by R. E. Fisher
Both Laz and Ollie ran through their separate systems checks; all the cockpit equipment showed that the aircraft was operational. The ground crew chief waited for Laz to signal for them to fire up the auxiliary power unit, while other members removed the foreign object debris shield from the engine intakes and performed one last FOD check around the aircraft. Once Laz counted the crew personnel and verified that each were away from the jet intakes, he signaled the crew chief, who then lit up the auxiliary power unit. Only then could Laz to fire up the twin Heinlen 6312 RH4 engines that powered the aircraft. After the engines went online, Laz gave the ground crew clearance to disconnect the APU. Once they had done so, the crew chief pulled it away from the aircraft and drove it back into the hangar. Another crewmember rushed under the aircraft and removed the wheel chocks, dragging them out of the way.
While Laz was firing up the engines and testing the flight surfaces, Ollie verified the navigational flight path they would be traveling to ensure that it was programmed into the system. Once verified, he then began his check of the stasis field components and software for the in-craft life support systems.
Once the crew chief released the aircraft to Laz with a perfectly executed salute, Laz returned the salute and released the wheel brakes of the aircraft. It began a slow roll down the taxiway en route to the runway. He piloted the aircraft to the end of the main runway. Laz requested and was granted clearance for takeoff.
He increased the throttle and the aircraft picked up speed as it taxied down the runway and was soon airborne. Laz increased the speed again, this time using the airspeed control dial. The luminescent blue flames that erupted from the flight nozzles looked like a linked series of tight concentric rings of fire, pierced through the center by a flaming spear.
Chapter 5
“Cunning forethought ensures cunning victories.”
(E.Mih., 3.2 - Book of Earth, Tenets of Mihra, Chapter 3, Verse 2)
Lavalor shifted his naked body as he sat upon the only chair that adorned his bedchamber. He stared up into the rafters of the ceiling while contemplating what to do next. He was through waiting, since his body continued to grow tired and weak. His zest and vigor were also beginning to abandon him.
The plan that Cyris had suggested all those centuries ago had failed. They would be unable to dominate the Rohrlands into their own image. The elves and humans had grown too strong over time; their abilities with magic now rivaled even his knowledge of the black arts.
The thirteen lords of Asmordia had spent centuries developing their networks of demons to aid in the cause. Cyris had been right about their avarice. They had flocked to him at the chance of having their own established kingdoms in the Rohrlands. Their spite and anger had grown much since they had left the Rohrlands behind them, but so, too, had the magic within the other realm.
Those in the Realm of Light had somehow figured out how to rid themselves of Asmordian citizens. Vastia’s death, along with the forced retreat of Jerrous back to Asmordia, had left him with no other alternative. He would have to do it himself.
Lavalor looked over at Quensi and Daena, their bodies entwined in a comfortable embrace as they lay sleeping on a luxurious bed adorned with pillows and silk sheets woven from the threads of the carrion worm.
Lavalor walked over to them, standing over them as they slept and wondering how to make the best use of them. A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.
He walked to foot of the bed, where he had previously tossed his robe. After picking up the silken garment, he donned it and said, “Come.”
Lavalor looked toward the door, watching as Cyris entered.
“He will survive without having to go through the renewal,” Cyris offered.
“Good,” Lavalor replied. He knew he would need Jerrous if his plan were to have any chance of succeeding.
Cyris stood in silence for a few moments, attempting to avoid looking at the nearly nude women as they lay sleeping. He found their shapely legs very appealing.
“Was there anything else?” Lavalor asked.
“I don’t know for sure. Jerrous said there was an Elfaheen woman helping the elves and the other mages.”
“Are you sure?” Lavalor asked.
“It’s what he said.”
“So, Lysette, you’re choosing to get involved in the young races’ affairs again. So be it, then,” Lavalor whispered to himself as he rubbed his chin.
Unsure of what Lavalor had said, Cyris asked, “What was that?”
“I said go make sure nothing happens to Jerrous and find out the details of why he had to retreat from their realm!”
Cyris rushed from the room as Lavalor slapped both women on their thighs and shouted, “Good news, dears! Time to go home! Get up, we’ve got work to do!”
Both women awoke, not comprehending his meaning.
“Why are we in this stuffy, sealed-up room? Daena asked, looking around Lavalor’s hidden vault. “There’s not even a chair to sit on!”
“Quit complaining,” Quensi told her.
“I just want to know why we’re here! He said we were going home, but we are home!”
“I’m going to explain it in a moment, but for now, quiet yourself! I need to show you something before I do,” Lavalor told them.
Lavalor turned away from the women and toward a wooden chest that lay across a small table that sat along the outer wall. Running his hands along the top edge of the wooden box, he uttered a complex incantation to remove the magical spell of protection he had placed on it so many centuries ago. Once he had finished, a brief spark of yellow light engulfed the box for a moment and then was gone. Lifting the hinged lid and then letting it fall back onto the table with a wooden thud, he reached in and removed his sword, Usurper.
