by Yronwode
“It means something different on our planet,” giggled the buxon blonde girl.
“Well, maybe you should show us then,” Rook said, smiling his killer smile, just to prove it still worked on any planet in the galaxy.
The girls showed them a machine in an alcove of the tavern, the perimeter of its surface contained air jets, which created a layer of air on the top of the table that supported a lightweight disk. “What the torque is this?” Max Jordan demanded.
“Air hockey,” said the blonde, poutily.
“This is what you call air hockey?” Jordan snorted. The brunette challenged Jordan to a game, and he counter-suggested Rook take on the two of them simultaneously. Which gave Max an excuse to return to the table.
Max chewed another slice of what passed for pizza on this planet. The dough was too crisp, and the olive oil too rich, but it was all right.
Caliph, rather huffily re-projected herself to sitting on the bar table.
“Isn’t Warfighter Specialist Rook married to Lt. Commander Taurus?”
“Za,” Jordan told her.
“Did he not make a vow of fidelity to her?”
“He did,” Max Jordan confirmed. He had been Rook’s Best Guy at the ceremony.
“Why is he flirting with those two women?”
“He’s not going to have sex with them,” Jordan answered.
“But they wish to have sex with him, The blond one, especially. She would have
sex with him tonight if he wanted, or even in the hygiene pod at the back of the
bar. The brunette is less eager, but she also finds him attractive.”
Jordan almost choked on his pizza “How do you know that?”
“I have studied human behavior, and learned to read the changes in human
bio-electrical fields associated with arousal. The two females’ heart rates and
respiration have increased, and there has been a noticeable increase in capillary
blood supply
“Is either one of them attracted to me?” Max Jordan asked.
Caliph gave him a very offended look, and then flickered out. Jordan sipped his wine, which was also strange and sweet-tasting compared to what he was used to on Pegasus. Rook and the women returned to the table.
“That was fun,” giggled the blonde. “You almost beat us.”
“What sports do you play on this planet?” Johnny Rook asked, retaking his seat.
“We play hoops,” the brunette answered. She was the more athletic of the two.
“Hoops?” Johhny Rook said. “Sounds interesting.”
“Two teams of five try to get a ball through some hoops set at either side of a court.”
“Sounds a little bit like roundball,” said Johnny Rook. “What weapons are they allowed to use?”
As they went over the rules of hoops, Max’s attention wandered briefly to the telescreen behind the bar, where a pretty blond Midian woman was conveying some news about a Death Serpent eradication project in one of the Xirong territories the Midian government was funding.
”Is she pretty?” Caliph asked him, whispering in his ear without re-projecting.
“I guess so,” Max answered out loud.
“You guess so what?” Johnny Rook asked.
“Nothing,” Max Jordan told him. “I was talking to Caliph.”
“Caliph?” asked the brunette.
“Caliph is an Artificial Intelligence,” Max Jordan answered. “She wanted to ride in my head to experience an away mission to this planet.” He indicated the small outcropping of plastic technology behind his ear.
“Hi, Caliph!” giggled the blonde, waving.
“Hi, Whore.” Caliph answered in Jordan’s head.
“She says hi,” Max Jordan told her.
As if reminded of something, the blonde asked him. “Are you people Brianists?”
“We’re from space, baby,” Johhny Rook purred. It was the exact same line he had used to get the girl’s attention in the first place.
The blonde shook her pretty locks. “No, I mean, do you know the good news of the teachings of the Prophet Brian Kingman?”
“That specific good news never made it to our side of the galaxy, I’m afraid,” Rook told her.
“Oh, you poor people,” said the blonde.
“So, what religion do you follow?” the brunette asked.
“Let’s see,” said Rook. “There’s Theology, and that’s what’s most popular on Sapphire. People study the Old Earth religions… Christianity, Buddhism, Voodoo, the Cult of the Holy Twins… and they incorporate aspects of those faiths into their search for God. On Republic, most everybody is Iestan.”
“What about you?” the brunette asked Max Jordan.
“Nothing,” Max Jordan answered.
