Okay, I've done MASSIVE overhaul to my sci-fi universe, and I think it's a helluva lot more original than it was. Basically the new gist is that Earth is not the human homeworld, the human hoemworld was called Cortal. There were multiple factions there, the largest being Cortal, the Seaportian Alliance, The Farthern Command, and the Southern Coalition. Cortal deemed the Seaportians their biggest threat, and thus started annexing and conquering all of the other factions, quickly outnumbering the Seaportians. At this point everyone else started to leave, trying to flee the Sadistic Cortalans. The Seaportians also decided to leave the planet, and they took off in a bunch of ships and left to colonize other worlds. Another faction, the remains of the Farthern Command, tried to colonize Earth, but their ship crashed on entry and all of their gear was lost, sending them back to step one, the stone age.
The Seaportians establsihed the multi-solar system government, the Seaportian Confederation, and thrived. Cortal, got the planet to themselves, but couldn't figure out how to go faster than light, and remaiend stuck on thier planet, overpopulating it heavily. The Seaportians came back with a fleet and fried the whole planet Cortal to dust, and then accidently killed a the bulk of a large number of fleeing refugees from the planet mistaking them for the remnants of Cortals army.
so that's the new outline in a very rouch nutshell, this story takes place around the middle of Cortals conquest of the other factions.
Chapter One
It was dawn. That being because dawn always followed night, it had always been so. As a result of it being a dawn during the Sunner season in the vast city of Tshar, the air was, as consistent with that region, blanketed in a thick layer of almost suffocating thick, humid, clammy cold air. The red giant star which served as the sun for the planet was just starting to peek over the distant mountaintops, and the first thin rays of warmth were just starting to stretch over the land, trying to embrace it within its warm embrace and clear away the chill of night.
As a result, the fingers of red heat scattered upon contact with the fog-like air, making everything seem to be enveloped by a bizarre red mist. Well, bizarre for any visiting aliens or other off-worlders, but for the residents of Tshar, for all the Seaportians in fact, this was a usual and natural, albeit lovely occurrence. All in good time though, the sun would heat the land and the clingy cold air would warm up and disperse to the custom, drier heat of Shara’s top-middle belt.
But for now the cold clammy air would remain, irritatingly uncomfortable despite its sun-induced beauty. And as the vast city began to awake to tackle on the challenges and threats of a new day, many people, namely the women, would stay inside their homes and gaze out the windows, safe in the mist of Seaports technological achievements, and sigh and wonder at the sheer beauty and fascination of it all. While the male population was much more likely to eat breakfast, suit up, and sigh in wonder and pity at their wives, sisters and daughters, before and setting out for work, school, or other things, weather or no weather.
Such was what was one man in particular was doing right now. Not any ordinary man sat in the cushioned passenger seat of the Sanamantium Rijardson government flier. For the man whose face was wreathed by troubled looks was not any other than the respectable Lieutenant Colonel Freja Sanchez, the famed hero of the Western Wars. Normally the renowned war hero had a sturdy, solid face upon him, a reassuring manner as if he was a being of liquid steel. However, it was not so today. On this day, as said previously, he features were contorted by multiple negative factors, uncertainty, impatience, annoyance, and even a hint of an alien emotion, fear and worry.
There were of course reasons for this bevy of emotions of which he wrestled with, and they were also the reason he had gotten into the flier and set off to discuss the foreseen dilemma with, for his vehicle was currently in the process of transporting him to meet with none other than the head of the Governing Council, the most powerful of all being within Seaport, a country of which’s situation was dire indeed.
Sanchez’s right thumb fondled the handle of his sidearm, a habit he’d acquired during the Western Wars to help relieve his stress. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were tired, he’d been up all night and morning consulting and conversing with generals, officers, tacticians, pilots and intelligence agencies.
It had taken him some very powerful doses of smoking the Shavaca drugs to keep him going through the night, and now a killer headache was striking back at him with a passion. He closed his eyes as his face crunched up as another blast of throbbing pain swept through his stressed cranium. As the pain subsided, he wearily made a mental note to get some relieving drugs on the way back home.
He pulled out his shavaca pipe and started toying with it, rubbing it and moving it around with his fingers, another nervous habit he’d picked up. Raj it, what was taking so long! He’d sworn they’d been flying in circles for hours! This pilot raj well get him to the High Councilors building before he… He never figured out what to do to punish the tardy driver for at that moment the flier slowed down and descended toward its important destination.
Sanchez could feel the deceleration as the pilot eased down on their velocity as he brought them in to land at one of the buildings many landing areas. He tapped a small touch control and the window, made out of remanium of course, shimmered as the material went from opaque to transparent. The picture outside the flier materialized in front of him. They were around five hundred enters off the ground, the height the main office was located at. He could see the landing pad, marked with a large number six; get closer and closer as the aircraft pulled in to land. The vessel had been flying with its nose slightly down, allowing for the change in altitude. However, the flier now leveled out with the landing pad as the pilot initiated the automatic touchdown sequence.
