Nomads The Fallen God, Page 2

  Chapter 1. The Last of its Kind

  The Gods live in the heavens.

  Their homes are the stars.

  Some Gods are cast out.

  But they seek shelter in the earth.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  The great terror ship M-91 was once the pride of the Trajion battle fleet, its massive size alone made it one of the most formidable engines of destruction to ever move through the corridors of the Outer Rim. Many knew it by other names. The Terror Star or the Armageddon or a just The Ending, by whatever name it was known its coming only brought one thing.

  Eternal death.

  It was made from the finest Itarian steel and multi-layered with reinforcing shielding. Its outer hull was then layered again with another shield of poly-gromite bonds that tripled the fazic coating. Its three transverse engines gave it great speed and these were backed up by a dozen or more magnetic repulse drives. It could also sustain itself with solar power and Ion radiation if necessary. It was three times the size of the biggest Lightship of the Lomalgons or even the Precostigan fleets. Its gravity field alone could disrupt most Star destroyers by simply coming near them.

  As for its weaponry it had been fitted with a hundred or more particle Blaze-cannons of a magnitude ten and several more anti proton dividers. Along with those long-range weapons were numerous banks of sky fire bracing guns, all of them connected to the central command-targeting computer; with a Coregranic dimensioning system that was backed up by self-repairing capabilities. There were several more banks of Hidralinite torpedoes, each one built with self-intelligence targeting, and second level reasoning, what made it the most feared battle fortress in the fleet was its Rolac gun. A one of a kind technology, this weapon had the power to destroy a whole moon or fragmentize in seconds any other battle ship it might encounter. It was powered by a substance that was incredibly rare, and therefore its use was limited. Against its destruction there was no defense.

  The M-91 could also send out a whole fleet of encounter ships. Small fast remote drones that could fire at other warships, and self-destruct in a powerful blast if necessary, taking themselves, and whatever target they were sent out for into oblivion. They could also be used for reconnaissance and as a last resort they could attach themselves to the mother ship and tow it to safety.

  The terror ship could also repair itself, it was equipped with Task-robots that could find and make repairs, using whatever materials were at hand. They were partly organic in construction their metal casing made them very hard to destroy, They ran on power cells, or used solar energy, and they could absorb nutrients from living matter if necessary. Like all of their kind they obeyed any order given to them.

  The crew of the M-91 was made up of living creatures, they were not what could be called human. They were made specifically for warfare, and had no other purpose, other than to find the enemy and destroy it. They were without fear or mercy, and died without protest when called upon. They could not be reasoned with, talked to, bribed, or manipulated. They would kill or be killed, there was nothing else.

  Yes by any standard of destruction the M-91 was a thing of nightmares.

  That was many ages ago, the Trajion wars were long over, and the massive battle star fleets gone. The glory that once belonged to the great Lightship was long past, and its time was coming to an end.

  For many cycles it had wandered aimlessly through the Outer Rim alone and without purpose, other than to stay alive and wait for orders. It now lay hidden inside the corona of the third magnitude star called Procus; there it orbited and let the universe pass it by.

  Inside the main control room there was silence, the command crew that had once sat at the controls and fought bravely for victory over its enemies were now long dead. Their corpses lay like dried and broken manikins about the room. They had lain that way for a long time now, there was no one alive to dispose of their remains.

  The great ship was no longer capable of war, its Itarian hull was pockmarked with weapons fire and great chunks of plating were missing. In places its inner workings could be seen, like an open wound in the gigantic beast. Its drive engines were silent, the once deadly Blaze-cannons had very little ammunition left in their stockpiles. The powerful Rolac gun had no energy to emit its beacon of death. It orbited the great sun like a tiny metal moon, it drifted with the solar winds, and the Outer Rim forgot its name.

  It was not dead!

  The M-91 was a Mindlock ship, deep inside, surrounded by layer upon layer of shielding, was the organic reactive brain or ORB as it was called. It was not what you might think of as a creature, for it was only made up of mind cells charged by energy from the solar collectors. It did not feel or understand things as we might know them. It did know enough to realize its time had come, this made it even more deadly. It had been programmed for destruction and without anything to destroy it could not fulfill its main purpose.