The brunette gently laid her hand on his arm, but said nothing. In his head, Caliph blinked out for a just a second.
“All other faiths were surpassed by the Word of the Fifth Testament,” the blonde told them with crisp certainty. “The Word of the Fifth Testament completes the Testimony of God to His Creation.”
“Has anyone talked to you about the Fifth Testament?” the brunette asked.
“It’s about that Brian guy, isn’t it?” Rook asked. “The guy who traveled to the Lost Colony of Tiramisu or something…”
“Taramayara,” the brunette prompted.
The blond was more enthusiastic. “And he came back with the Fifth Testament, translated it from its alien language, and then he built the Holy Starcross Empire.”
“What do you think of it?” the brunette asked Johnny Rook.
Rook paused. “I don’t really know enough about it,” he said tactfully. He turned to the blonde. “What do you think of it?”
“I think it’s wonderful,” the blonde trilled. “Brian Kingman proved the Testament was real by building the empire, and he performed miracles.”
“Miracles?” Rook asked.
“He built the Tower of Levitation,” continued the blonde.
“Tower of Levitation,” Max snorted. “Have you people ever heard of counter-gravity pods.”
“I want to hear this,” Caliph said in his head.
“Tell me more,” Johnny Rook again smiled that serious killer smile.
“Oh, it was just miraculous, ” the blonde continued. “The Temple of Levitation, I mean. The tallest spire was a thousand meters high. And the temple levitated a thousand meters in the air over the Holy and Sacred City of Insalla. And Brian’s powers were so great he could terraform entire worlds, just by raising his hand and calling down rain.”
“No way,” Caliph said.
“Sounds impressive,” Rook touched the back of the blonde’s hand. “Maybe I need to hear more about this Brian Kingman guy.”
“Since you guys are trapped on this planet, maybe you would like to make the best of your situation.” The brunette laid her hand on Johhny Rook’s thigh.
Rook raised his hand and showed his wedding ring. “Sorry, I’ve got a wife back on the ship and she’s carrying my daughter.”
“What if you can never go back to her?” the blonde asked. “What then?” Rook seemed a little taken aback by this, as though the thought had never crossed his mind. “I will get back to her. Those other visitors got off this rock. We’ll get off it, too. Somehow.”
“That’s very brave,” the brunette said, looking deeply into his Rook’s eyes.
“I don’t understand. Why does Warfighter Rook flirt with these women if he has no
intention of engaging in sexual congress with them?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Max Jordan said.
“Tell me what, later,” giggled the blond.
And it was just then that the Air Attack Alert sirens began klaxoning across the city. The lights in the tavern dimmed, and the telescreen showed a more grimly beautiful woman than the regular newscaster. “This is an Air Attack Alert. Midian Security Command is tracking 10 missiles approaching the city from the west-northwest vector.
Citizens are advised to proceed to a designated shelter area.”
“Would you two fine ladies like to be escorted to a designated shelter area by two trained, experienced, and good-looking warfighters?” Johnny Rook asked.
“It’s just an alert,” said the brunette. But the blonde was already standing.
The women paid their bill, which was good because General Parka had neglected to provide Rook and Jordan with local currency, and went outside. The city had gone dark, streetlights extinguished, shutters closed over shop windows. But there were still people moving about in the streets. They did not seem to be panicked, but they were hurrying toward a market square. The girls led, Rook and Jordan followed, and when they got to the square, about two hundred people were staring up into the sky.
Far in the distance, ten shooting stars were cutting through the night sky in blazes of purple and green, with light so intense that the midnight sky turned bright like a coming dawn.
“Chow!” exclaimed the blonde. “So beautiful.”
“This is no Xirong suicide attack,” said the brunette.
“What are those, meteors?” Rook asked.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” the brunette told them.
“I know what they are. You and Warfighter Rook should probably get back to the
Security Base.”
Yronwode – The Wilderness of Howling Zeal
Above the high crumbling buildings of Izzan-Al-Izzan, ten shooting stars streaked through the sky and passed almost directly over the city.
