The Fallen God, Page 2

  Now the Report Drone moved to the section of the bridge that controlled the power of the great ship. It was fully working and had been funneling all its memory banks on the problem of getting the engines back online. In the last few cycles it had made some progress but removing all none working sections of the ship and attaching gravity drive repulse engine designs to hopefully make the war ship moveable. But work had been slow due to the outside temperature and the lack of shielding on the Repairbots that were sent outside. Many of them were now useless and with fewer workers it was getting harder and harder to make the necessary repairs, but 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 none functioning”. The voice of the console was precise and complete.

  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” but this time the answer was only one word.

  “Working”.

  Nothing more or less, but with the single word came the information that 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 shone some sort of emotion on hearing that their long wait was now over, but the drone did not possess such a mind and it simply replied.

  “Understood”.

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

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

  So the Report Drone moved down the long corridor pass Repairbots and mummified crewmen and into a small elevator that would take it to the very center of the war ship. It took more than one try to get the elevator to work but after some cross connecting the Report Drone was moving downward. It passed the crew 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 shuttered slightly, the magnetic repulses always did this and it made the Report Drone jump slightly but then it centered itself and continued on its way.

  The elevator stop twice to move pass the metal shielding doors that kept the central command area safe from all outside radiation and would withstand even a direct hit by any tri-boron warhead. It always took some time for the elevator to open and the Report Drone move from one transport to the other but 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 and then shut itself up again.

  The Report Drone moved on a narrow connector 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 in a wave like motion now and then, its nourishment came from conduits that ran from a 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 and then spoke in a loud clear voice, “Report Drone one conveying information to orb, waiting orders”. There was a long pause as the drone waited for a response from the Orb, but after some time with nothing but silence the drone spoke once more, “Report Drone one conveying information of a vital level to orb, respond”, again only silence.

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

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

  For a very long time the drone had come and given information to the Orb, it had told it basically the same things over and over again, and it had grown used to hearing the same reply to its words. Always without emotion or any sign of hidden meaning or vagueness but now it heard something that 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. But 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 calmly.

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

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

  “Anywhere” replied from the Orb.

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

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

  “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, and then it turned and started down the narrow corridor.

  Drone were built to carry out orders and to work for a central purpose, they asked questions so that there orders could be carried out quickly and efficiently, life or death meant nothing to them, it was just another order to be carried out. But if you watched the little robot moving down the ramp and out of the central command you might have noticed that it wasn’t 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? But 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 that would be impossible.

  It did not want to die.

  But whether it wanted to terminate or not was unimportant to what needed to be done, so after passing through the shielding and rising up through the many levels in the elevator the drone moved into the central Command Bridge once more. There it went to the navigational console and plugged itself into the terminal. It waited as the proper coding was inputted and 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, its last orders were clear enough that it did not need to be reissued a new directive. It had followed its programming and kept the ship within the suns corona and at a set distance so that it wouldn’t be pulled into the fiery heart of the star. It had used its antigravity pulsars to do this and it had done its duty, so when it was issued new orders the organic brain that controlled the movement of the war ship wasn’t sure it 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 cha
rts and Outer Rim coordinates, “I do not find a destination designative 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 Repairbots to check and recheck the couplings on the alternate locomotion drive units. They were just makeshift components of the main drive engines and would only make point one level movement but it would 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 Repairbots completed their checking and all Report Drones had given the go ahead the warship began to move out of the great star.

  As the broken hull of the once mighty war ship left its flaming home there was no fanfare or cheers to mark its leaving. Many cycles ago it had been christen 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. But that was long ago and those builders and there Homeworld 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 war ship that once struck terror into every planet of the Outer Rim, but now nothing more than a weary soldier looking to find peace.

  Chapter 2.

  A New Day.

  The Gods are eternal and you live in their shadows.

  There is a beginning and end of things and I see all.

  The days of the past are connected to those of the future

  And death is not an end to the will of my heart.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  Karus and Micos were brothers in the sky, the Burning time was far passed and the long warm days of the Growing time was now. This was a time of plenty for the Nomads; the great herds of Rimar stretched as far as the eye could see and vast fields of Kasha-wheat covered the land like a golden blanket of life. The Goddess Isarie had made it this way for her children and they were thankful for her wisdom.

  The Great War with the Talsonar was over and although the losses to the Outlanders were great they were not vanquished. The Almadra had lost many good warriors, but the Nomads would assimilate others into the tribe, and those that no longer had a clan to follow would join their ranks. Even the Thungodra would find new members, for they were a fellowship that took an oath to guard the Holy Mother, and they would do so till the stars no longer shone in the night sky.

  Arn and Andra had been mated, they were joined by the new Holy Mother and she had blessed their union with all the favors of the Gods. The tribe had sung the old songs of love and drank to their long life, and although many of the Elders still did not look kindly on a Nomad being mated to an Offworlder they held their tongues and did not speak of it.

  Egmar was content with her new life, her body still bore the many scars from her time with the Shadowmen, but her soul was not hardened by the past events of the war with the Talsonar. She had seen her husband die by the hands of her son but that was the way of their tribe and it could not be otherwise. Arn could not become King without facing his father in the Challenge pit and killing the leader of their tribe so that he could wear the crown of Kingship.

  Even the loss of her second son Agart did not weaken her belief in the Goddess and turn her away from her faith. She did still have pain when she thought of her only daughter lying under the rocky ground in the Sirolian plains. But she knew that Seeda always loved the Greenland’s and her soul would rest easy knowing that her name was written with pride in the Book of Isarie.