  It had thought over its existence for some time, wallowing in its central programming, to hunt down the enemy and destroy it. It realized that without its weaponry it was incapable of carrying out that command. It had tried more than once to self-destruct by ramming into one of the enemy’s battle ships. It was unsuccessful. Its Armageddon device was not functioning, therefore it was unable to end its existence; in the event of being captured by the enemy as ordered.

  It drifted around the great sun and let the Repair-bots do their work. The worker drones had kept the great ship mostly intact by using whatever broken or damaged parts they could find in those sections that were no longer working. They had also removed several larger decks and let them be consumed by the fire of the sun. All that remained now, was an old and broken warship that everyone had forgotten.

  The Orb did not understand this, the war was still raging, and would do so for a long as its mind continued to function. There could be no other existence for the M-91. Without its weapons it was doomed to endless cycles of waiting and thinking and nothing else. For many cycles it planned and re-planned attack formations and strategies that would make it victorious in any battle situation. It devised intricate attacks on thousands of different enemy positions and how to defeat a combined force of hundreds of warships if necessary. Over and over it made its plans, always revising, tinkering, eliminating all flaws or any alternate scenario other than victory. It worked on this non stop and without rest.

  Then it gave up.

  There came a time when all plans were useless, all strategies un-workable, with no weapons and no drive engines it was not a force anymore. It took many more cycles for the Orb's mind to finally come to the conclusion that its existence was futile and that it had no purposes anymore.

  So now it simply waited, waited for a time when it could end its uselessness, and put an end to its existence.

  It wanted to die.

  As it did from time to time the Report Drone moved into the central command section and began its task of checking the maintenance of the great ship. The drone was one meter tall and resembled a Polmar water terminal, it was round with several tentacle-like arms that could manipulate controls and open hatchways. Its central brain was organic, and had been programmed with all the necessary information to understand the working of the M-91; it also had the access codes to allow it to interface with the Orb.

  It moved on its feeler treads, passed the withered hulk of a long dead crewman, and opened a small access port in the computer control station. This gave it an interface with the weapons array controller. It began making connections, there was some sparking, more than once the interface had to be reconnected, in a short time the drone had access.

  “Interface command report, all information as to the functioning level of the weapons, command level one, report”, it waited as the weapons began to respond.

  “reeeee peorrrties reporritsss, reporting----weapons off line, alllllllll arkeee all, all armament is non functioning at this time”, its mechanical voice was somber and without emotion.

  “Understood,”
the drone replied also without emotion, “report is unacceptable, continue working on weapons and make all necessary repairs as soon as possible”.

  “Unmannered underarm, -----understood” said the weapons array.

  The drone removed its interface connection and started to move away, the report of the weapons being non functioning was expected. It had made that very same report for over one hundred cycles, always the same report, “none functioning at this time”, always the same. That did not matter to the command drone, it would continue to ask that very same question a million times if necessary, it was programmed to ask, and would do so forever.

  Now the drone moved over to the main console, there it wheeled around another dried corpse and once more began to access an input port in the console. This time it was seeking out the crew manifest. It searched for a moment or two then found the right terminal and plugged itself in. There was some sparking again, and for a moment the whole control room luminescence dimmed, after another few seconds the light came back on, and the drone began its questioning.

  “Report on condition of crew” it asked, then waited, there was no response from the crew manifest and it asked again. “Report on condition of crew...Report...Report”, it waited.

  With a flash of sparks the console came alive and began to make its report, “condition of crew is non functioning, they’re dead”. The last words of the manifest, were not something that had originally been put in by the programmers. For some unknown reason the console had taken on a slightly different reporting manner than it should. It might have been the hastily adapted brain cells that it was made from, these came from a species known as the Caltrotie. They were a very intelligent race, prone to over dramatizing situations, rather than just giving out the pertinent facts. “They’re all dead, and they’re going to stay that way, I mean once you’re dead you’re dead, right?” It said.