The Men of the Izzan-Al-Izzan Nightwatch excitedly fired their automatic weapons at them. Their bullets, of course, fell back upon the city. Some of them struck an excitable unit of the Izzan-Al-Izzan Immortality Brigade, who began shooting at the Nightwatch. Three men died in the ensuing gun battle.
Later, in a possibly related event a building exploded, but no one was killed.
Also, several land vehicles were set on fire, but not that many more than were burned on a typical night in Izzan-Al-Izzan.
None of this awakened Chieftain K-Rock, asleep on the top floor of the Central Administration Complex. That unenviable job fell to Bang, who ran into his chambers and shook K-Rock awake. “Wake up! Wake up!” she yelled. “It’s happening. It’s happening exactly as you prophesied.”
“Aunt June?” K-Rock replied blearily.
“You said that we would see a sign in the sky,” Bang screeched at him. “Behold, there is a sign! In the sky!”
K-Rock pulled on his black and purple mantle and the pair of fuzzy neon-green slippers he had insisted the Xirong find for him. With a small entourage, he made his way to the roof, where the trails of the ten shooting stars remained, marking their course to the southeast, to Midian… the Theocratic Entity. They seemed to have passed directly over Izzan-Al-Izzan.
I‘m a better prophet than I thought, K-Rock thought. Before he fell asleep, he had been working on a plan that involved blaming the Theocrats for the absence of a sign (because blaming the Theocrats seemed to go over well in these parts). He would say that the prophecy had been misspoken, and he was going out into the desert alone and would not return until there was a sign in the heavens. He gave himself a fifty-fifty chance of surviving, which was better he figured than his odds of surviving among these well-armed savages.
Blunt Hardcheese was part of K-Rock’s entourage. “They look like their gonna to land on the Theocratic Entity.”
Bang pulled K-Rock close and hissed wetly into his ear. “You see! You have called down the sign of the Lypse. It is your destiny to unite the phalanges, to lead the ferkaktata in the final battle that will purify the planet for all Tsi Bai. ” The others turned toward K-Rock expectantly, almost hopefully. K-Rock pondered his situation, wiped his ear, and then went with the first half-baked idea he came up with.
“Those stars are a sign from the Kariad,” K-Rock told them. “Za, that’s it! They symbolize the … um… ten Phalanges of Tsi Bai, who will… um… come down on the Theocratic Entity and crush the Theocrats, and … um … drive them from our ancestral lands forever and ever?”
“There’s a lot more than ten phalanges of Tsi Bai, now saying,” Blunt Hardcheese informed him.
“The shooting stars just represent the ten biggest phalanges,” K-Rock clarified.
“The phalanges that will join me. You must bring their Chieftains here, so that I can….”
“Urbtar Lek,” Hardcheese barked at him.
“Urbtar Lek?” K-Rock repeated.
“The Chieftains will not come here. You must meet them in the desert at the ancient citadel of Urbtar Lek,” Bang hissed at K-Rock.
K-Rock nodded. “Urbtar Lek it is, send out the messengers. Tell them they have seen the sign in the sky and K-Rock is the new authority and they must meet me in Urbtar Lek in five days. And anyone who does not…” He got stuck.
“Anyone who does not will not know the taste of victory over the Theocrats!” Bang snarled. “In our day of victory, their names will be cursed.”
“Also, I will kill them,” K-Rock added. “Now, go!” thinking at least he had bought himself some time, and maybe an escape route.
Yronwode – Midian Security Base One
General Parka was also watching the ten stars descending from the sky, surrounded by blazes of white light. He was watching them on a large, high-definition screen in the base’s Strategic Command Center General Intrepid, a middle-aged Midian, large, bald, and just a little fat, was in charge of the SCC and demanded that all Shield defenses be brought to Maximum Alert.
“Do we have trajectories on the incoming missiles?” Intrepid demanded.
“Affirmative,” said a Lieutenant at one of the stations. He overlaid the trajectories onto the geospatial map of the display.”
