by C. Gockel
“How is that even possible?” the Founder shot back, one decibel shy of screaming. “The Enthos have no weaponry, and as I remember, there is nothing in the Eishon system other than a bunch of religious wacks.”
“Ye-ye-yes sir,” the aide stammered. “As you say.” He looked down at the report he carried on his portable terminal.
The Founder felt himself grow even more impatient as moments passed. Continuing to shout at this young man will accomplish nothing. He’s done an adequate job so far. Calm yourself.
After the aide found what he was looking for, he began speaking. “We don't know what happened, but the scout drone recovered the Hammer's secure records unit and is currently transmitting the information.” The Founder waited, taking deep breaths and focusing on slowing his heart rate.
“Ninety percent transferred,” the aide said. After another moment, “Transfer complete. Decrypting.” A minute passed, the Founder continuing to calm himself and regain control over his wildly flailing emotions. “Decryption complete. Would you like me to read the report, sir?”
“No, I have my own terminal, in case you hadn't noticed,” he snapped. Even as the Founder spoke, he brought up the data at his desk terminal. Reviewing the information, he realized the secure records didn't hold any more insight than what the aide had already said. Everything was normal up until a minute or two before the records unit lost connection to the Hammer. At this point, the device recorded an extremely large object striking the ship, but it listed the Entho bi-pyramid as too far away to be the cause. It also reported many escape vehicle launches. Perhaps the boy is safe!
Digging deeper, the Founder discovered a discrepancy. Somehow, an escape vehicle was launched before the ship had been struck. The file showed Lothis and a soldier, 3rd Class Enlightened Felar Haltro, had boarded an escape vehicle near the command deck several minutes before the collision. How did they know to get away? And why was she with him? I ordered her to remain on Haak-ah-tar. It was clear they left at a precise moment. They’d waited in the vehicle so the timing was close to the destruction of the ship. Had they left sooner it would have alerted Talnavis, and had they departed later their chances for survival would have decreased. Where are they now?
“This is the same Enlightened Felar Haltro that extracted the boy from the facility,” his voice was a flat statement, not a question.
“Yes sir,” the aide stated eagerly, looking up from his portable terminal. The Founder rolled his eyes, something the other man failed to notice.
“Why don't you do something useful and answer a real question,” the Founder asked, brimming with mock and scorn. “Why did they leave before the ship was damaged?” The aide looked puzzled and thought for a moment.
“Perhaps they left early because they saw the danger of whatever struck the ship?” he replied, voice halting.
“Possible, but then why would they have waited so long to launch?” This time the Founder gave the young aide no time to answer. “Obviously, you idiot, the woman was kidnapping the boy and timed her escape with external collaborators. Or perhaps they are AF. Either way, they configured it so she might escape in the chaos, taking the child with her. She must have discovered his true identity.” The Founder thought for a moment, grateful the aide had the intelligence to keep his mouth shut. “Perhaps it was those religious lack wits? But how would they destroy a Tarton Class ship? I suppose it's worth investigating, given there are no other leads. And while we are at it, we can take care of that dirty little corner of the Ashamine. The woman couldn't have gotten far in the escape vehicle, so unless they found transport on a worm-capable ship, they are on Eishon-2.” That logic felt quite sound. More of his anger subsided.
The Founder began sending commands through his terminal, creating formations of ships and issuing orders. He assembled troops, armored vehicles, and atmospheric fighters for transport. “Please, if you can find it within your less than adequate brain to perform a task successfully, request that my Ascended commanders attend me. Inform them it is urgent, security level five.” The Founder turned back to his screen, continuing to analyze his military forces and issue further orders. “Oh,” he added just as the aide was about to leave, feeling cheerful, “remember that if you even think of breathing a word of this to anyone, your life will be the first thing you'll wish I had taken from you. You've done an adequate job so far, but don't think that will save you if you breach security.” The aide blanched and left the room. The Founder smiled tightly, a small bit of pleasure added to his day.
Soon enough, he thought, these rebels and conspirators on Eishon-2 will see what happens when they try to capture the Ashamine heir. They should have kept their heads down. Maybe we would have left them alone for another fifteen years. This time, a plague will be the least of their worries.
38 - Crasor
Crasor Tah Ahn was drunk on power, high on it, captivated by it. The Breakers, though not yet fulfilling his wildest fantasies, had provided him with the tools to achieve them. His army was not as big as the Ashamine’s, but it was far more loyal, absolutely in fact. True, I only control one planet, but I’ve dominated its land, sea, air, and people. The only thing remaining were the ships in Noor space.
“Prepare yourselves. Remember, the highest priority is securing the command deck and its comms,” Crasor told his small, hand-picked squad of Breakers. They were on a supply ship, preparing to dock with the Ashamine Forces vessel that had just arrived in Noor space. Once we capture this ship, we’ll be able to secure the rest of the vessels in system. And with the jamming abilities on board, we can disable all comms. This is vital.
