Chương 46: Nova Wars - Chapter 40

Before even achieving superluminal travel, Terrans suffered under catastrophes that would have completely eliminated virtually every other society. Deceased reanimation plagues. Meteor impacts. Thermonuclear war. Global conflicts. Digital Sentience rebellions and wars. Colony wars within their own stellar system. Temporal warfare. Dimensional invasion. Reality matrix collapses.

Modeling these on all known species have resulted in a complete and catastrophic wipe out of every other life form exposed to just one of these. The Terrans came out the other side, bloodied and unbowed, a snarl on their lips and a rock held in their hand. Even superluminal travel did not change their fortunes. An attack by a Precursor Autonomous War Machine. The Friend Plague. The Andromeda Strain. Xenomorph attacks. The Devestators. They survived it all.

Everything that had destroyed virtually every other species that suffered even one of these events. Ask me now why my projections show that they will return. Maybe not soon for us, but at least for them. And when they do, they will be heavily armed and ready to fight. Bo'okdu'ust, Lanaktallan Socio-Mathmatician, Post-TXE For the Lanaktallan mindset and methods of government, forty-thousand years was hardly anything.

They had automation that could easily handle such an amount of time, completely unsupervised, losing only an infinitesimal amount of accuracy and execution. The forty thousand years had been full of upheavals, without a doubt. The Best Girl Wars --AKUMA IS BEST GIRL! -- and the Weeb Wars --I HAVE THE DRAGONBALLS AND THE HIGH GROUND MA'ANIKA'AN! -- were nothing more than historical footnotes in the steady march through time and history that the Lanaktallan people were capable of.

It was more than their long lifespan, with longevity therapies, most Lanaktallan could easily survive till their 2, 000th birthday --UNLESS IMMA GONNA GETCHA SUCKER-- and some even as far as 2, 500 years. It was their society, their mindset, and their willingness to put aside a sense of self to contribute to the health of the Great Herd.

The Lanaktallan of the Harmonous Empire took it as a simple fact that the vaunted white armored Terrans had, one at a time, entered cryostasis as they had aged, due to infertility and inability to be cloned any further. That the red armored Praetorian Guard had been incased in stasis fields at their appointed guard posts. That Darth Harmonous himself was entombed within a stasis field was just something that the Lanaktallan expected.

Of course such a powerful personage would enter stasis at a predetermined time of his choosing. Of course the temple housing his preserved body, encased in his jet black combat armor, would be full of bright flowers, the smell of vegetation, and the buzzing of bees. Lanaktallan had no problem keeping the traditions surrounding the founding of the Harmonous Empire. They followed the holidays and their rituals for tens of thousands of years with a dedication usually not seen outside of zealots of a recent upheaval.

The Lanaktallan were not worried about upgrading the technology of the Harmonous Empire beyond standard Confederate Planetary Defense Force standards. They largely kept the ship designs, following the thematic appearance even in new designs. A Lanaktallan from the Great Terran Die Off would have been perfectly comfortable in the familiar society of the Harmonous Empire 40, 000 years later. It was the Lanaktallan's greatest strength and their greatest weakness.

Sergeant Shre'edrmo'o had joined the Harmonous Army over three decades prior. He had fought on airless moons against pirates, he had qualified for the vaunted Moo-Course and become Special Forces, and had even earned his PX Ranger card by providing Matron Security during Black Rain Friday. He was comfortable in cloth uniform, plated armor, even basic power armor. He could drive and operate fighting positions in every vehicle in the Empire's armory, even the ancient ones from history.

He had even been part of the Liberation Day Parade more than once, one time even driving an ACK-ACK mobile assault fortress as the citizens cheered and wept with joy. Now he guarded the Tomb of Rememberance, where the Beloved Sister and Beloved Children were interred, where Preatorian Guards stood within stasis fields and silently guarded their virtue and honor.

He stood to one side of the Tomb of the Dark Lord, his dress uniform of black and silver immaculate, his loaded rifle held in three hands while his sword hand held his chrome bladed Cutting Bar Mark-2. He stared straight forward, ignoring questions, statements, and everything but any assault upon his person or any attempt to cross the ropes or otherwise disturb the Tomb of the Dark Lord.