  The drone listened to the console then made the proper response, “I do not need more information than necessary, do not waste energy”, then it began to disconnect from the terminal.

  as it turned away the console spoke once more. “Sure just the facts from now on that’s not going to bring back the dead is it?” Then it made a grating sound that might be considered as a laugh, if you believed that an information console was capable of laughter.

  Now the Report Drone, moved to the section of the bridge that controlled the power of the great ship. It was fully functional, and had been channeling all its memory banks onto the problem of getting the engines back online. In the last few cycles, it had made some progress, by removing all non working sections of the ship, and attaching gravity drive repulse engine, planning to make the war ship moveable. Work had been slow due to the outside temperature and the lack of shielding on the Repair-bots when they were sent outside. Many of them were now useless. and with fewer workers, it was getting harder and harder, to make the necessary repairs, still the work went on.

  The Report Drone moved to the Main Control Console, and plugged itself in, this time there were no sparks, and the drone asked its question quickly. “Report, what is the condition of the engines?”

  The Report Drone did not have to wait long for an answer. “Engines are non functioning”. The voice of the console was clear and precise.

  The answer from the Report Drone was also precise, “understood, what is the progress on alternative locomotion?”

  The Report Drone did not receive the answer it was expecting. For many cycles it had been asking about the alternative locomotion adaptations, and always received the same answer; “working on repairs”, this time the answer was only one word.

  “Working”.

  Nothing more, nothing less. With that single word came the information the Report Drone had been waiting for. “Clarify, is the alternative locomotion drive able to move the ship?”

  Again a simple answer, “yes”.

  With a more advanced mind controlling the drone, it might have shown some sort of emotion, on hearing that their long wait was now over. The drone did not possess such a mind and it simply replied.

  “Understood”.

  Saying nothing more it removed its attachments and left the control room.

  It would have been an easy thing in days long past, to relay the information to the Orb. It would have taken only a millisecond, for the control link to be connected, and all pertinent details downloaded to the central brain. Those connections had been destroyed in the last battle, now all information had to be taken to the core of the ship, and verbally transferred to the main controller.

  The Report Drone moved along the corridor, past Repair-bots and mummified crewmen, then into a small elevator that would take it to the very center of the warship. It took more than one attempt to get the elevator to work, after some cross connecting, the Report Drone was moving downward. It passed the crew's quarters and supplies, passed the ammunition depot, and into the bowels of the layered shielding where the Orb was confined. As it passed through the shielding it shuddered slightly, the Magnetic Repulsors always did this, and it made the Report Drone jump slightly, then it centered itself and continued on its way.

  The elevator stopped twice, to move past the metal shielding doors that kept the central command area safe, from all outside radiation. It could withstand even a direct hit from a Tri-boron warhead. It always took sometime for the elevator to open, the Report Drone moved from one transport to the next; it had to be done, to keep the central core safe. The second elevator, took the drone down three more levels, and finally opened, to let the robot out, then shut again.

  The Report Drone, moved on a narrow connection, to the Orb location; the great brain itself was housed in a clear Metiplexon container. It was round, and measured almost ten meters across, the brain itself, was a grayish color, and moved occasionally in a wave like motion. Its nourishment, came from conduits that ran from the power processing area, and directly into the brain. It was not, a complex situation, just simple organic proteins, to keep it alive and well.

  The drone approached the sphere, then spoke, in a loud clear voice. “Report Drone One conveying information to Orb, awaiting orders”. There was a long pause, as the drone waited for a response from the Orb, after some time, with nothing silence, the drone spoke once more, “Report Drone One conveying vital information to Orb. Respond!” Silence.

  As the drone was about to speak once more, the Orb's voice filled the room. “What is the information?” The voice was clear without emotion.

  The drone quickly responded. “Reporting that we have the capability of movement, awaiting orders”.

  The drone had delivered information to the Orb for a very long time. It had told it, basically the same thing over and over again, it had grown used to hearing, the same reply to its words. They were always without emotion, or any sign of hidden meaning or vagueness, now, it heard something it had not heard before, a slight rise in the Orbs voice levels.