Crasor stood in front of the airlock, ready to enthrall the soldiers on the other side as soon as the door opened. It would be a short, but intense struggle. The Ashamine ship wasn't large, but the danger it posed and the opportunities it presented were worth the risk. We need as many worm capable ships as possible. Plus, this one is armed and armored. Crasor was surprised this was the first AF vessel dispatched to the Noor system. The Founder must be preoccupied to ignore the comms blackout for this long. All the better for us.
The airlock hissed as it opened, the slight pressure differential between ships equalizing. Crasor shoved shards of thought at each of the soldiers, overloading their minds with ecstasy. He quickly caressed them and sorted the seed from the blackness. His squad rushed in and dealt with those bound for death as Crasor continued on towards the command deck. He would give the seed later.
Before he got to the command deck, Crasor wrapped space-time around himself, causing light to pass by instead of reflect off him. He became invisible to anyone who was not a Breaker.
“What's going on with the supply transfer?” the captain asked as Crasor entered the command area. This started him, thinking the man had seen him and asked the question.
“No word back. They’re taking a long time to report,” his XO responded.
Crasor calmed himself, understanding the situation. Moving carefully because his shielding only worked in the visible spectrum, he crept up behind the captain. As he did, Crasor scanned the room, probing the crews’ psyches. Oh captain, he thought, drawing a long knife out of a sheath at his waist, you are far too pure for us. Crasor sunk the blade into the man's back, aiming for his heart.
The captain gurgled, his body releasing its last bit of life. Everyone turned to see what was making the strange sound. Crasor knew the sight would be quite strange, a blade protruding out the captain's chest, glimmering red in the bright light, origins unknown. It simply appeared.
The XO, although bound for the seed, was still loyal to his captain. He acted quickly. “Comms, send word to AFC that we are under attack.” Crasor flung out shards of thought, attempting to dazzle everyone on deck. As he did so, he looked for the comms officer, knowing if he got the message off, the entire Breaker species might be destroyed by the Ashamine.
Something is wrong. He could feel someone resisting his persuasion, and he had the sickening suspicion it was the
comms officer. This could ruin everything! Crasor panicked, frantically searching the personnel seated before the terminals.
He finally found the man, hurriedly trying to send the alert. Just as he was about to press “Transmit”, Crasor drove his knife into the man's brain stem. The officer fell onto the console, his blood spattering across it. Crasor quickly reached down and hit “Cancel”. He let out a sigh of relief and summoned his squad to come dispose of those bound for blackness. How did the comms officer resist my compulsion? It was the first time anything like that had happened.
After he and his squad had finished taking the Ashamine ship, they used it to capture the rest of the vessels in Noor space. It was easy to disguise themselves as AF and board each vessel in turn. A few civilian ships had small weapons on board, but none were a match for Crasor's mental domination.
With the seizure of Noor-5 and its surrounding system complete, it was time to begin the next phase of his plan. Crasor knew instinctively he needed to search the converted Breaker population to find those developed enough to learn to seed. He spent days searching out his chosen underlings, carefully selecting those best suited for the exalted position. Once he'd found three, he began cultivating and training them. Their psyches had to be altered so their bodies would mutate the seed producing ability. It was difficult working with the selected candidates as they had yet to fully evolve out of what he thought of as the “dumb” phase. They were slow and had a hard time understanding tactics or higher thought. Teaching them was proving to be nearly impossible. Crasor stayed patient though, waiting for them to develop the mental capacity they needed to progress. He trained them thoroughly, eager to be off on his own goals, but making sure they were equipped to do the work he needed. He would be able to communicate with his lieutenants, but they would need to make quick decisions on their own while they conquered new planets.
Finally, after a week, their training was complete and Crasor felt good about putting so much responsibility on the shoulders of his three Descended—his mocking term for the similar Ashamine rank. He watched as they summoned forces to the orbital dock, loading them on ships. The shuttles were packed, crammed full of partially developed Breakers. Their minds were still imperfect and slow, their bodies halting and clumsy. They will do well enough, though. He had directed the Descended to go to weak, backwater planets early on. Using this tactic, they would build their forces from the populations of conquered planets, without suffering too many casualties. The first three on the list were Taggardt-6, Eishon-2, and Qi-3, all planets that lacked a military presence. He hadn't been to any of them except Eishon-2, but he trusted his secure Ashamine reports. They still haven't restricted my access, he thought, a sneer transforming his handsome face.
“All forces loaded,” came to his mind from the Descended leading the Qi-3 detachment. “We’re ready to depart.” Thankfully, the Descended could communicate using their minds, because their voices were still quite harsh and guttural. Using one's mind is so much easier.
“Break the Dawn,” Crasor replied by way of permission to depart.
“May the Dawn be broken,” the Descended responded, the engines on his ship coming to life.
