Resigned Fate

by West, Shay

  You were not able to help Gwen.

  Moylir glanced at Feeror. She never imagined the stoic warrior would ever find a mate. It saddened her to know that he had found one only to lose her too soon.

  They saw many more remains as they got closer to the Colony. Scattered among the bones were fragments of plasma rifles and sound machines. The Volgons’ hearts swelled with pride knowing their people had fought to the very end.

  Feeror’s heart sank when he saw that the entrance to Colony 3 was obliterated.

  “Look, here. We can climb down,” Voilor said.

  The Volgon was standing next to an area that had collapsed, revealing the chambers of Level 1 far below. The way down looked steep but not impassable. It was slow going but the Volgons managed to make the descent.

  “We need to check all the rooms for any weapons we can use,” Feeror ordered.

  The Volgons spread out and systematically searched all of the rooms. There were few weapons that were salvageable. Feeror ground his teeth in frustration. Those on Astra would not last long against the Mekans unless they had weapons. He meant to contact the Kromins so they could come and fetch what weapons they could find. He feared it still wouldn’t be enough.

  “I found the way to Level 2. We may find something more there,” Voilor said.

  Feeror glanced at the dozen plasma rifles lying in the center of the main chamber and hoped they would find something more helpful on the next level.

  ***

  “There’s almost no damage this far down,” Feeror observed.

  Other than some debris littering the floor, the second level of Colony 3 remained intact. While Voilor and Moylir inspected the weapons room, Feeror searched the other rooms on Level 2. Voilor and Moylir managed to find several weapons, though all of them needed to be charged. Feeror gathered the weapons and piled them in the main chamber before joining his comrades in the Weapons room.

  “All of the weapons are useless unless we can recharge the power packs,” Feeror said as he entered the weapons room.

  “The sound weapons are not functioning either,” Voilor said, shoving yet another dead weapon away.

  “Are there no power sources that are functioning?” Feeror asked.

  “Not here. Perhaps on Level 3?” Moylir suggested.

  “What if we find that everything here is as dead as our people?” Voilor asked, his agitation growing by the minute.

  “We won’t know until we search. If we find that there is no power to be had, then we will deal with that when the time comes,” Feeror said, trying to calm Voilor down before he took out his temper on the equipment.

  “We may not have power but perhaps our telepathic comrades back on Astra have something on their ship we can use,” Moylir said.

  Feeror nodded. “We should contact them right away. We can finish searching while they make the journey here.”

  “You two search the third level and I’ll contact the Kromins,” Moylir said as she began moving the sound weapons into the main chamber.

  Feeror led the way down into the lowest level of Colony 3. His keen eyesight allowed him to make his way down the tunnel in near pitch darkness. The faint sound of machinery reached his ears. Feeror guessed it must be the air generators. Of all the equipment in the Colony, this was the one thing that had been built to withstand anything but a direct hit and possessed the battery power to run for an extended period of time even without any Volgons around to manage it.

  Few Volgons were allowed in the depths of the Colony and neither Feeror nor Voilor had ever been down on this level. Feeror felt as though he were breaking some rule. No one is here to notice.

  There were a few private quarters on this level which belonged to the Volgons in charge of the water cisterns, food generators, and air generators. The low rumble was coming from the chamber housing the massive air generator.

  “I’ll check this room. You go see whether the food generators are functioning,” Feeror said.

  The generator hummed along, cleaning and filtering the old air and pumping fresh air throughout the Colony. There was some fresh air that entered from the front entrance but not enough to replace the old air being exhaled by those living underground. We can use the energy from this to recharge the plasma weapons!

  Feeror met Voilor on the main chamber. His comrade had managed to find several more rifles and side-arms.

  “The food generators are non-functional,” Voilor said.

  “We won’t be here long enough to need it anyway. I think I found a way to recharge the weapons,” Feeror said as he led the way back to the second level.

  “The Kromins are on their way. They will contact us when they arrive but it will take a while,” Moylir said.

  It took several trips to bring all the weapons down to the third level. Voilor and Moylir watched as Feeror removed a panel from the side of the air generator.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Voilor asked.

  “Not exactly. But if I’m right, then we’ll have functioning weapons.”

  Feeror grabbed one of the small side-arms and attached it to the wires hanging out of the panel.

  “Are you sure that’s wise? Don’t you need some sort of converter?”

  “We don’t have a functioning converter. It should work as long as we set the generator on its lowest power setting.”

  “Well, you’re the one who will be frying if you’re wrong,” Voilor said as he crossed his arms over his massive chest.

  Feeror switched the generator off. He hurriedly attached the plasma rifle to the wires before the lights on the generator faded to the point where he would be incapable of seeing well enough to hook up the side-arm.

  Once the weapon was attached, Feeror reached over and turned the generator on, dialing in its lowest setting. The red indicator light on the side-arm’s grip blinked, slowly at first, then more rapidly as it drank up the power coming from the generator.

  “Can’t we hook up more than one?”Voilor complained.