  “We are free?” it asked.

  The drone was not sure just what the word “free” meant, and it had to think it over for a short time. It could not come to any qualified answer for that question, so it decided to just give the information it had already given. “We can move the ship now”, it said.

  This time the response from the Orb was cold and calculating “set course out of the corona”, it said dryly.

  “At once,” replied the Drone, “and what coordinates shall be set into the navigation console?” it asked.

  “Anywhere” replied from the Orb.

  Again the drone spoke, “and what will be our attack plan”, it asked.

  “There will be no attack plan at this time” the Orb shifted slightly in its globe.

  “Understood” said the Drone, “what shall be our goal, so that navigation will know, when we have reached it?”

  Again the Orb moved in its sphere, “our goal is to terminate” it said simply.

  “Understood”, replied the Drone, then it turned and started down the narrow corridor
.

  Drones were built to carry out orders, and to work for a central purpose, they asked questions so their orders could be carried out quickly and efficiently. Life or death meant nothing to them, it was just another order to be carried out. If you watched the small robot moving down the ramp, and out of the central command, you might have noticed that it was not moving very fast. Perhaps its power cells were running low and it needed recharging, or maybe there was a slight malfunction in its motivators, or maybe there was a sudden surge in the gravitational plating? its power cells were well charged and its motivators had recently been upgraded, and the gravitational plating was working perfectly so the only thing that might have slowed its motion was something impossible.

  It did not want to die.

  Whether it wanted to terminate, or not, was unimportant to what needed to be done. After passing through the shielding, and rising up through many levels in the elevator; the drone moved once more, into the Central Command Bridge. There it went to the Navigational Console, and plugged itself into the terminal. It waited as the proper coding was input, then began to transfer the orders to the ship.

  “Prepare for movement out of the corona”, it spoke calmly.

  The Navigational Console had not been used in a very long time. However, its last orders were sufficiently clear that it did not need to be reissued a new directive. To stop the Ship being pulled into the fiery heart of the star. It had followed its programming, using its Anti-gravity Repulsors, it had kept the ship at a set distance within the sun's corona. It had done its duty. When it was issued completely new orders, the organic brain wasn't sure it had heard properly.

  “Repeat orders” it said.

  The Report Drone answered it quickly, “prepare the ship for movement out of the corona”.

  This time the Navigational Console was sure it heard correctly, so it began making all the necessary adjustments to the sensors and checking its heading, the next question was simple enough, “what is our destination?” it asked.

  Again the reply came fast, “make heading for termination”.

  The console screen in the control room flickered to life and began showing hundreds of different star charts and Outer Rim coordinates. “I do not find a destination designated as termination, I will need clarification.” It said, as it continued to show hundreds of other star charts.

  The Report Drone began to move away from the console, and headed for the exit door, when the Navigational Console called out again, “I will need clarification as to the designation”.

  The Report Drone stopped, and its main sensor turned to the console, “find an enemy”, it said, then left the room.

  It took some time for the Repair-bots to check and recheck the couplings on the alternate locomotion drive units. They were just makeshift components from the main drive engines and would only make a movement level of point one. It would just be enough, to take the M-91 out of the corona, and into the space lanes of the Outer Rim once more. So after the Repair bots completed their checking and all Report Drones had given the go ahead the warship began to move away from the great star.

  As the broken hull of the once mighty warship left its flaming home, there was no fanfare, or cheers to mark its leaving. Many cycles ago it had been christened in blood, by its builders, and its Home-world rejoiced in the knowledge that it now had the most powerful engine of destruction, ever conceived by intelligent minds. Those builders stood proudly, and saluted the M-91 and its crew as it moved into the stars and into battle. They were sure that it was their destiny, to conquer the Outer Rim, and bring all others under their rule. That was long ago, and those builders and their Home-world, were now just a ring of asteroids, circling a dead star, all their glory forgotten, and all their dreams of conquest ended.

  Only one thing was left to show they even existed, a broken and powerless hulk, a warship that once struck terror into every planet of the Outer Rim. Now nothing more than a weary soldier looking to find peace.