Very good, Crasor celebrated. His dream of power was finally bearing fruit, and not because of the Founder or the Ashamine—What have they ever done for me? —but because he’d won it by the might of his own hand. He knew the condition of the government and to him it looked like an eager whore ready for buggering. All the meetings he’d attended with the Founder, confidential information he knew, all that would be crucial now. Bringing down the Ashamine—and let's not forget the decrepit human species in general —was his prime goal. A new order is descending on the universe. My order.
The other two Descended finished loading their ships and left as well. There was still a huge population of Breakers on Noor-5, reserves if anything went wrong on these expansionist missions. He hoped everything would proceed as well as it had on Noor, but you never knew until the work was done.
Crasor boarded his own ship, a small, speedy vessel once owned by an Ashamine courier. While his mission was one of expansionism and conquest just like the others, he had to go alone. First, I will settle business with the Founder. That would fulfill a desire nagging him since he’d become a Breaker. With him out of the way, I can move on to corrupting and exploiting the Entho group mind. Both objectives were tantalizing.
Removing the Founder will be complicated and dangerous, but the reward will be immense. Without the strong leadership it was dependent on, the Ashamine would crumble and the Breakers would sweep through the Akked, devouring the resources they needed to continue growing.
Subjugating the Enthos will require a totally new skill set. Crasor's Breaker mind had no recollection of how to deal with these creatures, but his covert viewing of their group mind made him crave its energy. Soon I will be strong enough to break through their mental barriers, and then we shall see, he thought. He didn't know if they could be converted, but they either had to be made one with the Breakers or completely destroyed. They were certainly much too powerful, intelligent, and evolved to be left alone. He needed to gather more intel. Perhaps some “hands on” experience will enlighten me. He looked forward to the task.
As the small craft moved away from the orbital dock far above Noor-5, Crasor reveled in his newfound power, worshiping the entities that had bestowed it on him. I never would have ascended this far with the Ashamine and the Founder. The leader of all humanity had never truly seen Crasor’s value, had never given him a position with real power. Now, my time has come. I will break, and the worlds will quake to their foundations. Crasor clenched his fists, feeling the power coursing through him.
Noor is a small fire that will grow and consume the universe, a spark that will ignite the cosmos. All that do not burn will be refined, purified, exulted. He smirked. I have come to break the Dawn.
Continue the Series
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The Backworlds
Backworlds Book 1
M. Pax
In the far future, humanity settles the stars, bioengineering its descendants to survive in a harsh universe.
After the war with the Foreworlders, Backworlders scatter across the remaining planets. Competition is fierce, and pickings are scant. Scant enough that Craze’s father decides to improve his fortunes by destroying his son. He tells his only boy their moon isn’t big enough for them both and gives Craze a ticket for the next transport leaving the space dock.
Cut off from everyone he knows with little money and no knowledge of the worlds beyond, Craze must find a way to forge a new life and make his father regret this day.
First, he must survive.
Mom, I wrote you something...
Chapter 1
Craze never imagined his pa would turn on him. Bast served up manipulation and cold calculation with cups of malt to strangers, to suckers, to fools, and competitors. Not to his son, not to anyone in the family.
Bast had always said, “Never trust a con.” He pounded in the lessons until Craze could recite them inside-out and could smell a schemer from ten kilometers away. Craze should have known to ignore the one on how dodgy fathers don’t count as cons, should’ve known Bast couldn’t be trusted.
Craze snorted, glowering into the single malt. The wooden cup added to the flavor, deepening and enriching the magic carpet in the tumbler. Craze had dubbed it magic, because just a few swigs could transport him out of reality, even this horror pit his pa had just shoved him into.
“This world ain’t big enough for both of us,” his father had said while pouring the drink. “Time for you to find new opportunities. For us.”
For us? Craze wanted to laugh. Shit. That kind of talk was for uncooperative members of the council of el
ders or business rivals.
Swirling the liquid smoke around his tongue, the fire mellowed into a flavor akin to pleasure. Craze let it trickle down his throat, savoring the burn trailing deep into his stomach. It staved off the damp and his father’s chilling words, “Time for you to go, Son.”
They sat at the bar of the family tavern, sharing the end of the day as they often did. Only this time, they didn’t conspire about how to rise in status among the Verkinns, or discuss which council elder they needed to manipulate into doing what. They didn’t laugh over the saps they’d duped out of chips either. Years of acquiring chips and standing Craze had assumed would come into his hands, making that ancient saying about assumptions, older than Backworlder genes, right.
Craze found it hard to meet his father’s gaze. His meaty fingers flicked over a corner of his tab—a data device the size and thinness of a card with funds transferred onto it. He stared at the figure. “That ain’t much, Pa. Won’t even buy me a place to piss.”
Outside the window next to Craze’s elbow, dew settled as the sun sank among the tangled jungle of ganya tree leaves and branches reaching high and low like an enormous bramble thicket. The moisture thickened, cloying as the day grew long, pooling into puddles, seeping in through the panes. The heaters couldn’t keep out the cold of the coming night, couldn’t warm up his pa’s order for him to leave either.
