the Darkness
Aris the Chosen One
the Invaders
Aris the Chosen One fought against the immense pressure constricting around the middle of her carapace. Some type of suspended material ate at her hide, hardened and pressed further, soon it would cut through her. She locked her plates, and moved her tail with all the strength she had left, desperate to tear free of the enemy vessel.
A muffled blast followed by immense pain and one by one, her systems were shutting down. Another blast, another organ failed, a spike of pain and additional internal systems collapsed. Her armored body was created to take immense punishment, survive as long as possible. Fight to the end. Before an organ or system died, its last act was an intense spike of pain that reverberated through the systems and organs that were left, giving them a fraction of a cycle of warning to adjust and keep her alive. Her massive carapace lurched from slack to rigid as the ever-increasing flashes of agony jolted through her.
The building pressure crushed her bony plates, each cracking, popping. Soon their interlocking web would fracture and Aris the Chosen One would move on to the Realm of Warriors. If there was such a place, she thought, her memories clouding and merging together. Her carapace slammed up into a rigid posture then relaxed and drooped with a thud against the cool, soft, outer skin of the invader’s vessel.
This beast had not uttered any of the ancient languages since it entered the Darkness. Its skin was cold yet forgiving compared to that of the first encounter her mentor had faced with a beast of iron or rock.
Aris’s thoughts fragmented and released in mass, swirled and became one on the open thought-stream. Why have you not healed me? I remain in your mass, why do you not wash me with your embrace? Instead you leave me to suffer?
The open thought-stream closed and for the first time in her existence, the first time in billions of cycles, Aris the Chosen One was alone. Fear saturated what was left of the Prox and she desperately tried to curl into a defensive ball. Hide in her fear as she did when the enemy destroyed her mentor.
All she found was the cold skin of the enemy vessel. The beast that held her tight in its grasp, half her carapace buried within it. The half I can no longer feel, she thought. A spike of pain and her ocular sensors faded and died in a painful fit.
Her carapace went limp. The rushing mass of the Darkness, pushing and bending her towards the faint glow and warmth of the enemy’s propulsion system. A crack echoed through her carapace, Aris’s weakened plates failed under the immense pressure of the enemy vessel. The beast she had almost torn through was healing itself. Another strength of this powerful, invading force they continued to underestimate.
Alone, blind and afraid, Aris the Chosen One released a final cry for help. A wet snap followed by a calming coldness overcame her and she was torn from the enemy and glided down its smooth skin while it pushed through the Darkness and towards the Void.
A brief and intense heat warming what remained of her battered form, a last, semi-lucid thought passed through her burning skull-plate… I am free.
Her leaking methane sac exploded in the trailing burn from the enemy’s propulsion system.
Oath fulfilled.
69
the Creators
Planet Tzara
The Creators continued their debate with Tzara, their leader hovering above the twelve.
A shift could be done. She spoke downward, focusing her sounds like a distant storm, rumbling through the clouds. A shift from the furthest frontier of the territories.
The twelve Creators looked upward at their eldest and filled Tzara’s lair with question upon question, as the idea had never been contemplated, never tried.
What if we allow the enemy fleet to continue its retreat towards its clan and away from our new territories? The Creator of Krell pushed herself higher, until she hovered just below Tzara. Let them go back to their own lair that hangs in the Void?
Yes, Tzara thought, of course, Leader of the Krell, allow the slayers of clans to crawl back to their lair until they again come to our borders, and in far greater numbers. She moved higher, leaving the Krell leader in her appropriate place.
There is no time for waiting. Tzara moved toward the center, high above the twelve, her voice booming from above, the light shining off her ebony, mirror-like carapace. The seven stalks and stronghold pods are safe for the moment but the invaders destroyed one of the Shields and hundreds of the warriors it protected. Tzara waited for the news to sink in, her round, black ocular sensors diminished to slits beneath her skull plate. Shrieking came in waves from below, echoing throughout Tzara’s lair.
