The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

Arn came back to her, sat down and began to remove his armor once more. He laid his protective steel plating near him and sat wearing only his Rimar hide waist coverings and his heavy riding boots with their long spurs, “soon you will be even stronger and able to keep up with the women warriors”.

  Andra had also taken off her chest piece and arm coverings, her boots where not as thick as her mates but the spurs where just as long, “what do you mean?” She said angrily, “I can handle a war-ax very well now and my riding is much better than some”. As she spoke she undid the silver band that was holding her long dark hair back from her face. As it came undone she ran her fingers through it making it fall in long waves over her now naked shoulders, “you just have to keep your legs braced and move with the saddle”.

  Arn reached over and took her roughly into his strong arms, “do you think you can ride this dull headed Whiptail?”, as he said those words he pressed his chest against hers.

  Andra felt his arms around her; she knew those arms could break her like she would break a Doff-bird egg. But she knew that he would never do that, she looked into his eyes, “I can ride all night if need be”, she said softly, then she kissed him hard.

  There might have been a water weaver in the lake or tree chameleon hiding in the Balbar trees. There might even be a deadly Sand Dragon lurking nearby, but all that did not matter to the two Nomads, all that mattered now was the beating of their hearts and the fire burning in their souls.

  The warm night air filled with the songs of the tribe. Here and there the warriors moved into their tents with their mates and there they would join together in lovemaking. It was not the violent frenzy of the Mating dome of Omargash but rather a softer, warmer love that came with the easy living of this time of the cycle. It was also a time that the Elders of the tribe remembered when they too would sneak out beyond the fire from the Washa’s and lay under the calling moons. They would think about past lovers and their hearts would cry out for those days long past, they would still hold their mates tightly and feel the warm embrace of arms about them but the fire would not be the same. That was reserved for the young, but it was not something to be angry for, it was the way of their kind and the way of their tribe, but still some would lay inside their tents and wish with all their hearts to once more dance under the stars.

  In the tent of Anais there was quiet, the younger brother of the King and the son of the now high priestess had little to sing about and he never felt the urge to dance. Blind now he preferred to sit inside his quarters and talk to no one, his food and drink was brought to him and all his needs taken care of, but the Touchtenders who did so did not spend time with the onetime King. They had tried to engage him in conversation but they found his lips tightly set and had to listen to their own words, so after a time they let him be and simply made sure that all his needs where met and that he wanted for nothing, it was a sad existence but it was his to do with as he liked.

  Now he sat huddled in the darkened tent with only the light of his Washa dancing on the walls, he listened to the songs just outside, why do they sing. He thought...do they not know what is to come? Darkness and endless sea of darkness, if they understood that they would not sing, they would weep.

  For a moment his mind words almost caused him to shed tears but he fought back the feeling, and shook his head...No, I will not cry, tears are for old women and those who are weak, I will not be weak.

  He sat upright on his sleeping mattress and held his head high, but there was no one in the dim light to see that he was not crying, so what did it matter? All his pride meant nothing now, there was no one to see him and his power over the tribe was gone, he was just a blind man with no one to care.

  He was about to forget his pride and weep when he heard a sound; it was his tent flaps opening, “who is there?” He called out, but when he heard no reply he spoke again, “who is there?” He said once more.

  “Do not fear, it is I, your mother”, came the response.

  Egmar had come to see her son, she wore a simple robe and a silver necklace, she carried a small brazier that gave light to the darkened tent and bathed their surroundings in a soft warm glow, “may I come in?” She asked.

  “Do as you wish” her son said angrily, “I cannot stop you”, and then he turned away from her and lay back on his mattress.

  The old woman moved to a small chair and sat down, she put the light lamp on a stand near the chair and then turned to Anais, “I have come to see if you are in need. Do you have enough to eat or shall I have them bring a fresh plate of Rimar for you?” She then waited for her son to reply, but after a time of silence she spoke again, “I had them bake some meadow cane biscuits for you, they are very sweet”. She reached into her robe and took out a small cloth and opened it, their inside were two golden brown squares, “they are still warm if you want to taste them?” But again there was only silence so she put the sweets on the stand by the brazier, “very well, you can have them later if you like, I put them on the stand just over here, you do not have to reach very far too...”

  “Get out!” Her son suddenly screamed, “I do not want any of your food or anything else, just leave me alone!”

  For a time the High Priestess said nothing, she just sat and looked at her unseeing son. When she could see the look on his face change from one of anger to one calmer she spoke once more, “do you remember the time you came to me crying because you had fallen off your Whiptail and cut your knee. And I told you that crying was not the way of a warrior, do you remember?”

  Anais shook his head, “no, I do not remember anything like that...Why should I remember, it was too long ago.

  Egmar moved a bit closer to her son, “you listened to my words and you stopped your tears and after that day you never cried again”, she reached out and touched his shoulder.

  He suddenly pulled back as if a Rockworm had stung him, “I do not remember anything like that, now get out and leave me alone!”