The engines whined for the moment, and then died down as the craft landed with a gentle bump as an anti-gravity anchor clamped down on the flier, holding it securely in place. Sanchez tapped another touch control, and the door hissed open and let the early morning sunlight flood in, drenching him and the whole interior in a blood red light. Rising to his exhausted and aching feet, Sanchez picked up the small case which contained his necessary materials and stepped out of the flier, his departing weight causing it to bob in its moorings slightly.
The first person to greet him was a Major in full uniform at the head of a full troop of Safan Elite Guards. He was at attention, stiff as a tree as he saluted.
“Sir, Major Lancha reporting sir. His Excellency the High Councilor has requested I escort you to his office personally.” The Major said. Sanchez mentally sighed in annoyance. Escort him? Why? Was the Council complex itself not safe? He wearily saluted the major and told him to stand down.
“No thanks Major; I can survive the trip to his Excellencies office on my own, dismissed.” The officer almost opened his mouth to speak in resistance, but years of military training told him to heed his superiors order. His tightened his loose jaw, smarted stiffly, then wheeled around on his heel to the Safans.
“Dis-missed!” With a final salute, the assembled soldiers quietly turned around and field away back to wherever they had to go. As they turned and left, Sanchez shook his head in an attempt to knock a way a sudden blast of fatigue, then started making his way across the landing pit to the High Councilors office.
“The greater the power, the greater the responsibility.”
Those words have been uttered by a man who was perhaps, actually most likely, the only good ruler or Kempar of Cortal. Joran of the High was his name and title, Kempar of Cortal and everything within its now-expanded borders. The only Kempar to pursue peace for Cortal, to start making steps towards the dismantlement of the horribly corrupt government of Cortal, a system of leadership of which was fit for naught but the days of steel and wood, for the Basic ages.
This primitive, outdated and obsolete system worked very basically. The Kempar of Cortal was the supreme commander, untouchable as he had been placed there by the gods. Then there were the Pards, speakers for the gods. As they spoke for the gods, they placed the Kempars. So in reality, the Kempars were not in control, the Pards were the true deciders of the fate of Cortal.
All of the previous Kempars had gone along with this crude and ineffective form of government, and it truly made one wonder why Cortal had not been either destroyed or reformed in the fires of a revolution decades before. While, many revolutions had been staged by the Cortalans, the most recent one being the uprising led by the Kemp (second in command to the Kempars) Mathou of the Blades.
The surprise attack had managed to recruit one whole third of the Cortalan armed forces for the attack, and had breached the Temple of Holy itself, when the sudden counterattack by feared and sadistic Rechel and Tobis Troopers fiercely repelled them. Chased out of the protected temple, they were vaporized by the bombardment of nine Rishka class gunships that destroyed the entire force regardless of massive damage done to both the local civilian population and buildings.
So Cortal had a bloody history indeed, an inefficient and obsolete government with rules strictly enforced by the brutal Special Forces. Joran of the High had attempted the only act of peaceful reformation as opposed to bloody revolution, only to be suddenly accused of grossly blasphemous heresy to the supreme god, The Commander. While it is not wise for mind or body to closely examine the details of his heinous and tortuous death, it is safe to say his death took place
a full year after the beginning of the execution.
That had been well over seventeen spins ago (rotations of Cortal around the sun), and the grotesque punishment was still a fresh memory which had been brutally seared into the minds of every Cortalan alive. As it had been broadcasted on a live feed twenty four seven on the connect, every citizen on Cortal with access had been subjected at least once a day to the atrocious execution.
Other than that one individual, that one and only true light amongst the darkness, Cortal had a long chain of Kempars whom had all been successfully bloody and sadistic rulers, gripping their nation in a sanamantium grip. Now, with the population swelling its ever-crowded borders, mass cullings were becoming more and more common. However, even such a sadistic government could not keep doing such bloody practices for long, and many were worried that they would initiate a massive invasion, a global wide annexing of all of the other factions. In fact, such fears were already becoming reality. Seaport had recently delivered an ultimatum to the Cortalans after the invasion of Haska, a small community centered around farming and agriculture.
Post Merged: August 14, 2010, 01:00:16 AM
In this latest assault, the Cortalans had truly proved their savagery once again. all over the connect were live feeds from Tobis and Rechel helmet-cameras, showing high-resolution footage of scores of helpless farmers being cut down, the small military units burnt into the ground and citizens being shot on sight.