“My loves, this will secure the future of Asmordia,” he told them.
Daena stepped forward to examine the sword while Quensi asked, “How?”
“I’m dying. We know that. I’m going to change my body from this rotting carcass to this,” he said as he held out the sword.
Both women looked at him in silence and disbelief.
“You must be mad,” Daena said without thought.
Lavalor’s eyes narrowed in anger at the insult.
“Daena, have you forgotten that he created Asmordia? Your petty fears and empty-headed conclusions are tiresome. Perhaps you should return to what you’re best at,” Quensi smirked as she patted Daena on the ass.
“Enough!” Lavalor exclaimed before Daena could respond. “I have determined how to do this. As before, however, I will need your help.”
“What happens to you if the sword is broken or destroyed? Won’t you die then?” Daena asked.
“That would depend on where and why it happened. I have tested it repeatedly over the centuries. It wasn’t scratched in the least. I only know of one way that it can be destroyed,” he answered.
“And how is that?” Quensi asked.
Lavalor looked at her, knowing her reason for asking such a question. “It’s not worth bothering with. The odds are so minuscule we’ll not even worry about them,” he lied.
Quensi, knowing he would not tell them, shrugged her shoulders and asked, “So what is your plan?”
“Once I make the transition, I will not be able to travel freely, obviously. I need you two to return to the Rohrlands, taking me with you.”
“Why?” Quensi asked.
“Lysette has chosen to watch over the young races from a distance. She will lead us to the Harbinger at some point.”
“How do you know?” Daena asked.
“If she watches over them, it can only be because she knows of the prophecy as well. I believe she does. I think the gods shared with her the same vision they shared with me. If the gods we follow told me, then the ones she follows must have told her.”
“So, what happens after we leave? You will abandon your realm?” Daena asked.
“No, we will return. Cyris will act in my stead until then.”
“What about you? This realm is mine to do as I see fit!” he hissed.
“So, what do you need us for, your highness?” Daena asked.
“I will need to borrow some of your magic, much like when we left the Realm of Light. That is why I forbade you two from using any magic. Instead, I have given you all that you could ever want.”
“And here I thought it was because of my other skills,” Daena said mockingly as she reached out and patted Quensi on her ass, returning her earlier ridicule.
Chapter 6
“Weep not! For thou cannot know what I hold for thee on the morrow!”
(E.Am.1.14 - Book of Earth, Tenets of Mithureal, Chapter 1, Verse 14)
Dmitri shifted within the cockpit seat of his aircraft as his deep brown eyes looked north toward the unseen American coastline while he flew west along the southern coast of Cuba. He was three hours from Washington, D.C. if there wasn’t any interference and if he could manage to keep his cover as an international commercial flight. He smiled, thinking that there would be plenty of interference later, especially after they started their offensive up through Mexico. As he looked out over the water past his heads-up display, he concocted a mental image of himself flying in low over the water, coming out of the sun toward the enemy. He was imagining that he was laying down a deadly volley from his cannon like those WWI pilots had, his gray hair flying wildly about his head and his cockpit unprotected by a canopy.
He hated America. He hated how they thought they had defeated the Soviet Union and with that traitor Gorbachev espousing the need for change. There had been change, all right. Drugs, prostitutes, graft, theft, and gangsters running most of the local governments while the drug runners managed the borders. He watched as Putin expanded Russia’s influence and power, but also watched him fall short of his goals. Those who had followed him into power were even less capable! Then Serge Karimov came along.
After gaining power in Uzbekistan, he had convinced Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Kyrgyzstan to form a union. In doing so, he consolidated the governments, which increased his power while gaining control of a nuclear arsenal. That had moved other governments into line. Karimov had learned one important thing from Ronald Reagan, of all people. It was that strength is projected, not simply acquired or spoken of. Once he had the codes to the nuclear arsenal, he made it clear to the populations of his nation that they were all one people now, and he began trying to unify them. He had made only one more observation to those same peoples, and it was this: should there be any more terror attacks in the name of Allah, he would lob a multimegaton warhead onto Mecca. Period.
He had no desire to fight the Alash Orda war from the early 1900s again so soon after gaining power.
There had been no more terrorist attacks within his borders. There were still displays of discontent, but no attacks. The stability that followed had allowed foreign investment to flow into his fledgling nation, and enter it did. He had built up the nation’s economy to the point to where it was now sustainable enough to invest in the military without bankrupting the treasury.
Karimov was a brilliant militarist who believed in law and order. After sweeping the streets clean of murderers, child molesters, drug pushers and such, he had them all shot to serve as an example. It was reminiscent of Stalin. One of the things the Americans didn’t realize about the Russian people was their need to be led firmly; the idea of a democracy with self-rule had been a dismal failure. He believed democracy was mob rule. He also knew that populist politics were ultimately ineffective because of the unnecessary social programs they created to curry votes and favor—which always led to a nation’s social breakdown and bankruptcy. Those choices preceded the downfall of every nation that had practiced it, even the USA. The USA was now fractured, and the rot had already begun to set in. Anyone could see that civil war was looming within their borders—and it would happen sooner rather than later.
