at max speed.”

  * * * *

  The Rak Planet Vnayrk

  May, 3867

  The human named Hal was now continuously surrounded by no less than six Raknaa guards, all of whom had their orders reinforced by Region-Master Drix personally, to ensure the hypnotics held against the passions generated by all of the horrific news that was recently made public. Gone were the days when “Drix’ pet human” could wonder the compound, with but a single guard. Now, with such dire news to enflame his people against humans, Hal’s life was at constant risk. Drix and his senior masters had already known of everything, of course, except for the news concerning the supreme-master’s stunning illness.

  Drix had been horrified to see the toll that terrible disease had taken on his sire. He had noted no sign of such, when he’d last visited his sire, just two cycles ago, and was stunned at how quickly the disease had progressed. So paralyzed had Drix been by his sire’s gruesome appearance in the video, he’d all but missed hearing Xior’s message.

  “My condolences, Region-Master,” said Hal. “I am quite sorry for your pain.”

  Drix had all but forgotten that he’d allowed Hal to watch the video of the supreme-master as it first aired in the compound.

  “Why should you be concerned for the feelings of your enemy, human?” Drix snarled in irritation.

  “Are you truly my enemy, Region-Master?” Hal asked. “Must we be enemies? We have exchanged thoughts for hundreds of sub-turns since I arrived here. Have we not achieved even a modicum of mutual respect and appreciation for the richness found within each other’s cultures? Have we not yet discovered common ground, upon which a relationship other than our continued attempts to annihilate one another, might be built upon one turn?”

  “My apologies, human,” Drix hissed, in submission to Hal’s point. “I am agitated at this news, that’s all.”

  “Strange. It’s odd how even in the midst of issuing an apology, you still feel the need to spit the word ‘human’ at me, as though being called human was the most offensive obscenity imaginable,” replied Hal. “After all of the thoughts we’ve shared together, do you yet perceive me as some vile, repugnant, loathsome creature whose presence is barely tolerable?”

  “At the moment,” Drix growled menacingly, “that description is more apt than you might believe.”

  “Why, Region-Master?” asked Hal. “You were already aware of the horrific losses your people sustained recently. Why should the impending death of your supreme-master distress you into suddenly lashing out at my kind, when we have no connection to his illness?”

  “You think it an easy thing to see one’s sire in such pitiful health, human?” Drix roared. “The sight of you offends me right now. Be gone, before I do something that I will regret much longer than you’ll be able to.”

  Hal left, quickly.

  Sire? Supreme-Master Xior is Drix’ father? Drix is that coming messiah, of whom Xior spoke?

  That incredible coincidence was almost enough to prompt a computer to get religion.

  * * * *

  The Alliance Planetoid Discol

  June, 3867

  “Noreen, what the hell is all this stuff?” asked Diet.

  Noreen had been working to add little personal touches to their beautiful new rustic home in the woods, just to make it feel “theirs” as much as possible. God knew that whoever the previous owner might have been, their taste in furnishings had certainly been magnificent. Just finding anything she could justifiably replace was a challenge, so just a few things like new gingham curtains in the big country kitchen to make it feel more “homey,” and various personal knick-knacks were really about all that she’d accomplished along those lines. But she was always on the lookout for anything she could find that she could actually improve upon and she had finally struck gold when she went through Diet’s toiletries in their big, his and hers master bathroom.

  Incredibly, the richest man in the known universe was still using cheap, every-man’s grocery store grooming products, so off she went to the most exclusive men’s clothier in Waston, where she purchased well over five thousand dollars' worth of exotic men’s toiletries for her husband.

  “Where the hell is my deodorant and shampoo?” Diet asked, in obvious exasperation.

  “Oh that, I threw them out,” she said. “You’re upgrading. I bought you all kinds of the best men’s products made to replace them with.”

  Diet rolled his eyes and pointed to the dizzying array of face-wash, body-wash, aftershaves, colognes, eau de toilette, microderm abrasion scrubs, antioxidants, peptides, hydrators and emollients that now filled his cabinet, to the point where it resembled hers.

  “Noreen, I have no idea what even half of this shit is for.”

  “It’s to keep your skin healthy and make you smell good,” Noreen said primly.

  “Why, did I stink before you bought all this crap?” Diet countered.

  “No, but why not improve on what we can?” Noreen asked. “You’re a baron, for God’s sake! You shouldn’t be using that off-the-shelf, grocery store crap.”

  “I’m a guy, Noreen. The whole idea of men’s toiletries is to get the stink off, not to make me smell like a damned fruit salad. What I was using before, worked just fine. Get it all back.”

  “Neanderthal!” Noreen snapped at her stubborn new husband.

  “That’s Baron Neanderthal, to you!”

  * * * *

  Chapter-13

  Right now I’m having amnesia and déjà vu at the same time.

  I think I’ve forgotten this before.-- Steven Wright

  The Rak Planet Slithin

  July, 3867

  Like all the Raknii people, Blug had been shocked and horrified by the successive waves of disastrous news coming out of the war zone, and yet again by the appalling appearance of the Supreme-Master in that video.

  Xior is the embodiment of the Rak Empire… the humans eat away at us the way that disease is eating him.

  Blug found it hard to admit, even to himself, that these seemingly invincible aliens frightened him right down to his toe-claws. His mighty fleet of tens of thousands of Rak warships would be totally helpless to protect him, if the demons decided to invade Region-4, and that thought made him shudder. There was no logical reaso
n to fear they might suddenly show up in Region-4. Combat had been limited to the frontier of Region-7 so far, and all of Regions 5 and 6 stood between him and those aliens. But fear gave no consideration to logic.

  Blug dismissed all of that spiritual gibberish Xior had been spouting, the same way he’d originally dismissed that ridiculous prophecy — that dire prophecy, of which at least half didn’t seem quite so ridiculous now. He just could not, and would not, believe that some ancient mythical god was behind all of this disaster. Physical laws ruled the universe, not mystical gods dreamed up by weak minds.

  Unfortunately, those physical laws were now saying that their empire was in chaos. Incredible aliens were conquering Raknii worlds at will, while their supreme-master was dying and spouting nonsense.

  What kind of strange game is Xior playing at, even at the point of death?

  Blug wondered, was it possible the horrors of his disease had truly driven him mad? Blug called for nearly stripping his borders of warships and concentrating the vast might of his region around his capital. It wasn’t logical. The humans could blow through whatever number of warships he could assemble, but it made him feel better.

  He was confident that neither Harf nor Glan would be attacking any of his worlds. Harf was too timid, and Glan too honorable. No, it was those unknowable humans that he truly needed to defend against, and he wanted every weapon that he could possibly lay his hands on, between them and his own precious hide.

  * * * *

  August, 3867

  Rak warships of Raan’s Region-6 were surreptitiously tracking several full fleets of alien ships gliding ominously through Region-6 space with impunity. Region-Master Raan’s orders had been explicit... they were to track and report, but under no circumstances were they to engage the humans. The reports of human invincibility to Rak weaponry tempered the warrior’s natural aggressive tendencies, as engaging these demons had been demonstrated, on more than one occasion, to be little more than suicide. And so, the Rak warships hid themselves within the shadow of the alien’s x-wakes, monitoring their movements, but taking extreme care not to reveal their presence to their enemies.