Once this murderous butchery was over, the remaining population would be cowed into surrender, no fight left in them. Once this was done, another bloodbath occurred. This one was much more strategic however, with no soldiers or trained men being shot. Instead, normal citizens were cut down, effectively removing one full half of Haska’s population. The empty space would be quickly refilled with Cortalan citizens who’d been forced to live in rather wretched conditions due to massive overpopulation.
All of the surviving military personel would be given the choice of joining Cortal’s army, or being slowly killed. This act expanded Cortal’s already numerous army and gave it more living space, as the soldiers were forced to live in basic military camps, leaving their homes behind to other Cortalan citizens.
Yet High Councilor Larrs hoped for peace.
For this reason, some were starting to call him naïve, foolish, an idiot. How light-brained he must be, they said, to even consider peace with Cortal! They are a pack of brutal and bloodthirsty barbarians; one would have a better chance of negotiating with a pack of Syougers! Yet, Larrs hoped against all hopes, for peace.
Sanchez was intent on changing that outlandish notion. He marched briskly down the incredible halls lined with beautiful works of ar; paintings, instruments, sculptures and other grandiose masterpieces. Enchanting 3D holographic arts hung suspended in midair, their projectors humming quietly. On each side of the hall Safan guards were stationed, rigidly at attention with their semi-automatic rail guns at their sides.
Sanchez ignored all of this as he reached an ascender and stopped by the door. Registering his motion, a small panel flickered to life, giving him a touch screen that gave him the option of opening the door to the lifter.
He tapped the icon with his finger, and the door quickly snapped open with a faint hiss. Beyond it was the ascender. The ascender was a machine made specifically to lift people upwards from one destination to another, while the descender did the opposite. Utilizing anti-gravity technology, the ascender was essentially a tube that ran the whole height of the building, top to bottom. The tube was circular and wide enough for five people to be side-by-side with room to spare. It worked by reversing gravity within the tube, using anti-grav generators at both the top and bottom. The reversed gravity would make people essentially fall upwards, but at a slower rate, slow enough it was much more akin to floating.
Whenever one got to the stop where one wished to depart, one had to only say ‘stop,’ and the artificial intelligence program in charge of running the entire building would heed the call and promptly bring the lifting process to a halt, leaving all inside floating in mid-air. After this one merely stepped out of the lift and the ascender would continue lifting the other occupants.
Sanchez stepped daintily into nothing but air and immediately began a slow, steady ascent. Sanchez didn’t like gravity lifts, they made him feel queasy in the stomach. It was not an completely foreign affect, there was a small number of people whose bodies didn’t take well to falling the opposite way as usual, it confused their brains a bit too much. In some cases, nausea and vomiting were not at all unusual and there was talk of reinstating mechanical ascenders and descenders in public buildings once again.
Sanchez didn’t consider his slight problems too troublesome to take a mechanical lift, but he sometimes wished that gravity lifts just weren’t so popular. And while it was impossible to happen, he had a concern buried deep within him that would often start worming its way to the surface of his mind, a fear that the generators would fail, and that he, along with all others using the lift, would fall varying heights to their deaths.
Of course such fears were virtually unfounded. Though one lift failure had occurred ten spins ago, it had been due to lack of a supervising AI, and clumsy and irregular human maintenance and supervision, which neglected to keep it in good shape. In all buildings now, in the Council building of all places, such failure was next to impossible! With a Highest-grade AI running the entire building and all lifts and such within it, dozens of smaller sub-routines, backup generators, and emergency kits on the walls, the chance of any death occurring was at least one in a billion.
Never the less Sanchez, and many other people, feared a repeat of the infamous Penta lift failure, a repeat which would more than definitely never, ever come to pass.
He tipped his head upwards to see the light coming in from the entrance he wished to depart at, a mere ten feet above. He floated up for a few more seconds, and then said.
“Stop here please.” The lift came to a halt, the revered gravity changing to zero gravity. Momentum carried him upwards a few more inches before he reached out his hand to grab the metal rim of the entrance. He pulled himself forwards and out of the gravity lift and unto the wooden floor. Normal gravity returned with a rush which dropped him in a somewhat undignified matter back onto the floor. He wobbled on his legs for a moment; arms splayed out in an attempt to regain his balance which he quickly regained from years of practice and experience. He stood up, straightening himself out and regaining his composure. He smoothed out his jacket, straightened his cap, took a deep breath and started down the corridor to the High Councilors office.
His shoes made a clacking sound as they smacked down on the highly polished tenka wood floor. Sanchez was getting a bit more hesitant as he approached his destination, but he knew jid well that if he didn’t give this report, someone else would, and any more of a delay could prove very costly to Seaport. He was gripping the small case containing his computer even more tightly now, his fingers whitening and growing clammy and slick with voracious cold sweat mixing with a skin oil and lotion to create an incredibly foul, chilling, paste.