  “In a hurry to go somewhere?” Feeror asked.

  “Our comrades on Astra need our help.”

  Feeror grinned. “Don’t worry. We’ll be joining our friends in battle soon enough.”

  ***

  -- We have arrived--

  --Can you find your way to the Colony with the ship? We have weapons we need to load--

  --Affirmative--

  The contact with the Kromins stopped. Feeror shook his head. Of all of the Chosen, the enigmatic telepaths were the ones he understood the least. Their lack of emotion unnerved him. While it was true that Volgons tended toward harsher emotions like anger, rage, and delight in killing an enemy, pleasant emotions were not unheard of.

  While on Astra, Feeror had been surprised by these latter feelings. But once he had allowed himself the freedom to experience them, he’d realized that he rather enjoyed them.

  Especially the fluttering in his chest after touching lips with his mate, Gwen. She called it kissing.

  His chest tightened. He reached for the cloth tied to his arm, then shook his head when he felt only tough armor.

  My little one lives on in my heart. I don’t need the remembrance.

  By the time the Kromins arrived, the Volgons managed to bring a handful of weapons to the surface. When one was finished charging, Feeror would toss it through the doorway and into the meager pile. When he saw the heap of weapons that still needed to be charged, he sighed.

  We will need to find sustenance.

  While he continued charging weapons, he instructed Voilor to work with the food generators. Charging the weapons was going to take days and there was little chance of finding any melgor wandering on the surface. The only way they would get any food to eat was to get the food generators running.

  “The gears are stuck pretty tight and are full of grit. I’ll have to try to wash it,” Voilor said.

  Feeror smiled at the sound of irritation in Voilor’s voice. It was something familiar on this world that was
now alien and lifeless.

  “The cisterns should have plenty of water. Check the rooms for gear oil,” Feeror ordered.

  Moylir finished carrying the last of the charged weapons to the surface before bringing the Kromins down to Level 3. They followed her to the water cisterns and watched as she splashed cold water on her face and neck, cooling her body.

  --Is this how your kind bathes?--

  Moylir glanced at the three clones standing before her, looking very much out of place. “No. I just needed to cool my body.”

  --I see. Fascinating--

  Moylir shook her head, unsure why such a thing was so fascinating. It wasn’t the first time the Kromins had responded like this. Almost everything they learned was fascinating, at least to them.

  A sudden shower of curse words caught her attention. She walked toward Voilor, who was sitting next to the food generator, trying unsuccessfully to remove some bolts that were stuck fast.

  --May we try?--

  “I don’t see how you will be any better at this than me. If I only I had the right tools! I looked everywhere and can’t find what I need.”

  “Let them try. What harm could it do?” Moylir asked.

  Voilor stood and bared his fangs. “It’s all yours.” He stood to one side, ready to jump in and take over if it seemed they were going to break something.

  The three Kromins moved about the generator, turning nuts, smearing gear oil, pulling wires, and doing a host of other things Voilor couldn’t see. They worked silently; the only sounds were the scuffle of their feet on the dirt floor and the buzzing coming from the room with the air generator.

  In moments, they had the food generator humming like new. They stepped to one side allowing Voilor and Moylir to examine their work.

  “How did you do that?” Voilor asked.

  --Your technology is quite primitive compared to our own. This was quite simple--

  Moylir stopped Voilor from replying with a scathing remark. She knew the words would have little effect on the Kromins and would only serve to get the big warrior more riled up.

  --You will need fuel in order to create food for yourselves--

  “Will you be able to eat what we eat?” Moylir asked.

  --Unknown. We have never had to ingest the food of an indigenous planet--

  “Well, you’re going to find out,” Moylir said.

  --The best way to make sustenance is for you to use some sort of organic matter--

  Moylir frowned. “But we have lived underground for centuries. There hasn’t been much organic matter for some time. And yet we had three servings of gruel every day. They had to have used inorganic material.”

  --This device can remake matter into a different form. However, it can’t synthesize the gruel you speak of unless there is some organic material used each time the device is utilized--

  “That’s not possible. The only organic material we have in the Colony is ourselves and the occasional melgor brought back after a fortunate hunt.”

  Voilor spat. “I think I know what they did. They must have used dead bodies. It’s the only steady supply of organic material they would have had.”

  Moylir swallowed hard against the bile rising in her throat.

  --There are plenty of bones on the surface. Perhaps we could bring those down?--

  Moylir growled and showed her single set of fangs. “That’s repulsive! I’d rather starve than eat the bodies of our dead.”

  “Feeror said the charging of the weapons is going to take days. And that’s if the air generator holds out. We can’t live that long without food.”

  “We can go back through the portal to Astra and eat there. I refuse to eat of our dead!”

  “We don’t have time to travel back and forth to the portal. Our people are long gone. Do you really think they would care if we used their remains to survive?”

  Moylir opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut, emitting a menacing growl. Voilor spoke truly. They had to eat to survive.

  And survival was something the Volgons were very good at.

  “Fine. Bring the bones,” she said.

  “You’re not going to help?” Voilor asked.