Behind him were five experienced and faithful Honored Guard, arranged in two rows (one of two, the row of three in the back) behind him. The back row wore power armor and carried heavy weapons that had slowly steaming ammo forges and the warning lights of live weaponry. The one behind him wore hard armor and carried live weapons. On his right, across the Tomb of the Dark Lord, was another Honored Guard. They looked identical, as was proper.

Entombed in hypnocite was the Dread Lanaktallan, whose name had been buried by history, who had been forced to kneel before the Dark Lord. He was behind the Tomb of the Dark Lord, frozen forever in hibernation by methods strange and arcane. The Lanaktallan was frozen, rearing, screaming in rage and fury, one hand outstreched in an attempt to grab any who came near. The Honored Guard were there to protect the populace just as much as they were to protect these precious heritage relics.

Shre'edrmo'o heard a small 'crack' sound. Not loud, but audible over the hushed conversations taking place in the Tomb of Rememberance. His ears perked up and he glanced around. It had sounded like glass cracking. He reflexively looked at the stained glass representations of the Beloved Sister and the Beloved Children. They were intact. <krik> Again, glass cracking under stress. This time he looked around. Protocol allowed such an action.

He activated his augmented vision as his cyberoptics swept over the quiet and respectful crowd. The ceiling was intact. The windows intact. He realized he could smell ozone and taste...... blackberries? He looked around, changing his hold on his rifle from parade ground to high ready, bringing it up to his shoulder even as he triggered an alert over his datalink.

"The Tomb of Rememberence is closing for maintenance and cleaning. Thank you for your cooperation" a Matron's voice calmly stated. The gathered pilgrims turned and moved toward the door, some murmurs of disappointment floating through the air. Shre'edrmo'o ignored it, looking around. He motioned to his men to take up positions to protect the Tombs, tapped an alarm for the quick reaction forces hidden in the back rooms. More 'krik' and the taste of blackberries increased.

It suddenly felt like a mailed fist was squeezing the top of his head. The phasic suppressor hidden in his dress hat kicked in with a high pitched whine. He could taste blackberries and it felt like his back chewing teeth were covered in electric glitter. His retinal link showed that the suppressor was at 84% load.

"We're under phasic attack," Shre'edrmo'o snapped. He reached out to put the facility on lockdown. Stasis glass shattered behind him. He whirled in time to see a black fist above the broken stasis glass. The armor was intact and gleaming, as if it had just been polished. The fist withdrew and then punched out of the glass again. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The entire surface of the stasis glass shattered away.

Time seemed to slow down to Shre'edrmo'o as the figure imprisoned behind the glass sat up, a smooth movement from the waist that seemed to involve no other muscles. The burial cloth of fine black silk fell from the armored visage. The eyes of the armored mask burned red. Wheezing breathing was loud in the silence of the Tomb of Rememberance. One hand grabbed the edge of the glass, shattering it, and the figure swung its legs out before standing up.

The night black cape fell down the back, almost touching the floor, billowing behind the figure as it moved around the shattered stasis crypt to stand at the base. Shre'edrmo'o could only stare in shock as Darth Harmonous extended his right hand. The chrome cylinder flew into his hand. The plasma blade ignited with a swoosh and Shre'edrmo'o just stared.

"What dog meat has awoken me from my endless dreamless slumber?" Darth Harmonous's voice was a bass rumble. There was silence for a moment. The world suddenly went still. The lights dimmed. LET THE UNIVERSE SHAKE IN THE WRATH OF TERRASOL The roar was all consuming, shaking the foundations of reality itself. Darth Harmonous raised his face slightly, as if he was looking at the stars in the sky.

"As you command, mother," the Dark Lord rumbled. Shre'edrmo'o went down on one knee, bowing his head as the Dark Lord swept by. He paused at each of the kneeling Lanaktallan to touch the tops of their heads gently.

"You have kept the faith, loyal ones," he wheezed in his deep voice.

"And I shall hold the compact and promises I have made and protect my people." Shre'edrmo'o was unashamed to later admit he wept.

