by Aer-ki Jyr
There was nothing left to analyze, other than the third Hadarak itself, which was still alive and half buried in the planet. The Sentinels were working on it, using only conventional weapons to save as much Essence as they could. The last Warden was probably dead, but there was no way to tell. It was deep inside the planet now, beyond where sensors could see it, and telepathically the V’kit’no’sat were not picking anything up. Either that was because it was dead, too deep, or masked in some way.
C’fad knew he had to prepare for it showing up again, but these minions had to be addressed. There was no proof of their goo still remaining, just the limited sensor records that were not helpful other than to identify that the stuff had remained on the shields in a cloying manner rather than deflecting back up off it after collision.
But the shields hadn’t registered any problems with the goo on them. It was the collision that landed with more force than expected, despite speed and mass numbers, which was impossible unless those numbers were inaccurate.
It had to be the goo. Or did it? Was there something else going on here?
Whatever the case was, Kli’merack was devastated. A third of the planet’s surface was gone, reduced to rocky soup, and the rest was crumpled and bulging up into new mountain ranges while forcing the small pair of oceans into new locations, sweeping across the surface and taking the trees and wildlife with it in a water tsunami that looked pathetically small compared to the now subsided land one, but it was deadly enough on its own.
The Oso’lon dropped a cascade of tears from his lofty head, with them falling and splattering on the floor with tiny audible impacts as the entire command deck was deathly quiet. Whatever work was going on was being done mentally, while those that had nothing to do at the moment just stared at the orbital visuals of the devastation.
This had happened on other worlds in the Grand Border, though not often. And each time it happened the V’kit’no’sat worked to find countermeasures, and for the past 821 years no Warden had reached the surface of a planet in the Grand Border.
Two had just done so, with the second being the killshot to the planet.
The V’kit’no’sat had to take the hits for the rest of the galaxy, but until today C’fad had never truly understood what that meant.
He did now.
And he was still not leaving.
This was his home, wrecked as it was, but most of his people were still alive in the floating cities and they would rebuild. Meanwhile the system defense fleet was still fighting more Hadarak, including Wardens, in near the star. And more could be coming this way if they broke through.
So C’fad did what was needed, organizing the intact cities and making sure they had a workable defense shield over that part of the planet. He moved the Sentinels in position to cover it, deployed his warships into seek and destroy patrols for the remaining minions while the rescue crews pulled out a few survivors…but most of those unaccounted for were dead, though their bodies would not be recovered in the mess as the surface was still moving and swallowing up parts of the downed city, not to mention the permanent infrastructure that was in pieces everywhere in the land wave zone, assuming it hadn’t sunken down into the magma oceans forming on the surface.
It was a hellish world now, transformed in a matter of hours, but it was still his home. And the V’kit’no’sat were not leaving. Their duty was to hold the line, and this system could not become a foothold for the Hadarak.
So as long as one city remained intact on the surface, they would stay and defend it…while slowly rebuilding what was lost.
But it hurt. Far more than he expected. And rather than succumb to despair, he let it fuel his anger.
The Hadarak had to be stopped. This insanity could not be allowed to continue.
And the sooner the High Guard built up their forces to the number they needed the better, but it was too late for Kli’merack. This was a loss, but not a total loss as long as the rest of the system held.
And C’fad had to live with that loss. He would not allow himself to be reassigned now, even if they wanted him to. This was his mess, this was his home, and he was not going to abandon his duty post now. This is what it meant to be V’kit’no’sat, the bad part of it, but he accepted it.
He was a guardian of the galaxy, for better or worse, and he didn’t regret that. It hurt, but he wouldn’t have anyone else here in his place. He could take it. He could take it for the galaxy, for the other Oso’lon he was shielding behind the Border.
And for the Oso’lon that died here. If he crumpled after the loss, he would be betraying them. He would not allow the Hadarak that secondary victory.
“We took the hit,” he said on planetary-wide comm, “and we still own the planet. Battle is not over, and we are not defeated. We are wounded,” he said, choking up a bit. “Address the wounds, save what can be saved, and work the situation for the best secondary outcome we can manage. This is not the aftermath. This is round two, and we must take advantage of what time and resources we have. We do not surrender. We do not fold. We do not cower. We are V’kit’no’sat, and we take the hits so the rest of the galaxy can remain safe enough to build an invasion force that will wipe this scourge from the face of the galaxy once and for all! We have done our duty, and we will continue to do it. If Oso’lon cannot hold ourselves together, we cannot expect others to. We are superior in fact, not appearance. Let the galaxy judge us by the merits of how we respond to this loss, not on the fact that it occurred. No one failed their duty, we were overwhelmed. There is no shame in that, but there is pain. And we will carry this pain into the next battle and the next, but we will not become weary. We will become victorious, and today is the cost of our eventual victory, for the enemy gives us no other options than to pay it or to buckle and let the entire galaxy fall.”