  Moylir faced him, eyed hard. “No. I am not going to help.” She bit off every word.

  --We will help--

  The Kromins followed Voilor to the surface. Moylir watched them. The Kromins were taller than Voilor by a foot at least, though he was easily twice as wide. The limbs of the telepaths were long and lean, devoid of muscle tone, while Voilor’s arms looked as though he could crush the Kromins with one hand. They wore no clothing of any kind and carried no weapons. Voilor was dressed in full battle armor and carried newly-charged weapons.

  Moylir shook her head. Their world must be very strange.

  ***

  Moylir had to force herself to eat the meager portion of gruel. When she thought of what she was eating her stomach wanted to purge it. What is wrong with you? The harsh words in her own mind helped her to finish the meal. Her body needed the fuel and there was no other way to get it.

  Moylir and Voilor carried the charged weapons and placed them in the Kromin ship. The Volgon warriors moved about the interior, examining all of the buttons and knobs. Their race had once possessed ships that could fly through space, though only for short distances. Their crafts had been made only to withstand the rigors of space travel, and had offered little to address the comfort of the passenger.

  The Kromin ships were sleek and far more advanced than anything the Volgons possessed. There was only one instrument panel with strange symbols. Everything on the ship was smooth and streamlined. Moylir ran her hands along the walls of the craft, wondering at the kind of technology the Kromins must have.

  “How do they see where they’re going?” Voilor asked. He was standing at the main console in between two grey chairs.

  Moylir shrugged. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they use instruments only when they pilot the craft.”

  --The viewscreen can be operated by pushing the following symbols--

  Voilor and Moylir received an exact picture of the three symbols they needed to press. Moylir turned and one of the Kromins was entering the craft, ducking its large head as it passed the threshold.

  The Kromin moved to the panel and pushed the three symbols. The front of the ship flickered for a moment before revealing the stark Volgon landscape. With deft fingers, the Kromin touched a few more symbols and the hatch closed.

  “What are you doing?” Moylir asked.

  --This one indicated with his mind that he wished to fly in the travel pod--

  Voilor turned, looking like a pup on the day he was handed his first plasma rifle. “Just for a quick trip. Feeror won’t have more weapons ready for awhile.”

  “I suppose it won’t hurt anything. Just keep an eye out. If there are any Mekans around, we could be in trouble.”

  --We scanned your world when we first arrived. There are no Mekans and there are no other life forms except for you three--

  The statement, spoken in such a bland tone, was enough to erase all hope that perhaps some of their race had survived the attack and were living in one of the other colonies.

  “We are the only three Volgons in existence,” Moylir said, falling into one of chairs.

  “Perhaps we can repopulate our world,” Voilor said.

  --Negative. Three individuals are not enough to create a healthy population. Your pups would be born sick and eventually you would lose the ability to breed at all--

  “Besides, I don’t want to be the mother of an entire race,” Moylir said.

  Mother.

  Her vision darkened and the faces of her twins, Fyrlor and Fyrlir, flashed through her mind. Her pups had been strong, and had been able to take apart and reassemble any weapon faster than their peers. Both had been looking forward to their first excursion to the surface to scout for enemy Gorkon soldiers. They never got that chance.

  She had always thought the Volgon Chosen would beat the Me
kans and return home, ready to take up right where they left off. There was nothing the Volgons couldn’t handle, no enemy they couldn’t face and take down. Moylir had never let the tendrils of fear and doubt penetrate the arrogance and confidence her people possessed in great quantities.

  And now everyone she knew was dead, including her two sons, killed by only a small contingent of the Mekan Fleet. A great sadness threatened to drown her. Where are we going to go? What are we going to do?

  --Shall we fly around the planet or shall we return to the Colony?--

  Moylir waved her hand, indicating the Kromin could take the travel pod for a quick flight. It sat down and pushed buttons with it slender fingers, moving so quickly that Moylir couldn’t see what it was doing. The travel pod hovered in place for a few second before moving away from Colony 3 at an incredible speed.

  “Slow down a little,” Moylir said.

  The craft slowed and she moved to the front of the travel pod and stood right in front of the viewscreen. No matter where her eyes roamed, all she saw was the scarred landscape: great gouges the size of mountain ranges, gaping holes that went down as far as the eye could see, many spewing forth hot gases from the core of the planet, magma spilling forth, altering the land further.

  They flew to the location of Colony 2 only to find it completely obliterated. The bones of hundreds of Volgons littered the dirt and debris that surrounded a gaping hole that the travel pod could have easily flown into.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Moylir said, walking away from the viewscreen.

  Wordlessly, the Kromins banked the craft and returned to Colony 3. Feeror was waiting for them, a small pile of rifles at his feet.

  “What did you see?”

  “Colony 2 is completely gone. The land doesn’t look the same as it once did. It’s like an entirely new planet,” Moylir said.

  “Let’s finish with our task so we can leave this place. Our friends on Astra will need help. If we are to die, let us do it helping them,” Feeror said.

  ***