His frame stiffened and his pace quickened for the last few steps to the door. He stopped right outside of it, took another deep breath of air, and looked around to take in his surroundings quickly, giving one last quick glance of admiration for the various and assorted works of art assembled on the walls and ceiling, before he twisted the handle and pushed forward, letting himself in.
The inside of the High Councilors room was breathtaking to say the very least. It was not large, well, not overly or excessively large. It was definitely quite spacious and that space was needed to accommodate the vast collection of items on which blanketed the crimson walls. Each High Councilor, or Highon, had a different taste and therefore a different collection of materials gathered in this office. The current one, Highon Larrs, had a taste for weapons. Peculiar one may say, that a Highon so devoted to the cause of peace, would have such a formidable arsenal to his liking.
Peculiar Larrs admitted that it was, but he had his reasons like any Highon, or even any man. He found them fascinating. He thought it was incredibly amazing to observe them in tests, or to shoot them himself. While he liked weapons, he did not like war. He always preferred a sportsman shooter to a soldier, a hunter to a sniper.
It was truly an interesting arms cache he had, though. The walls were adorned with civilian defense guns, hunting rifles and such, and military grade firearms. ARG-12s, Automatic Rail Guns, were a particular favorite of his. Rail guns were weapons that operated by using electromagnetic rails to hurl dense metal rounds at incredibly fast supersonic speeds, often destroying their targets through the sheer kinetic force alone. Standard issue weaponry employed throughout all branches of the Seaportian military, ARG-12s were accurate, powerful, and durable, all the trademarks of a good weapon.
Of course other firearms were abundant as well. There was a Pulser heavy Support Gun, capable of charging and firing a super-heated super-powerful laser blast or pulse, hence the name. Even a few Cortalan Fenton rifles were scattered here and there, strange weapons which employed the titled fenton energy. And of course there were dozens of bladed weapons, from Seaportian Calveers, to Cortalan Kukilahs.
However, despite the fascinating and riveting presence of all these killing devices, the center of interest in this office was the small, gaunt individual seated before a desk at the far side of the room in the middle. Highon Saavlen Larrs, the most important figure in all of Seaport. He was about five foot five inches tall, with a wiry and said gaunt frame. He was not incredibly strong or muscular though he was also far from out of shape. His chestnut brown hair was thick and wavy, and extended to the nape of his neck at the back, to the tops of his ears at the sides, and to just above his eyebrows at the front.
His skin was dark, not a deep brown or black, but much more like a deep tan, as if he had been exposed to too much sun. He had an elegant face and a rounded, small nose and intelligent and piercing blue eyes which blazed with life. He was currently preoccupied with the large amounts of work which accompanied his demanding job. There was a fair sized metal frame, rectangular in shape, emerging from his glossy black wood desk. The frame was part of the holographic projector imbedded in said desk with filled the frame with the contorted light of a hologram. A keyboard was under the desk, a keyboard he was using according to the consistent clacking sounds emerging from under the desk.
Not bothering to look up from his work, the Highon spoke in a flat tone voice that suggested that he had many busy things to do, so say what you have to then leave.
“Who and what is it?” Sanchez walked quickly forward until he was ten feet in front of the desk, and then stood there impassively. He was not at all surprised that the Highon did not know who was before him now; he doubtlessly had dozens of visits every day and had neither the time nor the mind to remember them all. The fact that Sanchez’s visit was unplanned and unscheduled added to the Highon’s ignorance. Sanchez coughed an attention getting cough, then quickly introduced himself.
“Greeting Highon, I am Higher Four Sanchez of the three ooh ninth Safans, and I’m afraid that I really must talk to you about urgent matters.” With a clearly exasperated sigh, the Highon looked from his work with annoyance dancing in his eyes.
“Fine then, what is it that is so urgent you must interrupt me about it?” His voice was laced with impatience as he answered. Sanchez ignored his tone and answered flatly.
“Sir, I have extremely urgent news regarding Cortal.” If his interruption had already ticked off the Highon, this latest statement almost set him off.
“Cortal? What about Cortal? I know about their atrocities in Haska, tiaj it I know all about those sadistic brutes! What in the world possessed you to come to me with news I already know? If this is another one of those stupid little pleas from the Michif telling me that peace with Cortal is a useless, hopeless attempt and that I should just order that we go in and blow the tiaj outta them, well you can just waltz back there to tell him I said he’s free to invade Cortal by himself!” As the Highon finished venting his anger, Sanchez’s own grew. Finally, just as the Highon’s last word ended, Sanchez let loose his own pent-up rage.
“Sir, listen to me! I’ve been up all the tiaj night talking my tongue off to a bucket load of intelligence spooks, sleeper agents, pilots, tactical squids and a whole lot more! I haven’t slept for well over a full rotation and I’ve been surviving mostly on shavaca smokes and ree drinks! So I’m sorry if this is too much of an interruption for you, but I haven’t done all of this work just to let some stuffy Highon yap away on how he doesn’t need what I have! Now if you don’t just shut the daje up and listen to me, we could all be dead within a week!” There, he’d said it. He’d just yelled at the most important person in Seaport, and it had felt good. It felt good to shout at someone.