Intrepid barked “Arm and lock anti-missile defenses.” Parka touched his arm. “May I suggest that we hold our fire.”
“Hold our fire?” Intrepid spat.
Parka was firm. “I do not believe that those are suicide missiles.”
“Your reasoning, General?”
“The Xirong do not target military bases. They know our defenses are too effective. Their pattern is to attack the weak, not the strong. They also know that an attack on a base would result in a devastating response.”
“Attacks against Midian Military targets are not unheard of,” Intrepid argued.
“One man suicide attacks against guard posts are not unheard of,” Parka corrected, as always unemotional and resolute. “Also, a missile attack on this base would most likely be launched from across the frontier. The arc of those missiles suggests they have been launched from much farther away. In fact, a full extrapolation I believe would give them a point of origin somewhere in the Northern Sea. I do not believe the Xirong have the technology to launch missiles from the sea. Finally, those do not look like Xirong suicide missiles.”
“What the Hell do they look like?” Intrepid demanded.
Parka tried to zoom in on one of the projectiles. “They look more like the description our ancestors recorded of the vessels that carried prisoners to the surface of the planet.”
Intrepid would have none of it. “Nobody’s dropped prisoners on this planet for 3,000 years. Lock defenses!”
Parka said no more, but stared into the oncoming lights, calmly. The shooting stars were coming fast on the base now, and as they came closer, they blazed as bright as the morning sun, bleaching everything with white light.
“They will not hit the base,” Parka said eventually.
“Damn right they won’t,” Intrepid agreed. He barked at the lieutenants at the defense stations. “Why the hell haven’t my targets been engaged.”
“Why aren’t you engaging defenses?” Intrepid demanded.
“We can’t get a lock, sir,” a lieutenant answered.
The shooting stars blazed over the bases defenses and past them, followed by a roaring, thunderous sonic boom that rattled the SCC.
“They are headed for the
Demilitarized Zone,” Parka observed.
“Arm the short-range interceptors,” Intrepid ordered.
“Wait… don’t…” A voice called from the far side of SCC. They turned, Alkema was running into the center, chased by a pair of Midian base guards. “Those aren’t missiles.” He indicated his datapad, which was receiving transponder signatures from the falling ships. “Those are escape pods from Pegasus.” Minutes later, Alkema and Parka were riding in the lead vehicle of an armored military convoy that reached the plains just as the last of the escape pods were crunching into the ground. The pods had plowed into the dirt six kilometers beyond the perimeter of the base, in the Demilitarized Zone that marked the boundary between the tiny peninsula of Midian and the vast Wilderness of Howling Zeal. The entire drop had landed in a neat arc. The dust they had kicked up on landing mixed with the cold night mist that rose on the plain, creating a ghostly landscape where shadows ran like phantoms in the convoy’s headlights.
There were already men moving out of the escape pods as the caravan of armored vehicles moved into the field. The Midian Security Men drew their weapons, but Parka strode out in front of them, gesturing for them to hold back.
“Identify yourselves!” Parka barked at the warfighters exiting the pods Tactical Lieutenant Commander/Holy Man General Kitaen stepped out of the fog to meet him. He was a massive man, well north of two meters in height, with huge, frighteningly rippled muscles in plain view beneath his open jacket, with black and red war paint smeared around his eyes. His head was shaved smooth except for a braid that began at the top of his forehead and trailed down his neck. His appearance was in the matter befitting Sapphirean Holy Men, who were expected to stand out in a crowd.
Kitaen surveyed the armed detachment of Midian Security Forces that had come out to greet him, that were training their assault rifles on him. He raised his arms.
“Blessings be upon you, but, you may put your weapons down. They would be useless against my personal shield, anyway.”
“Identify yourself,” Parka repeated.
Kitaen cleared his throat and continued in a commanding baritone, “I identify myself as Acting Tactical Commander General Kitaen, of the Pathfinder Ship Pegasus, Warmaster of the Ninth Tryptarch of Sumac, Holy Man of the First Order of the Sacred City. Is that a thorough enough identification, or shall I recite my distinguished lineage as well?”