  Now she rode in the great wagon of the High Priestess and listened to the turning of the wheels as they moved over the hard ground, the huge wagon was many times the size of a regular vehicle of the Outlands. It was pulled not by one or even two Trofar, no, it took a dozen and more to move the shrine over the land. Its eight wheels were many times the height of a tall warriors and as wide as an adult Rimar. It had three levels, each one with a purpose. The lower level for storage of holy items and the hundred things needed to appease the Gods, next came the quarters of the Holy Mother, and an altar for prayers and sacrifices. On the top most section was an observation platform that was used for looking out over the lands of Gorn and up at the heavens.

  Inside Egmar thought of her youngest son Anais. She knew that he would never see again. The wounds to his eyes at the battle near the Heart of Shawcona would never be healed even with the power of the crystal spiders and Rebirth he would always walk in darkness, she knew it was a punishment from the Gods for the transgressions against them.

  She now sat quietly as the wagon moved, the old woman wore a thick robe and over her thin shoulder was a cloak made from the skins of fattened Burrow babies, she also had a small woven cap on her head that she had made many years ago. It was a rather worn hat and not at all fitting for the speaker of the Gods but Egmar always loved the headpiece and it reminded her of happier times. So she now sat in peace and sipped from her cup of Deep-root tea, the drink was hard to make for the tuber was difficult to find and rare among the tribes. She knew it was an indulgence and being a Holy Mother she should not have taken pleasure in its delicious taste but she did anyway, but with each cup she prayed for forgiveness from Isarie and hoped that she might resists the temptation next time.

  Near her were the small personal items the she had used when she was Queen, she still slept in the old bed that Karn had made for her so many cycles before. Next to that sat the Ancestor-chest that all Nomads held so dear, inside were the many trinkets of her mothers and her mother’s before that, small keepsakes that were not of much value in trade but bore a high price in treasures of the heart. Close to the chest and sitting on a carved table was a small golden statue of the Goddess, it was well made and anyone could see it was the work of the Sea-people, for its base was incrusted with shells and pearls of a goodly size. The statue had been in the possession of Egmar from her youth and it was one of the most treasured items that the Holy Woman possessed. As she looked at it she smiled for she knew that her life was fulfilled now and that the rest of her days would be spent in helping others and in worship of the Gods.

  She looked at the statue and closed her eyes, The Gods have been merciful with me, She thought...I have prayed to them and they have seen fit to grant me a good life, my people are safe now, the Goddess is all powerful. She opened her eyes and took another sip of her warm tea.

  But what she did not know was that the mercy of the Gods is sometimes harsh and not all prayers are answered.

  Behind the great wagon of the Holy Mother was the rolling enclosure of the Molock, the sacred beast that would be fattened and then sacrificed at the mating ceremonies in the great dome in the land of Omargash. But that time was far off and the Spikeback had little to fear. After that came the wagons bearing the precious Grana, the green salt that all creatures of Gorn must have to survive, it filled several large wagons and was heavily guarded for without it they would soon become sick with plague that infects all Nomads and die in agony. Lastly were the wagons of the Ironworkers, the skilled men and women who made the armor and weapons for the tribe. Their furnaces were always hot but there was little smoke for they burned Eul, the hard dark rock that is plentiful over all the Outlands.

  At the head of the column of Almadra rode the King and his mate, Arn stood proud and strong in his saddle. He looked regal in his armor and holding his warriors ax in his strong hand, his eyes look straight ahead as his tall strong body swaged easily to the movements of his Whiptail
, and as he gazed over the landscaped he smiled. There for as far as he could see was open Greenland’s and a crystal clear sky. Ahead of them lay the lands to the East, the great forests of Caltarine, the home of the tree people.

  As he turned to look back over his shoulder he could just make out the tall peaks of Omar-Ran fading in the distance. He looked up and saw several Sun Droppers but he knew there was little to fear from the fly reptiles for they never attacked a large group of Nomads, and preferred to wait till they could find a lone traveler or a weak creature of the Outlands. He glanced down at his saddle, there hanging by a strip of Rimar hide was a brown and dried skull, its long gray hair was matted dried blood and there was little skin left on the white bones. There were few who could have recognized the head of Obec, the once powerful High Priestess was now only a ghastly ornament for a the leader of the Almadra

  The King smiled to himself...You once spoke for the Gods, but you have little to say now, Then he turned to look at the woman riding by his side.

  Andra looked beautiful in her shining armor and helmet, her skin had taken on a golden brown color from the warm suns and if anyone looked at her now they would never know that she was not a true Nomad and that her home was not the Outlands. Around her neck hung the golden Journey-Nail of the Outlanders for it would be driven into the hand at their funeral to hold their weapon in the Afterlife. Her hair was now long and flowed in the wind like a dark wing of a Call bird but it did not cover the mating rings that the other females of the tribe wore when they had taken a mate for the Off-World girl did not follow that practice.

  She held her war-ax in her right hand and with the other guided her Whiptail like a well-seasoned warrior. Her body was hardened by the rough life of a Nomad; the only thing missing was the attractive facial tattoos that every female of the Nomads had. She did bare one small marking on her face to the left side of her cheek, a tiny image of a flower, the Moonbud, the flower that kills. It was the name given to her by the King and the name she was known by in the Outlands. The tattoo was small and not something that could be seen from a distance, but it was of little matter to the King. As he looked into her face he still felt the same longing that he had the first time he saw her.