On the other hand, he was probably crazy. He’d just given the Highon a huge reason to discharge him from service. Of course with what he’d seen coming, he doubted a loss of career was the least of his concerns. He came to the conclusion that the best plan of action now was to shut his fat mouth before he could do any more harm to his career. The Highon stared at him, if he was surprised he hid it cleaver. His dark face was impassive as his brain processed the outburst. He closed his eyes and then tipped his head up towards the ceiling as if trying to settle a myriad of thoughts swirling through his head. Finally after what seemed an eternity, he craned his head back up and looked at Sanchez as with a new light. When he spoke, his tone seemed much more tired, exhausted with all of his anger spilt out.
“Fine then Higher Four, what is it that you have to say, what is it about Cortal that is so urgent? Why, may we be all dead within a week? Indulge me please.” With a wave of his hand the holographic computer screen flickered and vanished, short after the metal frame itself vanished into the desk. Highon Larrs leaned back in his grav-chair which floated a meter off the ground, kicked his legs back on his desk, and beckoned Sanchez forward.
Sanchez quickly moved forward, fervently thanking whatever gods there may the Highons allowance to let him speak, and for not, at least not yet, bumping his rank down into the Intermediates. He took his computer-carrying case and carefully set it on the Highons desk and entered in a brief personal code to release the magnetic locks. There was a whir, a click, and the locks yielded to the code, popping open the top of the case. Sanchez opened the rest of the top and pulled out the computer, a small silver rectangle one inch thick, one foot long and ten inches wide.
Sliding off the top part of the computer which was a cover for the delicate machine itself, Sanchez revealed a keyboard under a metal frame. He pulled up the said metal frame by a ninety degree angle and then tapped the power button. The space inside the frame was quickly filled up by a hologram as a glass is filled up by water. Sanchez impatiently waited for the machine to boot up, tapped in a quick password and let it all load his settings for a moment. That done, he brought up a program on his computer. Now he reached back into his case and grabbed a hologram projector, a folded up metal frame and a half-circular device it attached too.
Unfolding the frame which was two feet by two feet, he slid the bottom which sported an oval plug, into the said half-circular device which was the generator, a smooth silver half-sphere, surface devoid of anything except for the obvious presence of a small groove which fit around the frames oval plug. The set up, Sanchez quickly made a wireless link between his computer and the generator and began the program. He motioned for the lights to be turned off and the Highon quickly tapped a switch behind him, deactivating the lights. Another tap polarized the large window behind him to eighty percent, eclipsing the room in nearly complete darkness, the only major light source being the glowing hologram now forming before the Highon, a holographic display accompanied by Sanchez’s voice.
As the luminous light display morphed into a picture of Cortal, Sanchez began a narration of the scenario.
“Now sir, as you well know, Cortal’s recent invasion of Haska has been one of their most publicized and aggressive attacks yet with a live feed on the connect showing around-the-clock footage of the butchery.” The Highon waved his hand in an impatient manner, indicating that he knew all of this and didn’t care to hear it all again.
“Yes I do well know this, please get to the point.” Sanchez tightened his jaw and looked the Highon dead in the eyes.
“Sir, it will take awhile to fully explain this, so while I will attempt to make this as short and sweet as possible, I will need some time, so please shut your mouth and listen to me.” The Highon jerked like he’d been slapped and for a moment he looked like he was about to put the uppity Higher 4 in his place.
He must have seen and recognized the absolute determination alighting the officer’s face however and he mentally backed down and let Sanchez continue. Nodding in thanks, Sanchez continued. “Anyway sir, I would like to show you Cortal’s current territory among other things.” Receiving no protest form the Highon, he reached down to his computer to type in a series of commands. Then looking up for a moment, he added: “You may want to sit down.”
The Highon nodded quietly and swiftly sat back down in his in a rather regal grav-chair which tipped backwards under the sudden weight, nearly depositing him on the floor on his hind side in a very un-regal matter. Sanchez waited quietly while his leader’s arms flew around in an automatic instinct to balance himself, though the chair quickly took in the new weight and stabilized itself.
The chair stopped bobbing just as the hologram immediately changed in compliance to the commands; causing borders for the various countries displayed on the map appear and solidify in place. Shortly after, the empire of Cortal and all of its conquests quickly became visible, filling up with red light like a glass of Lema juice. As the hologram settled, Sanchez began again. “Now as you know Highon, the expansion of Cortal began thirty nine cycles ago under the leadership of Kempar Danl of The Glories due to overpopulation. The first victim, the small tier-four country of Shmellac was quickly overrun and was forced to surrender within one and a half weeks. Since then, one hundred and fifteen other countries have all been likewise annexed in the cause of living space due to overpopulation. Now I have been studying the conquests, and in my studies I have realized that all of the countries invaded were either tier fours or tier threes with the exception of Jempa which was a tier two.
