Scientist and Engineer Nahcas Sachyon- The Telekinetic Genius Bio-Human. Sniper Walter Hex- the Holder of the Red Magnus Gladius Rifle. Kurt Benham- the ballistics expert.
Firdigo Marcus Ver – The diplomatic representative. Fighter Pilot Lina Angelo – known as the mistress of space. And Watcher Anaton Dent- The Insomniac Bellman.
Seeing the mind-boggling resume of the Sentinels, the council came to a majority decision of allowing the mission. A few right-wing councilmen were sceptical of bringing together a powerful organisation like the Sentinel together again; which was disbanded for the same reason of evenly distributing military might across the Krikos. All of them were escorted by Lunarte to the Central Control. At the control, they were all told about the prerequisites of the mission. From there, they were taken to the launch pad of the Salvator in which they were supposed to leave. They all stood speechless gazing at the magnificent and large space carrier. But this one was not merely a carrier. It had been transformed into an alpha class Salvator that, that is a destroyer. Before they could even inquire, they were told its name. It had been named after none other than the Bearer of Hope himself- The Krydon.
Diaries of Flex:
Episode 6-
Eutopia Strata.
T
his is the story of very recent happenings... for me ... not for you ... ‘maybe’ for you. Depends on the year in which you read me. I hope it’s not too distant a future there my reader... because if it is, there just might be a possibility that it is going to be the past soon. There Is a slight possibility that the probability of the discovery of dimensional benders in the near future as well as a guy carrying my book along with me to the past... probably way before even my time... may be true. So, this story Is for only those who have factually outlived my age ... for your time... I must be just a history and not an upcoming event. Time gets weirder the more you know it. But let me be history… since the ongoings of my life are just for once for the Universe to bear with.
The year was 397 E.E. . . . I was sitting in the guest chambers of the Eutopium Voice media centre. I was there for a special purpose. A purpose which would serve mankind. Although not copyrighted to me. I was just the delivery man. The real architect was Flex. The man at the reception was staring at the Brown plank-case I held in my hand. It was a digitised engineering equipment full of inexplicable designs and charts. Well… the same case which now held the remains of Flex’s journals. Although I had made them yet they were nothing but mere copies of the original ones left by Flex, and were thus, inexplicable. In 391 E.E., I, Flex and our crew had discovered an abundance of the rare-earth metal of the Asiclen Periodic table –namely Hex-flion - on Jupiter. Seemingly, Flex had discovered a special alloy to that metal and had named it ‘Hexurion’. Most of the times on Jupiter, Flex was busy making large illegible charts and designs related to this Hexurion. After a detailed study of about a month or two of these charts ... mostly trying to read them the right way ... I found that Flex had somewhat discovered an Ion-gun which could launch (or carry) matter at speeds in multiples of that of light itself, without any disintegration (As was mentioned in his journals). But the charts were completely theoretical and based on raw scientific data and had never been put to the test. So, there I was ... doing his work even after his death ...presenting the designs in front of the Scientific Officers. But the Eutopium had witnessed and read about many historic accidents with Ion thrusts for mostly the same reason ... that is in classical terms... Hyper-Spatial travel. Flex chose some other name for it. One which was although not that subtle and overwhelming but gave due commendations to the minds involved. The Hexurion-Flexkon Thrust or the Hex-kon Thrust (pronounced Hex- kawn). It was abbreviated as H.T. . . . This abbreviation has been infamously expanded by some not so well-read councillors and critics as 'HypoThetical' ... but not anymore.
After going through five long, gruelling hours of council-mitigation and putting all my diplomatic and pragmatic powers to use, I convinced the Officers for a few rounds on this theory. The human count was 47.3 Billion ... Even several centuries after the unprecedented century of world civil wars and human destruction just due to overpopulation, we still had a birth-rate to mortality rate ratio of 4:1 (although undocumented births and their prior deaths changed it to 1:7).
Now … putting the mind inside the darkness of classical theories like the string theory, black holes, and relativity, and merging them with the modern theory of Spatial Enigma and Dimension Elevation … The multiverse of the human mind gave a fist-bump to God himself, or for rather sexist human souls: - himself/herself/itself; and there began what was never seen before. Skipping the part where we failed for a dozen times over the micro-propellers themselves, and the spilling of multi-coloured beverages over the charts I had prepared (by some Idiot government scientist), and the part where I had to work twice as hard to re-prepare them ... the day had finally come when I had successfully prepared the Holocron charts and a virtual life-like projection of 97% accuracy of the thrusts in action. The council of officers was pleased and attested my request for display against the Royal Council, that is the Hon'ble Eutopium. My presentation was not very eye-catching but was neither a magnet to popular disdain or abhorrence. The Royals recalled that they had allowed for the corroboration of my emotional request by professional representation, even though my charts were tentative and the preceding experimental outcomes were obscure. Ignoring my inner ambiguity, I gave it my cent percent effort, and there were the results. The virtual trials gave a 72% success, and those of reality gave 67% success. There it was. My inadvertent efforts to please them were successful. An out of the blue amendment to the royal guidelines- that is the ‘ROYAL DEPARTMENT OF STRATEGIES, RULES, AND TACTICS’ or what was popularly known as the Eutopia Strata- was formally announced.
