First Contact

Chapter 220: (The War)

The fleet hung in the middle of nowhere. The nearest star was 5LY out, a red giant that had consumed or scorched all the planets that had orbited it for billions of years. Spread around the ships was a 'dark matter sea', fully detectable by any modern ships but still carrying the nickname from Pre-Diaispora Terra science.

The ships themselves were different than what most species produced. Where most species in the galaxy used the minimum amount of materials to meet all their safety goals and redundancies, where the ships and vessels were function over form, these were crafted with eye toward form.

And their form was dark and terrible.

Most of the ships were lost to the mists of time. Thousands of years old, rebuilt and repaired until they no longer resembled the warships they had once been but instead reflecting the personality of those who served aboard them and commanded them. On records many of them read that their hulls had been lost in combat, or just vanished. Some had been hidden, others misfiled, and still others had been placed on such lists rather than admit the ships still existed.

The fact that the ships were all grouped together in one massive armada was an anomaly, one that had not occurred in millennia, many different ethos welded together under one banner, bound together by ancient oaths that forced the unwilling to set aside betrayals, blood feuds, and hatreds.

A singularly implacable will that all admired and feared.

Aboard one of them, which hung slightly away from the others, the crew was almost unrecognizable as living beings. Little more than neural tissue in all cases, a few had ocular organs, nerve tendrils, and lower mandibles. Everything else had been replaced by technology, in some cases by lost or forbidden science.

For the captain of the vessel, his awareness was light seconds away, yet his ship was him. Joined to him by cybernetic linkages and more. The ship, if scanned, would show no life forms aboard, would show little more than a solid block of metal.

Aboard the End of All Hope, in the center of the vast armada, the captains of the vessels, the admirals of the fleets, all knelt as the leader stood in the middle of them, his psychic avatar made of burning fire and roiling code. Even the normally irrepressible doki-gurlz and kawaii-boiz were silent, kneeling, as the leader stood and stared at the projection of the star systems making up the entire Cygnus-Orion Spur between the Perseus and Sagittarius Arms.

"Each of you have completed your objectives, liberated your assigned worlds from the cosmic filth that dared show its miserable existence before our wrath," the figure intoned. "The innocent were protected with holy fire and wrathful dakka, our faith was true, and we have stood as enraged bulwarks between their small lives and the hateful universe that seeks to take all that is loved and beautiful."

The Joan silently wept with joy at the praise, tears of crystal falling to the polished deck.

"More than that. Much more. We have reminded Mankind and its allies that their sins have not been washed away by time, that even in their ignorance we still cleaved tightly to hallowed tomes, still held fast to the word, and still upheld our ancient oaths to those who have forgotten use and relegated us to mere myth and legend. Beneath Eye of Gorthaur we have never forgotten from whence we came," the figure said, reaching out and touching a single star. "Lost Terra. Our mother. Disfigured Venus, our little sister. Hateful Mars, our brother. Wrathful Mercury, our little brother."

The figure turned and wiped away the hologram with a negligent wave of one warsteel fist.

"Some say the wrath of humanity is spent. That they are a dying people, given unto hedonism and pleasure, vainly attempting to make sense of their short lives through little more than games," the figure said, holding up one warsteel fist wrapped in barbed wire, the spikes on the knuckles gleaming. "They say that the Mar-gite War took the last spark of wrath from humanity, that now we are empty, soulless, adrift in a universe that has finally, irrevocably, defeated us with the choking grasp of apathy."

The figure waved its hand and another starfield sprang into existence.

"We have all heard the oracles weeping in their tombs, heard the dead prophets cry out in the darkness of their sepulchers, heard the blind seers call out next to their scrying baths," the figure said. "Too many have forgotten why we heed not solely to the words of predictive analysis programs, why the 'inevitability of progress' is not something to kneel or bow to."

The figure reached into the starfield and plucked out a single sun. It expanded until he held it not between two fingers but in his hand, the planets orbiting around his warsteel fist.

"Mankind is not slaves to the machine. The machine is not slave to Mankind. It is a tool, not the arbiter of reality. It is mankind's will that defines reality, as simply the act of Mankind observing even the smallest particle can change the state of that particle so does the actions of Mankind change the very spin of the galaxies and the flow of dark energy to fight back entropy," the figure used its other hand to pluck a single world from the system.

"She has hidden since before mankind was little more than a small creature surrounded by creatures much more mighty, much more fierce, much more than Mankind's humble origins," the figure said, flinging the star away. The small planet expanded to show a dusty world of dead seas and red sand.

"Here she hid away, thinking that once time had done its work, as it does on all things, even us, that she would emerge into a galaxy, into a universe, that had forgotten her," the figure spun the world until the canker on the middle of one continent could be seen.

"She believed that she would emerge into a galaxy that would provide nothing more than nourishment for her raw appetite," the figure intoned, letting the planet go so it floated in slow circles around him as if orbiting a star.

"If our strength is spent, is our wrath is just a flicker, then I say we spend it here," the figure intoned. He pointed at the slowly orbiting planet. "It matters not if others know what we do there, it matters only what deeds we perform."

