Chương 33: Nova Wars - Chapter 25+3 - Dark Tidings

If you think that your average -as if any of them are average- Terror is strange and unknowable, wait until you meet an Immortal or a myth or a legend. Those are the strange ones, burdened with strange and unknowable powers, and the keepers of secrets that perhaps it is best not to explore. - Cu'urismo'o, Philosopher, Explorer, and Chronicalist, 14, 812 Post-TXE Strechen sat at her desk, looking at the hologram being projected above it. It showed Tawtchee sleeping in the small cubby he had been assigned.

His foot was shifting, his fingers kept flexing, and his ears kept twitching even as his whiskers trembled. His fur gleamed with sweat and as she watched he rolled over and began panting, his legs kicking slightly. She knew a nightmare when she saw it. Reaching out, she tapped the icon to access his wrist datacomp. She changed her ringtone to a bird chirp, then tapped the icon to ping his wrist datacomp. It rang and Tawtchee jerked. It rang again and his eyes started to open. She cut the link.

His eyes closed slowly and he relaxed. She watched him go back sleep, this time curled up and relaxed. we cease to exist The words whispered in her brain again. She had seen why the scientist Hrekkel valued him so much. Dying, faced with certain death, he had chosen to beg. Not for his own life, but for the scientists, for the civilians. Could I have done the same? she wondered, still staring at the hologram of the sleeping male. Or would I have begged for my own life?

The question had been bothering her since she had seen the video. How he had ensured that none of the technicians, scientists, or even the two Way of the Means Senior Enforcers had been left behind. Physically dragging them along if he had been forced to. Would I have just left them behind, seeing them only as males? she wondered. She watched the video again.

She paused on the section where Tawtchee was looking up at the skull visage of the Terror robot, it's white teeth chattering, its red eyes set in a black skull that was somehow glossy and matte at the same time, the only sound the plinking of rain off the robot's alloyed body and Tawtchee's sobbing pleas. She got out a pad and pen and slowly began to sketch the skull that stared out of the hologram with such menace that it made the fur at the small of her back raise up.

Field Captain Strechen watched as Hrekkel finally moved away from whatever esoteric project he was working on beneath the watchful eye of his Way of the Means guard.

"You wished to speak with me, Tawtchee?" Hrekkel asked.

"I need you to use the fabricators and some help, maybe," Tawtchee said.

"I am always ready to help you, Tawtchee," Hrekkel said, expressing pleasure.

"I owe you my life." Tawtchee just shrugged.

"I didn't do anything that someone else wouldn't have done." Strechen had noted how uncomfortable praise made Tawtchee and wondered, for the hundredth time, if all males were like that. Does being noticed somehow put them in danger? she wondered. Tawtchee moved to the holotank attached to computing arrays and fabricators and quickly moved through menus until he brought up an image of the Terror Magnus. He highlighted the tattoos on Magnus's arms.

"Can you have the virtual intelligences and large language models copy the art style of these tattoos?" Tawtchee asked. Hrekkel stared at the marking for a moment.

"It won't be accurate. If those marks have meanings beyond decoration, it could be insulting." Tawtchee nodded.

"Ensure they are decorative. Do not use the runes, use the square spirals and the other markings." Hrekkel started typing.

"I will oversee it, make sure that it does the job correctly. At times LLM graphic design systems give abnormal results." Moving over to the replicator, Tawtchee touched one of the metal fabrication units.

"This one can do high grade steel, correct?" Hrekkel nodded, still typing. Strechen could see the tattoos were being highlighted on the images of Magnus. Moving to another holotank, Hrekkel brought up the BobCo advertisement for one of the games. He moved through it, examining sections, finally settling on one item. A sword.

"Can you fabricate a combination of this blade and the Way of the Means dress uniform sword?" Tawtchee asked. Hrekkel glanced at the Way of the Means trooper that was always accompanying him. The female looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded.

"Yes," Hrekkel said. Tawtchee moved over to the side of the room, staring up at where the ceiling met the wall. He lifted up on the toes of his boots then dropped his heels slowly. He kept repeating it and for a moment Strechen wondered if the male had suddenly suffered a neurological defect.

"We won't put it in a standard holder," Tawtchee said.

"A scabbard," the big female said. Strechen was surprised at how pleasant her voice was, having only heard her growling threats before.

"I have an old shirt, stained, that I will wrap it in," Tawtchee said. He looked at Hrekkel.

"How long will it take to make the decorative designs and the blade?" Hrekkel stared at the holotank windows.

"I can have the blade engraved by tomorrow."

"Plenty of time," Tawtchee said. He turned around and moved over next to Strechen.

"Three more days until I must face the Second Guardian." Hrekkel just nodded. Strechen felt her stomach clench in anxiety.

Strechen stood against the wall, watching not only Tawtchee and Hrekkel but the Way of the Means agents who were standing against the wall also. She had her hands in her pockets, trying to look nonchalant, but she was appraising the body language and the tension in the other agents.