We have never lost a Shield in battle. Their mass has never been breached! the Creator of the Warruq roared.
The moment had come; Tzara sensed the power of the warrior’s rage begin to drip into the other Creators. Contained for now, she thought, but the loss of the Shield would unite them for the second time in their shared history.
At this cycle, one of the vessels is slashing at the Shields from a growing distance. Killing as the cowards flee. She lowered herself; Tzara closed the distance between her and the twelve Creators. Her voice thundered downward. The very one that destroyed many of the Seekers that peacefully lay amongst the ice and rock fields for millions of cycles, guarding the gentle mining clans.
The twelve remained silent, listening to the speaker for the Darkness, clicking armored plates and shrieking the call for war. Tzara shuddered, allowing the warrior’s rage to course through her, keeping it just below the point of giving in to its power.
This enemy is crawling away in fear while it stabs and claws at our shields. One has been slain, the stalk it carried destroyed with the warriors attached burning within their stronghold sacs! We must release the seven shields and the full might of the clans they protect!
A roar vibrated against her carapace, the twelve sounded in unison. Tzara moved her lateral fins slowly, gently turning her carapace, reflecting the light in all directions. Silence followed, her skull plate lowered, moments passed while Tzara revolved, around and around and she stopped.
But who will lead the clans? Creator of the Krell asked, the orifice from where the sounds sprang jiggling and rippling, a thick paste frothing at the edges. The last anointed Aris the Chosen One and LOR, have fallen. She spun her massive sphere of girth, looking at the other Creators. We must again call a Warruq and a Prox to the positions.
And what of the Void? Tzara slowly raised her skull plate until the slits of her ocular sensors could again be seen. This enemy is powerful! What of the fiery embers that chase and effortlessness destroy our clans?
This new invader retreats as the shields sit outside of the protection from the Darkness. The enemy has learned their fiery embers cannot pursue within her mass. A shift is needed. We must protect the shields and cover the clans’ attack! We must move the Darkness with us!
Chaos consumed the lair, sounds echoing from the twelve Creators. Tzara held silent, patiently waiting for their answer. She observed the Creator of the Krell glowing brighter with each passing moment, increasing her internal fire, swelling then receding. The Creator of the Warruq clicked her armored plates and on and on each Creator went. A sound, a threat, a retreat, back and forth until all fell silent.
Tzara descended until level with all the Creators who held their position. The sign a decision for the territories was made. It began with Creator of the Krell, SHIFT.
Tzara nodded to the second oldest of the Creators.
The leader of the Warruq was next, SHIFT.
Speaker of the Ten, four for to SHIFT, six to remain.
All had sounded, except for Tzara, the ancient one.
Six for the SHIFT and six to remain and keep territories as they are, keep the Darkness at bay and let the invaders escape into the Void. The vote was as expected. Tzara knew the old Creators wanted revenge for their slaughtered, warrior clans, which they produced. The younger Creators wanted ore production to continue uninterrupted
by war. But the Darkness, she wanted a new direction, one with the promise of new mass to feed her insatiable growth. I have the last sound in the decision and all is how the Darkness and I have seen it, Tzara thought, or was it all the Darkness… it no longer mattered.
SHIFT.
The twelve Creators bowed in respect, the decision was final and all would do their part.
The Darkness would relinquish the far boundary taken in the first war with the ruthless Dakkadians. An area acquired gradually over billions of cycles through the loss of millions of warriors. A period when the territories were young and only five worlds revolved around the twin stars. A territory fought over and taken from those who may try and take it back the moment the Darkness pulled away. The moment the Darkness left it unprotected and the clans moved to destroy the new enemy that retreated on the other side.
A SHIFT would protect the shields and the warriors they carried in thousands of strongholds. But the Darkness could only move so far before too much of the territories would be left defenseless. Tzara could not say what she believed to the twelve Creators, it would be seen as weakness. The eldest warriors from the Prox and the Warruq Clans that would become Aris the Chosen One and LOR, were not strong enough to defeat this enemy.