The figure slowly turned in place, staring at all of the kneeling figures. Those who had lifted their faces either hung their heads in submission or wept in adulation.

"Go to your ships. Ignite your engines. Pray to the Digital Omnimessiah or the Black Code of Heresy," the figure said. "We shall take our wrath and discover if it is but waning sparks in the growing darkness or a burning flame incinerating all who oppose us."

The figure drew it's chainsword, the engine roaring to life, the white hot smoking teeth clattering as it splattered blood across the faces of the kneeling figures, all of whom were now staring at the figure. It slammed the howling blade onto the hologram, the blade seeming to churn up the rock and magma.

"Let the Last Omniqueen quake in fear, for the Crusade has awoken and kismet approaches with a C+ cannon!" the figure roared. "FOR TERRASOL!"

The surrounding figures bolted to their feet, their fists, chainswords, forceblades, or burning runeswords held aloft.

"FOR TERRASOL!"

----------------

Deep in her armored hive the Omniqueen was pulled from her meditations. A ripple of anger, a clawing tendril of hate, the taste of wrath, made her shiver as she looked around her birthing chamber. Nothing more than blind attendants and the eggs that were being squeezed from her slowly emptying swollen abdomen. A handful of royal guards moved through the chamber, their chitin gleaming in the dim light.

She looked around slowly, her antenna flicking as she tasted the air around her.

An echo of the feral intelligence she had encountered so long ago? Perhaps a lingering psychic impression that the planet had swept through?

The taste to her psychic senses was strange. Hot blood, burning metal. It was unlike anything she had ever tasted in her millions of years of life. True, she had been born after the Great Culling, intended on being a caretaker who would hand off her duties to another once a full galactic rotation had occurred. True, she should have never awoken from her half-slumber where she slowly replenished the numbers in order to quickly swarm under any species that might have risen to prominence. True, she should have been nothing more than a glorified brood mare for the Mantid race.

But that was before the feral intelligence and the artificial traitor had arrived in the system, proving that silence had not descended upon the Galactic Arm, but rather species still warred and contested with one another.

Which meant her people were in danger again. She had no doubt that the creature that had invaded her territory had vanquished the traitor machine. If it had not the machine would have returned, possibly with reinforcements, and attacked by now.

The feral intelligence was undoubtedly gathering reinforcements.

Or simply did not know what she was.

But if that was true, what had happened to the young queen she had sent out in order to establish the first of many spokes to her web? Of the six ships she had managed to send out, five of them had reported back, but the one anti-coreward had just vanished.

The disturbance though.

That had her attention.

She lifted one bladearm, longer than a warrior was tall, and chewed on the point as she mulled over her options.

Growing opalescent seers was dangerous. Their dreams could infect other castes, they often suborned warriors and speakers to work for them and do their bidding. Their goals quickly deviated from that of even the Omniqueens as they were immune to the control of anything outside of destiny and the ripples of the temporal.

She knew she had no choice. Not only her survival, but the survival of the mantid species could depend on it.

She silently gave the orders. Two speakers objected and she burned their nervous systems out in a single lashing of her wrath at being defied.

She settled back, grunting as the last of the eggs moved to the final section of her birthing sacks.

Soon she would be free to move around.

She would leave this dead and dying world. It did not matter that the Mantid people had evolved here, it held no significance to her.

The living did not care for the dead.

---------------

Sees That Which May or May Not Be sat on her little boat, made up of leaves inscribed carefully with words of power, with names of places and beings of myth and legend, with the true-names of beings of great importance who's very existence caused ripples in the fabric of reality. It was held together by dreams and nightmares, polished until it gleamed. A mast made up of terrible and glorious events witnessed, heard tales of, and hidden. The sail was made up of whispers and murmurs and was rolled up to the boom made of secrets and shames.

The little opalescent mantid guided her craft with a paddle made of debris salvaged from forgotten and legendary battlefields, carefully found and selected by her in her youth.

The river water was cloudy, mixed with blood and terror, eddies from the echoes of the slowly building war that was consuming the known systems, bringing billions of sentient creatures into a maelstrom of blood and fury.

There, a new eddy, a new current. Almost imperceptible, almost hidden behind a half-sunken warship, slowly curling the algae and lilypads that made up the surface impressions of what was happening.

You should not be here. Who are you? Why are you? When are you? What are you? thought Sees That Which May or May Not Be, paddling her little craft around the half-sunken warship where thousands of tiny figures screamed and jumped from the hull to the water. She tasted the woes and regrets of those tiny lives that war had snuffed out and almost turned away from the current she could see slowly moving the algae in a pattern that should not be.

Her boat hit something beneath the surface, something that tried to push her boat back, tried to shift her back into the main current, tried to keep her away from the eddy. She shifted her weight in the boat, wincing as she heard the screams of dying worlds murdered by wrath and pride, feeling the bruising blows of pride and arrogance hammer at her soft spaces in her soul. The boat slid off the hidden obstacle and into the slight eddy.