  For a moment his mother said nothing then she slowly rose and began to move to the tent entrance. But before she left she turned to her son, “I was wrong to tell you not to cry”. She let her words hold in the air, “I will leave the light, perhaps its glow will warm your heart”, and with one last look at her son she left.

  For a time Anais sat unmoving, he listened to the singing outside and told himself that he wished it would stop; he waited and waited but still the songs continued.

  Why do they not leave me alone? He thought...I do not need their pity or anything from them, they all mean nothing to me, nothing.

  He once more began dreaming of all the things he would do if only he could see again, all the revenge he would carry out on those who tormented him, it made him feel good, he like dreaming like this. He sat there for some time going over and over his visions of death and pain.

  Then he stopped.

  Something caused him to turn from his revenges; it was a smell, a smell that he had not known for some time. The soft fragrance of freshly baked sweets, he did not want to think about them, but before he could stop himself he moved to the small table and reached out with his hand, then his fingers met the delicate softness of the meadow cane biscuits. At its touch his mind suddenly filled with forgotten images, visions of other times, times when his heart did not feel so heavy. He saw himself as a boy again, and his mother had just given him a sweet to eat. As he put the small biscuit to his nose he felt the thousand other times the air had been filled with the fragrance of baking and it softened the coldness in his soul. As he bit into the soft warm dough his mouth tasted the delightful sweetness of the meadow cane and the small bits of ripened Safic berries that filled the center of the confection.

  It is like I remembered he thought.

  In spite of all his commands his eyes began to fill with tears, and alone in his tent he let the past come flooding back into the present.

  It was almost light when Arn and Andra woke from their sleep, they found themselves naked and in each other’s arms but covered
by their fur cloaks, beside them the fire of Eul had almost gone out but there was still sufficient heat to drive off the morning cold. They both laid there for a long time, not moving and saying nothing, their minds where filled with images, for ever since they had awoken from the sleep of the crystal spiders their minds had been linked, at first it was just fragments of feelings. Then as the day and nights passed those fragments came together and continued to grow and grow, now as they lay beside each other’s they needed no words to share their emotions. They both felt the same warm love, the same hope and strength that being with the one who loves you brings. After a time Andra looked up through the overgrowth from the Balbar trees and there in the clear sky she saw a small light streaking across the face of Eka the morning moon.

  A Dropship, She told herself...More orphans, more outcasts seeking a new home.

  She remembered her own fall from the heavens, the days of pain with the Sandjar and then finding a new home with the Nomads. She thought back over the long journey to the present and the finding of love, I did not believe in the Gods, but maybe they do exist? She looked into the face of Arn. Something guided me to him.

  She turned her head to look up at the bright light in the sky...Perhaps they too will find what they are looking for?

  The light moved beyond her site and only a mark of sky fire was left to show its passing.

  Chapter 3.

  Glory or Death.

  AA3

  ARMAMENTS.

  As stipulated in section 7 subsection 23 ---- all attack Lightships of the Magus type shall be taken to sector 7 and deposited on the planet designated as Gorn, the Electro Magnetic fields shall therefore render them useless and of no further threat.

  (Acknowledged by the peace treaty members of the Trajion conflict conference, REFERANCE ---- WAR CRIMES ---- B9021.UTS.

  The Dragos was a war ship; it was not like the great Trajion battle ships of the past for that design was no longer the most optimal for combat. The newer ships were much smaller and equipped with only three sets of Molecular Blaze-cannons rather than the older particle types and it did not have the usual banks of hidralinite torpedoes for they were not as powerful as the newer Tri-hidralinite projectiles. But it did lose something in its shielding, the new war ships relied more on their maneuvering capabilities rather than the strength of their hull plating to keep them from being fragmented. It still used the standard poliy-gromite fazic coating but they did not triple plate them anymore, it was far too expensive and the possess took five times longer to complete, but even with all its lesser strength it still was victorious in battle.

  The reason was quite simple, they hunted in groups, the day of the lone battle ship was over, now it was much better to face an enemy with multiple targets rather than one huge fortress, and as for the crews. They were no longer mutants that were used only for war, these were intelligent well-rounded creatures that could think and react on their own.

  Captain Molbon stood on his command bridge; he was an Eran, a humanoid species that had come a long way from their primitive beginnings to be a real force in the Outer Rim. They were not warlike beings, but they could defend themselves when called upon and fought furiously if needed, they were tall and attractive by the standards of the galaxy, with straight features and a proud way of standing. They now inhabited twenty-two worlds and were establishing settlements on eight more, well on their way to becoming the masters of their section of the Outer Rim, but acquiring all those worlds had been costly. There were many wars and many deaths, and now they would defend those worlds no matter what the cost.

  And to Captain Molbon the cost had been high, a veteran of many battles he had received all the honors and medals that his world had to offer. His battle tactics were taught in the Academy of Warfare on Ubanus Six and his name had been carved into a rather large statue on his Home-world of Vergo Trogo, but now the years had caught up with him. His body was covered in scars and his right arm had been replaced with an organic polycron appliance. Dermoplastas could have easily fixed the malformations of his body but it was a matter of pride to the old warrior that he should wear his battle scars proudly. There were also several replacement ribs and a new set of lungs but all that work was not important anymore. Molbon knew that his glory days were far behind him.