Everything was going very well until some meticulous officers informed me that the ION thrusts’ designs, which were initially submitted by me, seemed to have too much weight to collaborate into the prevalent official space fliers. It was not much of a problem, but just a submission to the curiosity of unanswered interrogatives, amongst which, the biggest one was ‘WHY’. Why did Flex design it so big although he knew that the carriers were not large enough to support it? Even the Humungous Salvatore class was small to get a proper functioning fusion Hexkon Thrust module fitted into it without any possible damage.
This loophole in my mind led me to open the cryptically mysterious book again. I had no coordinates to look for in the book. So, I opened the last page of it and was even more dilemmatic after reading it –
Eyes won’t see until they are closed. Urge mustn’t be confused with need. Wait till the end before you act. The end is near. The end is the beginning. THE END IS THE CHANGE.
Into The Dimension:
Episode 6-
Lost!
“D
on’t open your eyes. For the world is darker.” – In the last words of Wenzo, the first Xanethius. Such was the case with his distant successor Krawn. Though not in the philosophical sense intended. Krawn opened his eyes to find bright darkness. Darkness all around him. Where had this darkness been hiding and why had Krawn never seen it? The hypothetical observer glanced from outside of the room where Krawn sat. He was being held captive. Captive in a dark room apparently. But there was no one else with him inside the room. The observer pitied the plight of Krawn who tried to see through the darkness and reach his mates. His Mira. The same sagacious Krawn whose might, intellect and will were still the basis of modern Fable Heroes on the Krikos. After 27 years of success came the damning failure. But the failure was not as ruthless to him as the lack of the sight of his beloved wife, Mira. On even the most meticulous of observations, the observer couldn’t find her. Where was she? The course of events had been auspicious enough to the theory of the unholy. But Krawn didn’t want to think that. He tried not to but was compelled by the speculating human mind. He started shouting-
“Where is this…? Mira …
Where are you? Miraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…… Miraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ….”
He screamed for some time and attracted the attention of his captors. The door slid open with a sharp flash of light and the sound and shadow of people walking in. Krawn overcame the pain of his eyes in the desperation to find his mates and tried to see his holders. At first, he thought that they were Annaeaxians, but as soon as his eyes got accustomed to the light, he found out, to his great surprise, that they were humans. His mind got inundated by thought, though it primarily succumbed to the search for Mira and he ignored the questions approaching his mind.
“Where is Mira? Where is she?” he shouted as he started Fidgeting towards the strangers.
The other human, with the most gruesome eyes, bent down and stared into Krawn. He kept on staring for some time and then got up to go back outside, later to return again. On his second visit, Krawn lost all his calm “Where the hell are they all? Where are... Rush, Muster… Ram was injured… He was being worked up by her… Where is she? Where is she?”
The two men stayed silent for some time and were unaffected by his offensive dialect. But it was not long after he shouted that one of them spoke “It seems, Sir, Peace has not let you learn your diplomacy. That’s why I have always said that War is important. A warless world would just make you be lesser ready for it when it strikes… Now… be calm, will you? For your good. Or I may say for their good. For her good. The one you call Mira.”
Their common tongue amused Krawn over anything else, and he was forced to ask “Who are you and what do you want? If these plasma cuffs hadn't been there, you would have already been damned at my very hands for touching my comrades.”
The other person standing at the back with his hands in his pocket seemed rather neutral to the conversation going on. The person who had spoken continued “You are in no place to know who we are. But for now, we know what you are. And around here, we don’t appreciate the likes of you. The Celestials. Huh. It is better that you remain here. If I let you out, they’d kill you, and I’d miss my chance to enjoy it myself.”
“The what? You are mistaken… We are not what you think. We are humans. Like you.” Krawn said.
“Was that what they told you? Hahaha… those bastards. What do they call themselves? Yes… The Eutopium,” the stranger replied.
“Eutopium. How do you… What are you?”
“I may not answer that. But I may tell you that there is something much beyond humans. Much… Much beyond. And it bears them and us,” the stranger replied.
He retired while Krawn was screaming in anxiety. The Hypothetical observer moved through the walls of the small room to the next and then finally outside. He looked back to find a big space station. One, the likes of which had never been witnessed by him, and he had witnessed many. Seeing all this, a question arose in even his mind – “Who are they?”
♦♦♦
History has never had copyrights. Thus, it has a bad habit of repeating itself. Another hero entered the roads of the Universe. This time, a far greater Spacecraft left Krikos. It was the holy Krydon. And within it sat its Commander, VIN-die Kridious. Similar in combat skills, talent, and valour, the only disparity between him and Krawn was his impatience and crudeness. He used to act before thinking. Anyone thinking that is. For thinking, we had Nahcas Sachyon aboard the Krydon. Another Bio-Human like Kridious. The only difference being that he, unlike Kridious, preferred only the inflammation of mental capabilities to a superhuman extent. This had led to his reading minds of other people, but it was much more difficult than it seemed.