It burned like bitter battery acid flavored ice cream in his mouth to have had to retreat again. To have followed the Grand Admiral's orders to abandon yet another stellar system to the Mar-gite. But Captain N'Skrek knew his duty, no matter how bitter the flavor of the ice cream. The Grey Lady was in hyperpace, its massive engines making the entire vessel thrum with power.

Its hyperspace sensors could detect the rest of the fleet, all four task forces, each dozens of ships, all of them heading for the next line in the sand. The Mar-gite had overrun nearly five hundred light years since they had crossed The Mar-gite Bridge. They had forced Space Force to retreat again and again. To hastily evacuate what material and people they could. The last time, Captian N'Skrek had been forced to choose resources and material over people.

The vast creation engines on the Grey Lady were, like almost all vessels, dark and cold. They had been for thousands of years. The massive ones on the planets were Creation Engine Mark-Six models, they still worked, able to put out basic materials for manufacturing facilities to process into materials. The Grey Lady had massive manufacturing bays inside its colossal hull. Fabrication bays that could turn out everything from small microbolts to complete aerospace strikers and tanks.

The problem was, he didn't have enough people to run them and nobody was trained on the esoteric systems within those fabrication and manufacturing bays. His ship was the largest in the Fleet. It was also the least full for its Table of Organization & Equipment. Less than 25% of the battle stations had anyone at them. Three quarters of those were civilians who had completed the bare-bones tutorials on the offensive and defensive systems.

The majority of the systems were either on automatic, using brain dead low-end virtual intelligences rather than digital sentiences, or they were unmanned completely. Engineering and drive shifts were at only 33%. His bridge crew was at 12%. Even with a Telkan Marine Division, a Confederate Marine Division, and a Confederate Army Division his ground assault levels were at only 16%. The ship was capable of housing an entire Army Group and a Marine Expeditionary Group.

He had three divisions, all of them at barely 70% manpower. The corridors were often dark and silent. The crew kept to main passages and the enlisted of the Marines and Army, as well as some of the Space Force and Navy enlisted, all reported that they had seen ghostly forms of Terrans in old armor moving through the dark passages and corridors away from the main corridors. Inspections had always found nothing, although more than once a security team had gotten lost for hours or even days. But still it was reported.

More than a few times with video evidence. Even so, the Grey Lady fought on. He had everything a commander could want, the armories loaded with power armor, robot combat armor, warmeks, rawrmeks, and a half dozen Pacific Rim class Jaegermeks. He had massive foundries, refit bays, training and living areas, three hospitals. He also had barely ten thousand Space Force personnel, all of them doing five or six jobs each, stretched painfully thin. He wasn't the only one.

Even the light corvettes and frigates were barely at 60% of crew, at best. The super-dreadnoughts that his ship dwarfed were only at 40%. And the Mar-gite kept pushing them back after inflicting casualties. Ships came in to replace the destroyed vessels almost as fast as the Fleet arrived at their next line in the sand. Always too little. The Mar-gite were endless. Scouts left behind sent message torpedoes laden with the same message.

Mar-gite clusters in the Petra-Cluster range still making translation into Galactic Spur In other times, Captain N'Skrek might have felt despair. But other times had not heard the roar of rage emanate from TerraSol as it had reemerged into a malevolent and hateful universe. Other times he would not have seen and heard the words of the legendary Captain Decken. So, despite the bitter taste, he kept his chin up, his bladearms sharp, and carried on.

Which was why he was stepping out of the corridor and into the briefing room. The roar had been heard only four hours before they had been forced to retreat from a planet, but all of the Marines had been recovered as well as their objectives. The massive creation engines of the fabled Akknerver-Nakkad Shipyards. His XO, Commodore Johnathon Argus Steeljaw Gunchester sat at the table, next to Chief of Communications Shelkrwark, Chief of Engineering Mo'obri'yan and Chief Medical Officer Shruk'mar.

"Any luck on the Digital Sentience front?" N'Skrek asked even before he sat down. His XO shook his head.

"No. The salted caramel rainbow hash table is completely depleted. Any remaining code strings have unraveled due to age." N'Skrek nodded. It had been expected, but while there was life, there was hope.

"I have news," Chief Mo'obri'yan stated.