“Sir, I would like you to direct your attention to these eleven marked countries.” Sanchez quickly tapped another command into his computer and the eleven selected countries shone bright blue, the countries of Geron, Kyosfitan, Varuna, The Carthern Union, Omasta, Purdin, and The United Lands of Beronda, Netali, Yessidi and Pyrunga. Again the Highon interrupted in a rather rude manner.
“Yes, yes Higher Four, I know all of this, now please tell me what of these history and geography lessons are so important to Seaports security?” Sighing in aggravation at the impatience of this man, Sanchez’s voice was laced with annoyance.
“Sir, if you would please close your mouth I will show you.” Before any voice of protest could arise against him, Sanchez tapped in one more command on his computer. Slowly, before the Highon, the eleven countries, all ringing Cortal, filled with red.
The Highon reacted immediately. Leaping from his chair to his feet with impressive speed, he stabbed out his finger at Sanchez.
“Higher Four, are you suggesting that Cortal has taken over eleven tier two countries, countries with highly advanced technology, and we have been completely ignorant it?” Sanchez was completely impassive as he set his jaw and answered him.
“No sir, I am not suggesting this to you I am telling this to you.” Nearly yelling, the Highon cried out.
“Hah! That is not possible Sanchez, you are clearly deluded my man! The very idea, it is totally absurd! How could Cortal keep such a secret? Surely one of the countries would have heard of the invasion and said something about it! Surely someone would have said something!”
“Not if Cortal was using liece they wouldn’t have.” Sanchez remarked. If his statement of the invasions and outraged the Highon, this one seemed to cut his vocal cords, for all noise ceased immediately. His face grew pale and clammy at the mention of the dreaded word.
Liece! The most nefarious and heinous of all names, of all creatures! A creature brought in by Ticki-Tickalie traders, a creature which quickly began to spread across Dimanstin, the once-bustling country where the traders had landed. Dimanstin, once a one of the most famous of trading cities and the heart the planet Cortal’s economy, it was but obliterated by the liece infection, a disaster which for one to fully understand, one would have to understand the liece themselves.
The liece are a form of parasitic insects, a species which thrives on brain matter. To get to this grotesque food, the liece passes through three stages with the third being the last. The first stage is, like many insects, that of a grub. The grub lives in the body of the victim the mother laid the eggs in. After a few days of gorging itself on flesh, it forms a cocoon and hatches as the second stage, a winged stage. At this time it is now one millimeter long, wings and all.
At this point it begins its search for brain matter to feast upon. Flying around until it finds a suitable host, it will enter the brain via the ear canal, burrowing through skin and bone until the brain is reached. It will then begin to start eating the brain, at the same time secreting a poison which drives the host absolutely insane, violently insane. This will last until the host dies due to loss of brain tissue, or until it is killed by its own insane actions or other causes. Feasting on the brain for a full five days, the liece will then enter the third and final stage.
Shedding its wings, the liece grows to a length of a full centimeter over the course of two days before laying anywhere from one to five thousand eggs. Shortly afterwards, it dies and leaves the eggs to hatch to an environment full of food.
So the liece are truly a hideously horrid creature of nature, a creature which quickly ravished the entire country of Dimanstin. The parasite had spread so quickly and in such numbers, that well over ninety eight percent of the population was infected within three weeks. It was so swift in fact, that the rest of the world only found out after a few survivors managed to fight their way to a communications station and hold off the mentally ravaged hordes long enough to plead that the entire country be quarantined and sterilized. Minutes after they were torn apart by the mad-stricken people.
Realizing the full danger of the liece threat, the entire world momentarily united against a common enemy. Gunships and assault platforms from all of the far reaches of Cortal united and descended upon Dimanstin, setting up first massive force-fields and then firing one and a half gigatons of thermonuclear warheads into the country. Inside the massive shields, the combined detonations created what was essentially a small star, all of the destructive power reflected in by the shields.
The entire country was reduced to a vast crater of glass and slag, completely drowned in a massive pool of radiation. Radiation-eating agents were immediately unleashed into the air of course, but even then it took ten cycles to make the area safe. Seven hundred million humans were killed, no survivors. After that, the entire global economy was destroyed. With what was essentially the largest and most important country in the economy being literally destroyed, the whole of the planet Cortal was rocked, even the mighty Seaportians. Now referred to as ‘the great fall,’ in that seven cycle period over one hundred million people worldwide starved to death, though the bulk died in Cortal.