She could see the low key anger in some of the more senior agents that the large female Special Imperial Expediter with Hrekkel had told them, in no uncertain terms, that Hrekkel was in charge of the expedition and Tawtchee was in charge on the ground.

The big female had threatened the Way of the Means and the Means of the Way agents with summary execution and dissolution of family and clan lines if they disobeyed in even the slightest or if the big female Expediter even suspected them of disloyalty or the slightest bit of rebellion. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. The two males were looking over the planet.

Again, there was a small domicile with a few outbuildings, some carefully tended fields, and some domesticated animals. Around the fields were small lakes, scattered around, some of them connected by smaller ponds.

"Some who came before us tried orbital assaults," Hrekkel said. Tawtchee nodded.

"The attempts were attenuated before they even struck the ground," he cocked his head.

"Hmm, the pattern is slightly pleasing. Perhaps it is purposeful?" he shook his head.

"Magnus told me that he stocked his ponds with fish because he found catching fish with a rod, a thin filament, and a hand crafted hook to be pleasurable." Hrekkel nodded.

"Terrans enjoy challenges. It is not enough that they have food, they must feel the wrested the food from hardship." Tawtchee opened another window.

"We cannot see the area closely. Any attempt and the whole thing becomes clouded by a grey field."

"The guardian knows we are attempting to watch them," Hrekkel said.

"Which means that the guardian does have satellites. I believe we have been scanned and tracked since we came out of transit space," Tawtchee said.

"Does this alter your plans?" Hrekkel asked. Tawtchee held out a hand, tilting it back and forth.

"Yes, but no. Overall, the plan is the same. Politely ask for the next step along the Traveler's Path." Hrekkel gave a sigh.

"Without the precise transit route and coordinates, any attempt to reach this place would have been doomed. Transit space sheers and distortions, gravity shadows, and dark matter clusters would have torn the ship apart."

"Which means, the next one will be just as difficult to reach and just as dangerous," Tawtchee tapped the icon on the holotank, bringing up the star field.

"It does not surprise me that the transit space routes assumed we would be using only what Magnus called 'the slow boat bands.' However, he did not ask what method we used to access transit space."

"He already knew," Hrekkel agreed.

"Which means this guardian knows the same," he combed the fur on top of his head with his stubby claws.

"I was wise to insist on earlier model transit drives despite the slower speed." Hrekkel consulted a few more screens then looked at Tawtchee.

"The dropship has been prepared exactly as you asked. Everything is in place for when you are ready." Tawtchee took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I am not convinced I need anyone more than Field Captain Strechen to guard me."

"Politics," was all Hrekkel said. To Field Captain Strechen, the way the small scientist said it made it sound like he was spitting out poison.

The ramp slowly lowered to reveal a sunny and warm day. Strechen could taste the pollen flooding into the dropship but was pleased she did not sneeze like several of the others. Tawtchee was already standing up, moving over to locker and getting down the gift he had asked Hrekkel to fabricate. Strechen watched as the six Way of the Means agents picked up heavy baskets of fruit.

The dropship had entered atmosphere and immediately a beacon had turned on, instructing the dropship to land at those coordinates or be destroyed. Strechen was gratified that at least the pilot showed some common sense. She was the only one armed, and that was an empty pistol with a single magazine pouch containing only a single magazine. Unless you counted Tawtchee's battered combat knife that rode on his hip. Outside the dropship was an open plain of grass that waves slowly back and forth in the warm breeze.

There was a tall white post marking some kind of dirt road that Tawtchee immediately walked toward.

"Don't go into the fields," Tawtchee said.

"Stay on the road." Strechen could see some of the agents bristled slightly at the male giving them commands, but she had discovered recently that her concerns over their outrage had become almost minimal. The male has survived things that would have killed every one of us. I will listen to his voice over your outraged sensibilities, she thought to herself, walking at the back of the group.

The day was warm and Strechen found herself panting and sweating before the road reached a stone arch that had nothing on either side. It was just an arch to signify that the dirt road transformed into a path of paving stones. There were bushes between the tended grass and the domicile, the path leading to another arch that kept the bushes back from an opening.

Strechen stepped through the arch, blinking at how the empty field vanished to be replaced by neatly tended gardens inside of wooden boxes, complete with wooden sticks for the vine plants to climb. A female Terror sat on a stump, a sword across her legs. She was not dressed how anyone had assumed. She wore high leather boots, engraved and inlaid, polished to a high sheen. She wore a skirt of black leather with hammered copper or bronze plating on top of the pleats.

On her torso she wore a leather wrap around her midriff that had a handspan gap that was held with laces. Her mammaries were only covered for the lower half, the cups that held them had hammered bronze or copper adornments. Her skin was dark brown, her crimson hair long and woven into tight pleats that looked almost plastic. She was smiling, showing even white teeth, and her green eyes were amused. Across the top of her mammaries was an ornate circle with five fire opals set in it.