"Go ahead, Chief," N'Skrek said.

"I know how old the ship is, though we don't know what its name was, and where it was manufactured. It might give us a clue as how we can handle everything, or it might just cause consternation," the Chief said. N'Skrek waited. The Chief activated the holo-emitter and it sprang to life.

"The Grey Lady is almost as old as the enlisted joke about her," the Chief said. He looked N'Skrek in the eyes.

"It was built on Mars." N'Skrek blinked his protective eye covers.

"Mars?" the XO asked.

"Mars," the Chief said.

"THE Mars. The Wrath Forges of Mars. It was commissioned just prior to the Second Precursor War and was deployed to the Lanaktallan front during the war against the Precursor Autonomous War Machines, before even the arrival of the Atrekna. It was lost during the Terran Xenocide Event and found about twenty-thousand years ago. It underwent minor refit, exorcisms, and was put into service with a Planetary Defense Force out near the Mar-gite Isolation Zone.

From there, it fell into our hands when the Mar-gite overran the system." N'Skrek lit a cigarette with a shaking hand. That explained some of the enlisted whispering about ghosts in the corridors.

"Do we at least have a full schematic of the ship?" N'Skrek asked. Chief Mo'obri'yan shook his long head.

"No. Anything with that kind of security requires a DS to decrypt and we don't have one." N'Srek sighed even as he took a long drag off of his cigarette.

"That brings up to my point," Chief of Communications Shelkrwark said, rubbing her biceps in the telltale Rigellian habit that appeared during high stress.

"Go ahead," N'Skrek said, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the ship was from Mars of all places. Of course it doesn't bother Mo'obri'yan, his people would consider this ship fairly new and untested and probably would call it a prototype, N'Skrek thought to himself. After all, the reactor mass hadn't hardened into solid rock or been consumed by entropy yet.

"Starting two hours after the Terran Emergence Signal," she said.

"That's a bland name for a scream of rage that knocked everyone in the universe on their ass," N'Skrek snickered. That got chuckles.

"Anyway, starting two hours after that, we started getting a signal that went directly to the primary computer core. Which, I might add, still is ignoring us like we don't exist," she said. A glance at Chief Mo'obri'yan made the Lanaktallan just shrug and mouth "Mars" back.

"The higher we moved into the hyperspace bands, the faster the data stream. We can't stop it, we don't know where it's coming from and we don't know how we're receiving it." She reached out and took a sip of water from the caraf in front of her.

"Data streams are going to the engineering, electronic warfare, digital sentience sustainment, and the medical primary computer cores. All of which have been ignoring us like we don't exist since we fired the old broad up," She shrugged.

"Starting thirty minutes ago, the primary computer core went from a 2. 8% data and processing load to over 80%," Shelkrwark said. She shook her head.

"We don't know why. We don't know what it's doing. We do know one thing." With that she pointed at Chief Medical Officer Shruk'mar, who took a deep breath and tapped the table.

"This ship, like a lot of the older ones, have heavy duty clone banks that largely ignore everything you try. The majority of the time, those clone banks are pulled and replaced with other material in the limited space a ship has," he said. N'Skrek just nodded.

"Ten minutes ago, those cloning banks all went online and started receiving a massive amount of data from the primary computer core and the primary medical computer core as well as unidentified systems that we can't figure out," he said. He tapped his datapad.

"I was just alerted, two minutes ago, that the cloning banks are running a maintenance cleaning cycle." Chief Engineer Mo'obri'yan looked at his datapad and then back up, blinking all six eyes rapidly for a moment.

"Not to interrupt, but my Chief of Fabrication just hit me with a priority flash," he said.

"What?" N'Skrek asked.

"The fabrication and manufacturing systems all just went live," he checked his datapad again.

"And the creation engines just began drawing massive amounts of power."

"Which ones?" N'Skrek asked.

"The ones originally installed on the ship," the Chief Engineer said.

"Sir," the Chief Medical Officer said, looking up from his datapad.

"Yes?" N'Skrek calmly lit a cigarette even though, in his mind, he was running in circles screaming.

"The cloning banks just went to print mode." I live. I die. I live again.