“The galaxy shall not fall. Not under our protection. We will rise, and it will rise with us. When we get knocked down, we get up again. Today your orders are to get up again. The rest will take care of itself afterward,” C’fad said, ending the comm and getting a slew of telepathic responses from the Oso’lon around him…all of which were positive and reinforcing. They had needed that, and so did he, but the damage could not be denied, and was still ongoing as the planet tried to come to grips with the new physics of its internal alignment.
And almost as an afterthought, the Oso’lon noted that the planet’s orbit had slightly shifted outward, with the system navigational maps updating in response…
2
October 18, 154929
Ha’ven Nu’meori System (Home Two Kingdom)
Ha’shavi
“And what about when you find victims you didn’t even know existed?” Paul asked Cal-com as they walked on the non-Star Force world of Ha’shavi, one of four in this system that belonged to the independent Tri’meori race.
“Proper foresight can eliminate many of them, though not all,” the Voku said as the pair walked in heavy robes to hide their alien physique from most casual onlookers. Ha’shavi wasn’t isolated to the point that there weren’t other races here visiting for commerce and the like, but Star Force was not popular amongst the population, so both men were trying to keep a low profile and did most of their navigating by Pefbar rather than eyesight as their hoods were draped so low they could see little more than the meter of ground in front of them.
“And you just ignore the remainder?”
Cal-com’s head turned slightly as they walked side by side down a relatively busy street that was for foot traffic only, but not so crowded that they had to walk single file.
“Do you truly believe we were that barbaric?”
“You did serve the Zak’de’ron, and when it suits them they are quite barbaric,” Paul countered.
“And we cannot control the universe, let alone our own fate in some circumstances. I fear you have put too much on your shoulders, and that impossible weight is clouding your judgement.”
“I don’t like giving up on anyone, no matter h
ow small.”
“It’s not a matter of giving up,” Cal-com explained calmly. “It’s acknowledging that you cannot save them. You and I both have ascended to the point that we will never stop trying to save those in need, so those words are not going to be misdirection amongst us. To others they would be, for you know there are situations where it feels you have to will a path into existence where none appears to be possible.”
“I have been attempting that far too often I think…the trouble is I often succeed and cannot bear the thought of not always trying.”
“And there again you feel the fate of others is your responsibility. When you take on a ward, and you fail that ward, it affects you. That is why you must not mentally assume such responsibility even if your actions do not differ. You can seek to help people without being responsible for them.”
“I am sick of it, Cal-com,” Paul finally admitted. “I am truly sick of it.”
“Which part do you speak of?”
“Not being able to permanently save people. Every victory can be washed away, and I know that’s not true for many reasons, but in some ways it is true and I cannot shake that I am not doing something right. If people are going to die eventually, why work so hard to keep them alive another week, or year, or century? I do it out of spite, mostly, and will continue to do so because it needs to be done, but I can’t feel a purpose anymore.”
“A purpose or a path?”
“A long term purpose,” Paul corrected. “It feels like I’m buying time for no reason.”
“You should not have spent so many millennia in the warzone with the Hadarak.”
“What I did saved lives. More than anyone else could.”
“And who will save those a million years from now when you are gone because you didn’t attend to your own path?”
“Those words sound familiar. Did I say something like that previously?”
“You did. Why do you not apply it to yourself?”
Paul sighed as he sidestepped to avoid one of the taller natives whose hips were the height of his shoulders.
“Logically I should…but everything I do now is logic. I have no feel. Yet I sense that my logic is incomplete in some way.”
“It is never complete. You can only analyze based on the data you have, which is why one logical person can see something another cannot. It is not a failure in logic, but a lack of the prerequisites for a greater understanding.”
“What am I lacking?”
“It could be you have ascended to a level I have not, and my naivety is keeping my vision clear.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“What do you sense around you?” Cal-com asked, also using his Ikrid to peek into the unshielded minds of the natives and their commercial immigrants.
“People at the beginning of their lives who know little, and the more they learn the more hopeless they become. They think the young have it best, because that is when they see some hope. Adulthood, as they view it, is dark and dirty and full of betrayal.”
“What else?”
“They feel more than think. Their instincts drive them, and what little learning they do to take control over their lives is without wisdom and makes things worse in most cases.”
“Do they want to live?”
“Yes.”
“How much so?”
“It’s what drives them the most, though they don’t realize it.”
“Everyone is so eager to live, though they don’t understand why they’re here, what they’re doing, or how to go about it. The same is true on Star Force worlds, but it is amplified here because their culture is not based on truth but tradition, myth, propaganda, and many other deviants from reality. They fake most things, and when they do so they lose sight of reality, and in doing so they can’t calibrate. The lies are literally choking them to death, but they use them to gain advantage, position, or out of panic to avoid pain and punishment. They are newbs in the game of life, but they have something you lack.”
“And that is?”
“Motivation.”
Paul wanted to deny that, because compared to these people he was probably more motivated than the entire planet combined. “In what way?”