  His retirement was fast approaching and he dreaded the thought of sitting around his country home with nothing to do but watch the sun rise and fall and listening to his nagging wife tell him that he needed to get out more. How he longed for one last battle, one more glorious fight to show that he was still a commander and not just a well-worn fixture for the younger ensigns to salute.

  Molbon shifted in his seat, “what is our heading ensign?” his words were directed at a rather attractive female trainee who had just come on board as navigation mapping and was still learning the ins and outs of the bridge. She checked her readings and reported as she was trained to do, “we are nearing the star Procus, it is a third magnitude sun with no planets and radiation at only seven point nine”.

  The Captain liked the way she reported but he did not show it on his face, in his opinion it was better to be feared then liked, “very well ensign, but keep me informed if that radiation changes”. He went back to staring at his command screens and trying not to think about his wife.

  Some distance from the great star Procus the M-91 was moving slowly, its alternative locomotion engines were working well but they could not propel the warship to any great speed. The Repairbots still had to work steadily to keep the power supply constant and more than once their engines shut off and on as the connections failed, but it was for only a moment or two then new routing brought them back online and the M-91 moved once more.

  The Report Drone stationed itself at the command center, there it could monitor all incoming functions and relay them to the Orb if necessary. But the last orders were quite clear, find and enemy and terminate their existence, so being a drone it could not go against those orders. But the long cycles of moving about the ship and making repairs had put something else into its programming, something that the original makers did not understand. The Report Drone no longer thought of the war ship as a machine of death and destruction as it was intended to be, it now considered the M-91 its home.

  It was a very strange thing to be sure; drones are simply drones, just machines to do the work and nothing more, but the organic memory brain it was equipped with had been growing. The cycles of work had put into its intelligence more than memory links or programming, it now had pride, pride in its work and pride in the fact that it had help maintain the M-91 and saved it from destruction. But now that was all over, all the work was for nothing, it was all going to stop, deletion, erasure...End.

  The Report Drone did not want to end, it wanted to continue, to exist, to keep going, but that was impossible, for in the end there was no way to disregard its orders, it had to obey. So with nothing more to do it now looked for an enemy to attack, it moved to the navigational console and spoke, “navigation, report on scanners, is there an enemy to attack?”

  The navigational console had been up and running now that they’re were engines to propel them once more. The scanner that had once only reported on sun spotting and corona flares now searched the heavens for any sign of life, “scanners reporting that there are several ships approaching from a heading of seven nine eight, speed is level two, intent is not known”.

  The Report Drone moved to the main scanner screen and tried to call up the information for viewing, it had to try more than once but at last it did manage to see a blurry image of a ship approaching, “weapons, standby” it called out.

  The weapons console began to spark and a puff of smoke burst from a secondary view screen as it shorted out, “weeeeaponsss at ready, bubbas, blaze caaaaaaanons online”, there was more sparking but the main connections held.

  The Report Drone spoke again, “navigation, make heading to cross flight path of scanned ships, speed to coincide with meeting”.
/>   “Understood” replied navigation.

  Although the crew manifest console had not been asked a question it never the less commented, “this is not going to bring back the dead if that is your purpose”.

  The Report Drone did not reply but stood unmoving as the M-91 slowly turned and headed directly at the approaching ships.

  On the Command Bridge of the Dragos Captain Molbon was having a cup of his favorite beverage, it looked like a nice cup of Gorgalian tea to anyone who might notice it. But what they did not know was the cup was not filled with the sweet tea, rather it held a goodly amount of Orgal whiskey. It was forbidden for alcohol to be on any war ship in the fleet, but the Captain had never been much for rules and with his retirement on the way he did not feel the need to follow the command book all that closely. Besides his replacement arm had been hurting him lately and the whiskey eased that annoyance.

  He only took one long sip of his drink when the alarm in the command center began to signal, in an instant the bridge was a flurry of activity, crewman checking their screens and consoles lighting up with different readings.

  “What is going on?” cried the Captain, “somebody give me information...NOW!”

  The scanner technician began shouting; “we have a scanner alert at heading seven nine eight, a large ship of unknown origin heading directly towards us”.

  “At us?’ replied the Captain, he was sure there had been some kind of mistake, every star system in the Outer Rim knew that the Eran were formidable in battle and no one, not even a drunken spice pirate would attack a fleet of warships. Yes this had to be some kind of joke, “check your readings again” the Captain asked, “and turn off those dammed alarms!’

  Deep inside the M-91 the Orb knew that its life would soon be over, the organic matter that it was comprised of was very powerful, its sensory outreach had grown many times greater in its long cycles of waiting. It could reach out and feel its surroundings now, past the shielding and hull plating, past the poly-gromite bonding and fazic coating, past all the ships defenses and out into endless space, there it would feel what was coming. It knew that it was heading for destruction, its long cycles of thinking and waiting were fast coming to an end, there would be nothing soon, no more tactics, no more repairs, no more anything, it would be over...and it was content.