Tzara remained in deep thought while the twelve departing Creators entered their personal pods and one by one began the journey back to their worlds. Creator of the Krell hovered for a fraction of a cycle until her new pod arrived, but of course she did, thought Tzara. Last to arrive, last to depart.
Kalis will lead the clans. The guttural rasp of her unfiltered sound was comforting to her though it came from another.
Yes, Darkness, Kalis will bring you what you desire and I will make sure we are victorious.
Kalis was safely kept in an area deep within the Darkness. A lone creation with a single purpose that waited to release her energy bloom, waited for the exhilaration that would flood her systems upon release. Kalis would rain devastation upon all things within her reach and once beyond the control of the Darkness, her wrath may include her keepers.
An ancient harbinger of destruction, Kalis was once again useful, the fallen Creator was needed for battle and more importantly, for the expansion of the territories.
There was no turning back; the Creators and the Darkness were going to war again. The Darkness would reach out toward the enemy as far as her mass would allow and protect the clans for as long as she could.
But first, it was time to let the shields speak for themselves. Time for the gentle giants to use the pain and loss of their leader to focus the power they contained between them. The power that took millions of cycles to store and but an instant to release. Tzara would let the shields take vengeance on the enemy.
Kalis would take care of the rest.
70
Captain Falco
Battle Station Pluto
“Almost there, Captain.” Ensign Holts continued to input the last of the data sent from 10th Fleet by Lieutenant Bai. “10th Fleet is now in range.”
Falco nodded, but remained tense, standing behind his captain’s chair and staring through the portside windows. His arms were heavy, firing the Gatling gun had released something within him – something he buried with his wife and daughter. He felt satiated, but knew the hunger would return. Falco wanted to kill, he wanted revenge, but not just for the death of crewmen or the destruction of vessels, he wanted revenge for the loss of his previous life.
“Working on the Fleet’s holo-feed link, sir. Should only be another moment.” Holts worked quickly, multi-tasking between various data-pads and screens.
The direct feed from the Fleet’s open-COM gave them as much information as they could ask for from this distance. Having a direct feed from their hologram would be a godsend. Falco was sure Lieutenant Bai did not have authorization to send an encrypted link for the holo-feed to Station Pluto. Bai and Holts had become friends while working on the Oortian Detector, but Bai had taken a chance and Falco would not forget it.
The open-COM continued to feed them a healthy dose of action while the rail gun laden cruiser, the Lie Gong continued her assault on the massive discs. 10th Fleet was in retreat, but Falco was waiting for the Oortian counter-attack. Based on the orders directing the Fleet’s formations and speed, so was Admiral Chen.
The Pluto Room felt less like a command center and more like a crowd waiting for a grav-fight to begin.
“Fleet’s holo-feed is up, Captain!” Holts pushed away from the table control panel and the hologram in the center of the table came to life.
Falco moved closer to his Ensign. “Well done, Holts.” He raised an eyebrow. “So much for the hour delay.”
She lowered her voice. “Lieutenant Bai is feeding the video link through the rarely used stern laser beacon of the command ship.” Holts eyes gave away the smile she held in check.
“Won’t the bright flashing be of concern to 10th Fleet?” Falco kept his best captain’s face on but had no idea how the laser beacons worked in the first place.
“Not a visible laser beam, sir,” Holts let the smile take over, “but more an invisible beam, consistent and faster than radio waves, like the ultimate line-of-sight internet connection.”
“Good work, Ensign.” Falco took in the look of complete joy on her face. I want to see more of that, he thought, much, much more.
The crew followed the evolution of the battle as the hologram kept pace with 10th Fleet. Chief Engineer Pema Tenzin sat to Falco’s left, crouched in his chair, arms resting on the tabletop. Each time a slug from the Lie Gong’s rail guns sliced into another of the massive discs, the chief made a short flinching punch that only another fighter would notice.