“You’re numb, and it’s because of a wound you cannot heal. The carnage of the galaxy creates such wounds, for I have seen it before, and suffered from it myself. The key to fixing your sight is by making yourself small again, and simply observing. So stop using your telepathy. Simply observe with your senses, and see if they are telling you the same things.”
“Will you monitor for danger?”
Cal-com huffed. “Why are you so afraid? They are no threat to you.”
“Even Goku can be taken down if attacked when he doesn’t see it coming.”
“That worries you?”
“I fear my luck will run out before I figure out what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Then I will watch so you may relax. You are almost in a state of paranoia that you have probably annexed into an advantage, if I know your habits. Did you ever take a day off onboard your Excalibur?”
“What’s that?”
“You’ve never made yourself small and just disappeared into the masses,” Cal-com criticized. “You’ve been fighting with space monsters so much you’ve started to think on their level. Not everything here is trying to kill you, and with your skills you can handle what is. I will telepathically scan so you do not. Let down your ranged senses. Turn off everything else, including your Pefbar. If there is a threat I will deal with it. Just walk and observe.”
“While blind?”
“If your psionics are interfering with your navigation, perhaps your reliance on them is blinding you more than not using them.”
“Becoming small,” Paul said, trying to scale down his natural sensory awareness…which was not easy.
“No talking for a while. Just be yourself, with your sphere of responsibility ending at the boundaries of your skin. Observe but do not take responsibility for anything else. Continue this way until we come to the bridge.”
Paul nodded, knowing that Cal-com could see the gesture under his robe if he had his Pefbar active, which he would. He knew his friend’s psionic, combat, and Essence skills made him one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy, even if he couldn’t hold a candle to Paul’s skills. That was enough for his subconscious mind to give him permission to be reckless and let his guard down, for he knew Cal-com did not have a sense of humor about these things, and if he said he would stay alert then he would, for there was no duplicity between them, even for the sake of humor.
So Paul just walked beside him, unable to see more than a meter in front of his feet, and oddly his Jedi-like robe seemed comforting around him, for it blocked out all of the universe except the little patch before him. He couldn’t see out, and other than Cal-com nobody could see in. He was alone here, which was totally illogical. The fabric offered almost no armor protection at all, but as far as his basic senses told him he was safely alone inside his robe.
The absurdity of that made Paul think, for his senses didn’t lie. Why would he feel this way if it wasn’t true? If they were giving a false sense, that sense had to link to something real…
He took in a deep breath. Cal-com was right. It wasn’t his surrounding environment that he was blocked from, it was the universe. Or more accurately this galaxy, which he was responsible for.
But right here, right now, he was only responsible for what was inside the robe. And nobody could see inside…and what they couldn’t see they couldn’t intentionally mess with. So the lack of vision was itself a form of armor.
Anonymity. It was a concept Paul was well acquainted with, but for some reason he’d never…
Damn you, Wilson, he thought, trying to remember the last time he’d actually relaxed his guard. It was back during his original basic training, just before the Black Knight started randomly ambushing them during challenges. They’d learned quickly that there was no ‘safe’ time
, and an attack could come from anywhere…particularly in ways you didn’t expect. You did your job so well I’m still on edge after all this time.
Realizing that, Paul made the decision to fully trust in Cal-com and truly let down his defenses. He didn’t want to. A part of him screamed no, that it was reckless and as soon as he did the bad luck monkey was sure to pop out and smack him in the head with his mallet…perhaps lethally…but Paul did anyway, closing his eyes entirely and walking by feel and sound alone for several steps until he bumped shoulders with Cal-com.
He opened his eyes again to right himself, resisting the habit of using his Pefbar to see where he was. Now that they had walked a ways, he literally did not know where they were…and that was refreshing. He was lost. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been lost.
He could fly up above the city streets and have a look around, but that would defeat the point. He didn’t know where they were now, exactly. He knew there was a bridge ahead, but he didn’t know how close they were, which stores they were passing by, or what was ahead of him on the street, or what was coming up from behind.
Paul’s head hurt, but in a good way, as if a pressure was being released from it, and he thought he finally understood what Cal-com meant by becoming ‘small.’
He walked in silence, watching his footsteps and the bit of Cal-com’s robe that he could see off his right foot for guidance, and just trusted his friend to take him where they needed and to keep him safe…which was something he hadn’t done in a very, very long time.
“We’re here,” Cal-com said, walking up to a railing and stopping. “Raise your hood and look.”
Paul did as ordered, coming out of his fabric cave a bit and seeing the river ahead of him with all manner of lights traveling on it as small boats moved up and down it like a highway. The fuel they used produced a not so pleasant smell, and Paul’s nose cringed as he got a whiff of it from one passing directly underneath the bridge, but he didn’t move. He just stood there and looked, feeling his personal universe had just extended greatly…but nothing he saw he was responsible for. He was simply watching and soaking it in.