Once democracy, along with the global depression and another increase in crime, had resulted in hunger and a deficiency of goods, the people again looked to the government for direction and security. Karimov gave it to them. Though the doctrine wasn’t exactly communism, it was communal in nature, modeled after what China had done with its economy. Everyone worked, and salaries were based on production and the will of the state. If you didn’t work, you slept on the street while gleaning your meals from the garbage cans of others. Sleep on the street too long, and well, there were cures for that also. There were exceptions where the old Soviet Union had failed. Now the infirmed and the mentally handicapped were well cared for. Dmitri figured this was a result of Karimov having a brother who suffered from Down’s syndrome. After all, they had learned a few lessons after its fall.
Dmitri envied Karimov’s power and influence. He knew nothing happened to Karimov that Karimov himself didn’t allow. He was also thankful that he had been sent to the front during the Georgian war as a Foxbat pilot once he had completed his education in Russia. It was there he had learned his trade well and had received classification as an ace. Six solo kills. Only three other pilots had met or surpassed his combat count during the brief but bloody conflict. After the war, he had returned to Russia and continued his training. Because of his wartime record, he was then transferred into special aircraft testing. While on leave in Omsk, he had been approached about providing certain classified information to Karimov’s government about the aircraft he was training on.
It was odd, but after all Russia had done to educate him, he felt no remorse about turning over this information. He had heard of Karimov and of his intention to reunite the separated states and to reshape his nation and those surrounding it into the superpower it had once been. So, while testing the aircraft prototype, Dmitri chose to fly it over the border in a prearranged defection. There were many accusations directed at Karimov’s government. But none of them could be proven since the aircraft was invisible to radar. One of the ground crew who had also been sympathetic to Karimov’s cause had disconnected the ground tracking radio transmitter and transponder, ensuring that there was no direct proof against Karimov’s government.
Dmitri had flown across the border and landed on a secluded field, where the aircraft was immediately hidden away, and the engineers began the process of reverse engineering it. Once the process was completed, along with a few modifications to the craft, Karimov’s government put the hypersonic scramjet into production. The rebel union was suddenly a new superpower with an air force rivaling any in the world. Soon afterward, the Russian Federation Parliament was dissolved, as the Russian military threw its support behind the charismatic leader Karimov and formed the Republic of Soviet States.
Dmitri was brought from his reverie by a tone erupting from his targeting console. It had failed to identify an oncoming aircraft, which was unusual. The system had been designed to identify every known aircraft in the world. The craft was shown as being 212 miles out and flying at an altitude of over 73,000 feet, but climbing.
It must be an American recon craft, Dmitri thought. Well, it was his job to ensure that they didn’t get home. He shifted his eyes to the altitude indicator on his heads-up display and pulled back on the stick while dialing up the airspeed. He marveled as his aircraft shot up 11,000 feet in less than 7 seconds.
At the same time, Ollie watched his radar as the bogie shot up to their altitude in mere seconds. Incredible. Ollie switched over to the infrared display, where it confirmed a heat trail stretching between both positions the aircraft had occupied.
“Shit! Laz, we’ve got another plasma craft up here with us. It’s pulled up to our altitude!”
“Damn! How far out is it?”
“183 miles and closing.”
“Well, now we know why this flight wasn’t canned! We’re in it now; start the cameras rolling, no delays!”
Ollie flipped a green switch and a confirmation light activated, but he didn’t stop to check it. His hand
s moved swiftly as he began activating the weapons and life support systems in their aircraft. Ollie felt the beginning tingles of the accompanying slow buildup of the stasis field around each of their cockpits as it activated and slowly began forming around them. Knowing this, he then hit the plasma generator switch.
As the craft began generating the stasis field, the heat inside the cockpit increased. The interior life support system then activated the cabin cooling, causing Ollie to sigh in relief. He hated the engineers who had designed a system requiring the plasma field to activate prior to the cooling systems activating fully. If the cooling system ever failed, they would cook inside the cockpit like a bag of popcorn in a microwave.
While Ollie contemplated this, Laz increased the forward speed of the craft to Mach 9. A decade before, this type of speed had been unheard of; Laz had always gotten a kick out of being one of the two fastest men in the world. Now, that belief was just shattered. It was apparent that there were others to challenge them. Watching his radar display, he observed the bogie chewing up the remaining distance by going hypersonic.
Dmitri grinned and thought, those poor bastards don’t have a clue! since his craft was capable of Mach 11. Their intelligence showed that the Americans could only achieve Mach 9.9. He was thankful for the scientific exodus from America after their second depression. Scientists always went to where the funding was, and Karimov had foreseen the need for them. He had offered whatever it took to get them, and that success had allowed him to complete the aircraft.