In the Intel room of the huge Salvator, sat VIN-die Kridious along with his friends Nahcas and Anaton, and having the exchange of reports with the Holocron-projected Eutopium through the Visi Level-two technology streaming. They all ought to remain connected all the time to help Kridious trail the Epilion to its last known location. The Salvator was equipped with 22 Semi-automatic computerised sniper rifles and four semi-automatic stationed plasma rifles. It was also equipped with 100 Level 18 fission ballistic missiles and 35 Level 4 Deuterium Fusion ballistic missiles. There was also an antiproton gun equipped to its front as well as its rear. It also had an onboard hangar with three Ultra Thrust Aircrafts developed by the Flex Class Scientists specifically for modern warfare. There were also 30 fully computerised sliding laser panels attached to its frame rim. All in all, it’s more like a ‘Home sweet home’ for the needy war-deprived warriors called the Sentinels.
But did that all make them ready enough for those who called them ‘The Celestials’? For those unknown, and also who seemingly knew all about them? Was Kridious ready for what awaited him or was History going to be a sucker? Kridious and crew remained unacquainted to the current scenario. He believed that either the ship was lost in Spatial Flux or else, Krawn and crew had been subdued by the others, viz. the Annaeaxians. But to his misfortune, he was wrong and would fall if he remained that way. For none could be more dangerous to humans than they themselves.
Diaries of Flex:
Episode 7-
The Hexagon and the Iconoclasts.
G
reatness is a quality that can be bestowed upon the ‘great’ only by others. The moment that greatness is recognised, there is nothing that anyone, even the 'great' themselves, can do about it. Flex’s greatness could be understood only after his death. A well-deserved posthumous greatness. But there were several other entities which preferred classifying themselves with an apocryphal antemortem greatness. One of them was the organisation designated as the ‘GREAT’ Hexagon. The Hexagon was (and if you are unfortunate ... still is) the command centre for enforcing the laws of the Eutopium. Initially esteemed to the brim of human capability, its respect faded because of its conspicuous errors in working. But the Hexagon was not the only ‘honest’ dishonest organisation affecting the public welfare. With all the turbulence amongst the citizens with respect to the declared rogue cult called the ‘Stillites’, the Eutopium came to a decision to form a Hexagon combat group entitled...well... the Hexagon COMBAT GROUP or the H.C.G. It classified various types of personnel, directly under the command of the Hexagon including the Carpers, Mastiffs, Officers, etc., etc. . . . The most elite of them were further classified as the royal guardians of righteousness or THE SENTINELS. These ‘legal-militants’ had nothing to do with the army. It was a clear game of fate to decide their intentions. It was all they needed… Intentions. Within the H.C.G. was also a group with dynamic positions and ranks concerning both number and people. It was a group of ‘authorised’ Bounty hunters called the ICONOCLASTS. They had the liberty of being unchained from the law for the duration of their hunt. Their hits included Reverend anarchists and Stillite leaders. A ray of razing followed their creation. Many lost their loved ones. All in all, this H.C.G. had created a menace contradictory to the pillars of its foundation. But why am I telling you about them? Well... because after I had helped out in the creation of the Hexkon Thrust and the possibility of advanced human development... my name reflected in the top five hit list of the Stillites. My name followed closely after the name of the First Speaker. One thing led to another... and... Well... I was allotted Iconoclast security. Strange isn’t it... I was threatened by the faith of my dead best friend because I had helped create a thing of his invention, with the people he hated and was allotted security by those whom I disdained.
It was a day in the year 398 E.E... I was sitting in the hangout of my office on the 358th floor of the Oblivion Tower. I was having my usual Phransuels beverage (I hope it has not been antiquated yet) and the bio-biscuits. Everything seemed usual. But suddenly there came a raucous cry from the inner cabin. A sonic blast instantaneously followed it. I was deafened temporarily and couldn’t maintain the balance of my body. The Iconoclasts at my guard were also taken by surprise. Although I was not stable, I made my run for the door. But I was suddenly kicked down from behind. I don’t remember much, but what I do remember is that the person who kicked me down, held a
raptor stick to my face for about two seconds. He said something to me. But before I could recover and ask him what, my guards brought him down and killed him. But this was not it. At my residence, also, I was attacked. This time, he had tranquillized the guard before getting me. Before the attack happened, I was going through the Journals of Flex and didn’t care to remove them from my desktop for the special occasion. The killer, this time, would have certainly killed me if it were not for the journals. His eye (because only one of them was uncovered) caught them, and he went for them before me. Ironically, I bet I could have said to him, “Welcome to the Assassins Library sir. How may I be of any help to you? … Bloody Kill me or go. My nerves are on fire here”. He opened the book, or I may say, the collection of torn and worn pages taped together. He turned to a certain page, and he went on to certain another. He repeated it a few times. It didn’t seem like he was randomly opening pages. He was searching for something specific and rather finding it and moving to the next specific thing. I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Hey! ….k...i... ller...whatever... MAY I... and I do mean it … MAY I ASK... what are you doing there? It’s my mate’s book... I can definitely … help you out there.” He didn’t react for some time to my statement... but after a few seconds, he started staring at me with curiosity.
Krikos: The Vertical Horizon Page 7