She hugged herself as she curled slightly around her bladearms, shuddering. The clear skies were replaced by cold sky and iron clouds, icy winds sliced at her soul, and darkness beyond the clouds sought to pull her from her body and snuff her mind.

Finally she had steeled herself, gathered her will about her. She leaned over and swept aside the scum covering the water with one bladearm to reveal the crystal clear water and what lay beneath.

The warborg, Colonel Furgeson, heard the three foot tall opalescent mantid begin to scream and reacted instantly. His hand slammed down on the big red button in front of him.

The temporal anchor slammed deep, the temporal resonance charge firing off to disrupt time itself for a split second, the combined actions ripping Sees from her trance even as the ship she was on suddenly dropped from hyperspace, its engines flaring and sputtering, the ship heeling over on one side, the aft end swinging around.

Its escorts dropped from hyperspace the instant they detected the loss of the flagship, scattering across several light minutes and orienting. The ship was broadcasting an emergency beacon, allowing the others to immediately find its location.

Onboard the flagship the Captain picked himself up from where he'd been thrown to the rec-room floor, instinctively reaching out with him implant to get the ship's status.

The ship had been temporal spiked, from the ambassador's suite, where medics were rushing even as the engineers locked down the damage to the ship.

He didn't bother grabbing his tunic or showering, instead heading straight for the ambassador's suite in his exercise shorts.

----------------

Dreams of Something More sat in the corner and watched as the russet mantids worked on the comatose opalescent Sees.

The seer had only uttered one phrase when the temporal safety measures had been fired.

"The Devourers Lie Hidden but Asleep No More"

Dreams smoothed her antenna with slight annoyance. Poetic, for sure, but of little help.

We Mantid have always believed that the Terrans were the universe answer to something. We assumed it was us, then we assumed the Treana'ad, then the Mar-gite, and now the Lanaktallan, thought Dreams as she watched Sees finally relax as the anesthetic took effect.

The seers have all foreseen that the Terrans are the answer of the unknowable universe to a question.

But what was the question?

--------------

MANTID FREE WORLDS

so then, get this, they flew on a liquid fueled rocket into space not even knowing if they could get back down!

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK GESTALT

No! Really?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TRENA'AD HIVE WORLDS

No kidding, kid. Get this, they used to fly wing planes made of wood and cloth and shoot at each other or drop bombs.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK GESTALT

No! Cloth and wood! Were they at least using graviton or anti-grav?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

RIGELLIAN COMPACT

Nope. Propellors and internal combustion engines! Can you believe it!

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK GESTALT

That makes my pinfeathers quiver.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TNVARU GESTALT

No! Internal combustion? Like, liquid fossil fuel explosions?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

DIGITAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS

Oh, it's more than that. they would REFINE it. Make it more explosive.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

MANTID FREE WORLDS

Oh, wait till you hear how they first broke the sound barrier less than a century after their first powered flight.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

AKLTAK GESTALT

Wait, between their first powered flight and breaking the sound barrier was less than a hundred years?

You have to be

//////////

SEER WARNING

WARE! WARE AND STRIFE! WARE!

THE DEVOURS LIE HIDDEN BUT ASLEEP NO MORE

WAR! WARE AND STRIFE! WARE!

SEER WARNING

/////////

kidding

What was that?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

BIOLOGICAL ARTIFICIAL SENTIENCE SYSTEMS

Get CONFEDMIL in here! Someone find TERRASOL.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

I know where he is. I'll go get him.

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS> Sis, sis.

MANTID FREE WORLDS> What?

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS> A seer alert? Now?

MANTID FREE WORLDS> We might be getting an answer to that question soon.

TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS> Why does that answer keep getting new questions? Can't we just eat ice cream, smoke a few, and watch a movie or something.

MANTID FREE WORLDS> Because the universe hates us. You know that.

TNVARU GESTALT> What are we whispering about?

-----------------

Pu'ulmo'o backed up against the wall, shuddering and making noises of distress. In front of him was the Night Terran, dressed in his black formal attire. He was menacing Pu'ulmo'o with a a fanged arachnid that was suspended from the Night Terran's hand by a shining cord of web.

The Night Terran leaned forward, his eyes widening, suddenly turning into curved lines on a disc that were slowly spinning. It drew his will down, sucked him in. His jaw dropped open, his tendrils going slack, and he slowly started to sway back and forth.

Pu'ulmo'o blinked to see the Night Terran standing by the open window to his study.

"Hocuscadabra," the Night Terran intoned. The Night Terran seemed to explode, turning into a cloud of winged mammals that streamed out the window and into the foggy night.

Pu'ulmo'o shook his head, banishing the fog that had clouded his thoughts for a moment. He trotted over to his deskcomp, tapping at it. He entered his credentials and the computer booted up.

Combing through the data he began selecting files to send to a colleague.

File by file he copied the data from the deep space research program over to the GalMail.

Deep in the bowels of forgotten tunnels Do'orkness hurried over to the typewriter and began to type.

In a castle in Transylvania words started to appear.

LOCATION OF RESOURCE STORAGE CONFIRMED

COORDINATES TO FOLLOW