Inside the circle was a twisting rune that made Strechen's eyes ache. The whole thing was made of a black material that was somehow, impossibly, glossy and matte at the same time. Strechen also noted that the Terror sat with her legs open, showing that she wore no modesty clothing to conceal a thick patch of hair that Strechen assumed hid her genitals.

"Don't step on the garden plants. If you do, I'll have Strechen shoot you in the stomach," Tawtchee warned. Strechen saw mirth sparkle in the Terror's eyes.

"I see you have brought me gifts from Magnus," the Terror said, waving at the baskets of fruit.

"Yes," Tawtchee said, stepping forward.

"My brother must have known of my fruitless state so he sent you bearing fruit to remedy my lack of fruit so that I am no longer fruitless," the Guardian said. Tawtchee moved up and went down on one knee, holding up the wrapped object with two hands. Strechen had seen him practice that move over and over, based off of the advertisement for the Live Action Role Playing world.

"And this," Tawtchee said.

"A replica of a blade carried by officers in our military, with etchings inspired by the Guardian Magnus's tattoos, wrapped in the shirt worn by a warrior who wore it in combat." Strechen noted the archaic, circular mode that Tawtchee was speaking in as she moved up to the nearest agent.

"Go forward, set the basket down, then shuffled backwards to stand behind me," she ordered. Strechen saw the Terror's eyes flick toward her then back to Tawtchee.

"Polite and comes bearing gifts," the Terror said. She waved a hand that suddenly had purplish mist flowing off of it that dissolved only a few inches from her moving hand. A three legged seat suddenly appeared.

"I thank you for your gift and accept it in the spirit it is offered," she said. She lifted the sword up with one hand, grabbing the shirt in the middle. She pointed at the stool.

"Sit, sit." Tawtchee nodded, sitting down, his fur slick with sweat. The Terror watched each basket brought forward, set down, then watched the shuffling Way of the Means agent back up. She reached down, picked up a fruit, and tossed one to Tawtchee. She then made several motions with her hands, a gauzy nimbus of energy around them. A small three legged triangular table appeared next to Tawtchee with a ceramic mug full of dark brown liquid sitting in the middle.

"Ale. From my stores," the Terror smiled. She took a bite of the fruit.

"Peaches. I love peaches." Tawtchee just nodded, watching as the Terror slowly unwrapped the blade. She made appreciative noises as her fingers traced the engravings, rubbed the gems, and tested the edge.

"A fine blade. Made with machinery, but I doubt it was easy," she said.

"It was not," Tawtchee admitted, sipping at the mug, which had gathered condensation.

"You are much more respectful than the last of your kind to visit," the Guardian said. She waved at the small plants growing in wooden garden boxes.

"The last group deliberately stepped upon my strawberries, ruining them."

"My apologies," Tawtchee said.

"I already punished them for their temerity," the Guardian said. There was silence for a moment before the Guardian set down the hard brown shelled pit of the fruit.

"Would you like the full show, or just an exchange of pleasantries for you to know who I am?" the Guardian asked. Tawtchee thought for a second.

"Perhaps you would enjoy the theatrics?" he guessed. The Guardian smiled.

"I do enjoy them. My brother Magnus says it is because I am vain, and a woman, that I enjoy the theatrics."

"Your brother appears a simple man," Tawtchee said carefully.

"That's what he likes people to think," the Guardian laughed. She stood up, clapping her hands as if to dust them off.

"Well, shall we?" Tawtchee nodded, standing up. The Guardian drew herself to her full height, staring down her nose at the entire group. Strechen realized that she was over two meters tall. Storm clouds rolled in suddenly, purple and green lightning flickering in the roiling clouds. Wind picked up, rain and storm on the air. The sun suddenly dimmed. The Guardian threw her hands up, her hair suddenly unbraided and forming a corona around her head.

Burning red energy showed beneath her skin, forming an intricate pattern. The fire opals seemed to blink and transform into red eyes. Lighting roared down, raking the ground between the garden boxes, causing the world to rock with the detonation of thunder. It began to rain, cold chill water with the faint sting of an ice crystal at its core. The sun dimmed further until it was almost twilight. It all suddenly stopped.

"Behold!" she shouted in a voice that echoed off of the distant mountains and could be heard above the starship in orbit.

"I am Lady Surcsee Oathsworn, Servant of Nakteti the Traveler, Daughter of Lady Keena Oathsworn, Sister to Magnus Oathsworn, Wielder of the Nine World Engine Keys, Sister-Servant-Visitor of the Twilight Library, Guardian of the Path of the Traveler, and Duty Bound Immortal!" Strechen found herself face down on the ground, whimpering. She looked up and saw Tawtchee still standing in front of the Guardian. The Guardian dropped her hands, smiling.

The clouds tattered and vanished, the rain stopped, and the sun came back.

"Were you impressed?" she asked Tawtchee. Tawtchee nodded.

"Very much." The Guardian laughed as she sat down.

"Let us discuss the next steps you must take to follow the Path of the Traveler." Strechen was just glad she had not wet herself.