Captain Falco felt confident in the twenty-two, newly deputized ensigns that sat to Pema’s left and ended at Ensign Holts at the opposite end of the table. Each Tibetan had chosen to stay and protect the symbol of what their people were capable of. Station Pluto represented Tibet’s unmatched engineering prowess, but they also remained in the face of overwhelming odds. More importantly, they stayed because Chief Tenzin asked them to and he believed in Falco.
Chief Tenzin was the best kind of family, he thought, the kind you can choose. Falco looked toward Commander Shar’ran and over to Lieutenant Wallace and finally back to Ensign Holts. Yes, the very best of family, he was sure.
Falco’s attention fell back to the hologram where streaking projectiles continued to belch from the lone, attacking cruiser. She formed the point of the Phoenix Formation while 10th Fleet continued its fighting retreat. Tension was thick in the Pluto Room, each officer waiting for a response from the Oortians and what form it would arrive in. They had allowed the Fleet to see them, positioned on the face of the black wall, permitting 10th Fleet’s sensors to lock onto the seven remaining targets. Goading the vessels to fire their missiles.
Admiral Chen had not fired additional missiles. Falco would have done the same, assuming the Oortian’s now understood the power of the Fleet’s weapons. They would use the camouflage again to hide the discs after the missiles were launched. The warheads would instantly be flying blind and useless. But firing at specific coordinates with a cruiser laden with rail guns, Falco grinned, now that would force your enemy’s hand. Hot lead slugs had no targeting system once they left the rails. You could set the range of their explosion with flak rounds, but camouflage or not, unless those seven discs can move faster than they have shown, they were sitting targets.
A heavy dose of panic continued to creep in and out of Falco’s chest. These Oortian discs were mammoth. Larger than anything humanity had ever built or piloted in space.
“My god.” Lieutenant Wallace turned toward Falco. “Each one is larger than Station Pluto.”
“Yes, they are,” Falco stated. “Hard to miss that way. Chances are, humanity’s greatest achievement won’t impress them very much.”
Wallace turned his head and chuckled.
Falco found Commander Shar’ran’s weary stare and
rolled his chair away from the table and next to the man.
Shar’ran leaned in. “They leave one in the open as a sacrificial lamb while the others retreat into the protection of the Oortian field?”
Ensign Holts came up behind them.
“They leave one to be destroyed. One to learn from.” Holts stated.
Falco sat speechless not only from the thought that the goliath of a disc destroyed was the idea of Oortian fodder but equally impressed by Ensign Holts skill of lip-reading from across the table.
“It is time.” Captain Falco looked to his officers who had seen enough of the streaking lead projectiles racing across the hologram towards the black wall hiding the seven discs. “Get on with the final preparations, checks and recheck.”
Commander Shar’ran had adjusted the hand-held rocket launchers in the Battle-Cubes. He simply dialed up the heat seeking sensitivity on their tracking system. Hull Pounders, even for their size, produce a fraction of the assumed energy signature. All Falco knew is their hardened skull plate gave way when hammered with hundreds of 30mm incendiary rounds. Falco gave his second-in-command a nod and slowly moved his eyes around the table, pausing long enough on every face to measure each look.
“Our time is close at hand. Station Pluto will enter the battle as a supporting force of the retreating 10th Fleet or as the last protector of the thousands of civilians en route to Earth. Soon it will be decided.” Falco felt hope for the retreating vessels of 10th Fleet that were still half a day’s burn away.
“In either scenario we fight for each other as there is no one else to come to our aid in time. Vice-Admiral Hallsworth is leading the United Nation’s newest Fleet, the 11th, but even with the latest innovations in solar sails, they are three years out. We stand as one in the blackest of hours at the edge of our solar system. We stand as the defenders of Battle Station Pluto, humanity’s line in space.”
Darkness: Book One of the Oortian Wars Page 31