After such a disaster, a global conference was held concerning the liece. During the seven-day conference now called the Dimanstin Report, the presence of liece on Cortal was made completely illegal, and possession of them would lead to instant death for any individual or group, and immediate investigation for any country. Now that the facts are written out, it was quite easy to see why the Highon was so horrified, and why he was so quick to deny the possibility of liece.
After a silence that seemed to last an hour, though it was only ten seconds, the Highon managed to regain his voice, shaky as it was.
“Impossible, even Cortal would not be that brutal.”
“You are referring to a country which quarantined one third of its city and pumped it full of anthrax and chlorine gas just to deal with an overpopulation problem.” Sanchez reminded him. The Highon seemed to be at a loss of words for a moment, he just shook his head violently before lamely saying:
“But the Dimanstin Report forbids the use of liece as any part of biological weapons program- He was cut short by Sanchez who suddenly erupted on him.
“Sir, I honestly cannot believe you are so stupid! Are you utterly insane, trying to talk peace with Cortal in the first place? They are a race of cold-blooded killers, a pack of slobbering vermin trying to eat everything in sight! Did you honestly believe that more sanctions would do anything to hinder them? Whenever they need more resources they just take what they need by taking other countries! Do you honestly not get it? We are next on their ‘to-conquer’ list!” The Highon seemed a bit taken back by this outburst, though he did quickly regain himself. With a hint of snobbery in his tone, he asked the fuming officer.
“Sanchez, what the daje makes you think we’re their next target? We’ve been at peace with them for centuries.” Glaring at the Highon, Sanchez said, voice laden with contempt.
“Really sir? Do you want to know why we haven’t gone to war with Cortal in such a long time? Well I’ll tell you why! We have been the only country in the whole daje planet capable of challenging them so far! We were the only country that could stand up to them and beat them in a war, which I believe is the real motivation behind these conquests.” Staring at him in confusion, the Highon asked.
“Please elaborate.”
“Very well, I will do so. You see sir; we are the only country capable of challenging them. They are clearly afraid of it, afraid that we will conquer them. So, they decided to conquer us first, beat us first. But how would they accomplish such a feat? They’d need more people, more resources, and more technology. So thirty nine cycles ago, Kempar Danl of The Glory began to acquire more resource, to acquire more people! It’s a heinous, yet brilliant plan! Kill half of the population, and force the rest to fight for them or face torture and death, this all also explains why they’ve only been attacking poor and primitive countries, they only wanted the people and resources, not anything else.
“So after thirty nine cycles and one hundred and five countries, Cortal cleared conquered more than enough people and resources, but what about technology? So they went after eleven of the much more advanced countries, countries with lots of technology but far too many extra people, people who would warn the world of this change in plan. These people need to be killed, but a normal invasion would be too noisy, attract too much attention. So they unleash liece, probably genetically modified not to lay eggs, to kill the population. I would also bet that a horde of computer viruses disabled their communications, or more likely modified them to go on auto-pilot, to remain functioning with drawing too much attention.
“Once the liece killed the population, they would die in a few days. This would leave only the technology intact, but no people to oppose them or make any noise. After that they simply moved in and took over. There, they now have a massive army of pressed soldiers, vast qualities of stolen resources for their factories to make weapons, and a daje-load of stolen technology to aid them. There’s no reason for them to go through all of this trouble for any other country, no other country poses enough of a threat to be that much trouble. No country except for Seaport.”
As Sanchez finished his speech of impending doom, the Highons face got whiter and clammier until he looked like he was caked in some sort of lotion. He sat rigid in his chair for a moment, and then like his skeleton had vanished, he slumped into his grav-chair with a moaning, defeated sigh. There he lay for a good two minutes, the only noise coming from the constant humming of Sanchez’s hologram projector. The light had gone down; the hologram had dimmed down a bit after not being used for awhile.
Then the Highon snapped back to life like a switch had been turned on. Color was beginning to come back to his flushed face and his eyes, which had just been clouded over with despair, now burned with determination and will do something that would save his people from the coming destruction. He sat up straight, looked Sanchez in the eye, and with a calm voice asked him.
“Sanchez, how long would you assume we have until the Cortalans invade us?” Scratching the back of his head as if raking his hair for answers, Sanchez answered.
“I’m not sure sir. Knowing the Cortalans, I would not be surprised in the least if we were attacked now. However, since they do not believe that we are aware of their intentions, I would say they’ll probably take some time, perhaps a few weeks to prepare for the attack.” The Highon frowned, that wasn’t much time. But it was all they had, so they’d better take advantage of it. However before he did anything, he needed to know for sure that this was real. Sanchez had delivered some impressive evidence, but it was not solid, not definitive. He needed to know. Raising his hand halfway up, he said.
“Sanchez, I must know if you have any solid, definitive evidence. Your claims are moving and impressive, but I need something to help me be sure of a Cortalan attack.” Sanchez grinned a faint wisp of a smile and answered.
“I thought you may ask for such, so I brought this for you.” He tapped his computer, waited for a moment, then tapped in another few directions.
The hologram, which had been dim and still, suddenly blazed to life as new data surged through it. It gathered itself up in a swirl of light particles, the map of Cortal melted away into a storm of whirling pieces of light which threw odd reflections all over the room. The hologram began to settle down, to take form and shape. As it solidified further, the Highon saw that it was morphing into a satellite photo of the Cortalan-Seaport border. Illuminated in crimson red, a tidal wave of Cortalan soldiers were marching towards Seaport.
An army of one billion soldiers plus vehicles is not easy to hide and the Cortalan Tobis Trooper called Thalabin didn’t even try. He was near the head of the massive army with his own force behind him, five hundred Rechel troopers, and his second-in-command, a Rechel trooper named Tarlish, at his side. The early morning sun gleamed off his burnished battle armour which now glowed a dull gold. Tarlish’s own crimson armor reflected light on her exposed face making her skin seem to be drenched in blood. In some occasions this would not be far from the truth, for though Tarlish seemed modest enough, she would kill anyone Thalabin asked her to, no questions asked.
Behind them, the five hundred Rechel troopers under Thalabins charge marched, their own blue combat armour flashed sapphire in the sunlight while their base-fenton weapons blocked light as menacing black shapes, tools of death.
Cortal’s military structure was rather simple. There were several classes of soldier, starting out with the Harkoni’s. The harkoni’s were the grunt soldiers of Cortal, completely expendable soldiers that no one really gave a daje about. Harkoni’s were usually recruited from civilians, given training, then tossed whatever weapons and armour were at hand. Some were shooting modern base-fenton guns, while other shot out-dated powder weapons; others even shot antique muzzle-loaders while a surprisingly large number carried swords and axes. Likewise, armour in the harkoni’s ranged from modern combat armor capable or reflecting energy blasts, while some wore mere animal hides and metal plates!
After the harkoni’s came the Rechels, the core of the Cortalan military. Brutally and often fatally trained, equipped with high-grade weapons and armour, Rechels were renowned across Cortal as being brutal, pitiless, merciless, and some of the best soldiers around. Then after them, at the head of the Cortalan military, came the Tobis’s. Recruited from the best of the best Rechels trained even harder, better and more than ever before, they were the best soldiers alive. The closest competition after
Rechels was Seaportian Safan Special Forces, and even then one Tobis was worth five Safans. Besides a multitude of privileges and honors bestowed unto them and their families, each Tobis was given control of a group of five hundred Rechels whom they would lead, train, and pick future Tobis’s from, this group of Rechels was called a Siask.
Thalabins Siask was only one among hundreds of thousands that marched with them to Seaport, though his Siask, named the Dirhkas, were among the most renowned of them all. With on the most impressive records to date, Thalabin had supped with three Kempars over his military career.
He’d ended up killing two of them. Politics was a very tricky job in
Cortal, for whenever a well-trained soldier needed money, he or she only needed search the streets of Cortal’s capital city of Pajeen to find someone willing to pay handsomely for an official’s death. Needless to say, the security surrounding such officials grew tighter and tighter, and Thalabins skills grew more and more, as did the pleasure of doing such bodacious acts. Also needless to say, Thalabin was a very well-off individual. While it was known that he had killed two Kempars, no one dared tried to arrest or kill him. Even the powerful Pards knew better than to attempt to try and write off an offending Tobis, especially after the incident involving Cavalin.
Cavalin had been a decently successful Tobis trooper, who after running short of money in a gambling arena took up an assassination on a Pard, Kile the Sanctifier. He killed Kile within two days of taking the hit, and was immediately incredibly rich. Suspicious of his sudden wealth, Pards hunted down the man who offered the assassination contract, and after an hour of torture, got the killers name. They immediately sent fifty harkoni’s to arrest him.
Of those fifty, forty nine were dead in twenty minutes. One was dead in twenty one minutes after telling who had sent them to kill him. Once Cavalin found out the Pards had tried to kill him, he blew up the high temple of glory during worship, killing eleven other Pards plus hundreds of other civilians. The outraged religious leaders immediately reacted, publically denouncing him and ordering all Rechels and Tobis’s to capture him and bring him for public torture.
Tobis training, training funded by Pards, taught that a Tobis holds Rechels and Tobis’s in highest regard, higher than Pards or even Kempars. The Tobis’s in the area joined the Cavalin and marched down the streets to the Pards largest palace and plainly told them to leave them alone or they would kill them all. The Pards agreed to these terms and afterwards were killed by the Tobis’s anyway. After the incident, the Pards, and everyone else, decided not to cross the beliefs of these incredible super-soldiers.
