[Fiction] Children of Kadesh Bk II

[Norsehound]

Children of Kadesh

Book II

Based on the Homeworld universe by Relic Entertainment
Written by Michael Ptak (Norsehound@comcast.net)

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2.0
Exiles

It was to be the greatest achievement of all time. In the history of the Kharakian people, no single project, endeavor, or effort had ever been conceived on a similar scope. To their ancient forefathers, such an enterprise would have been equal to moving the heavens themselves. This was the magnitude of what was demanded on the Kharakian civilization.

As monumental as it was, the need was very simple: They must leave. Kharak was a dying planet that could barely sustain the population as it was. Arable land was receding, and there was no other solution possible that allowed the civilization to survive.

The wreckage at the city of Khar-Toba had given them both their answer and their destiny. They were not native here. The illusions of being a godforsaken people were truly swept away in this new renaissance of reason and ideas. If gods did not cast them down from the heavens, then how did their metal spaceship come to be here?

The answers could not be found on Kharak. They were in the core, where the guidestone pointed to their origins. This was the only way to find the answer to the question all Kharakains now asked themselves: “Who are we?”

It was a dramatic step however. Not all wanted to go. Some, clinging to their faith, believed that the great darkness that cast them from heaven still remained. The effort into space, they proclaimed, was futile. Venturing towards those distant point of lights would only bring doom and damnation to the Kharakian people. This folly would spell the end of their race, and to this end many either worked to sabotage the great project, or remained behind.

Many more wanted to leave. Kharak was already a known quantity, and her sister moons and planets offered little adventure in the face of this new challenge. The mothership, powered by the massive artifact found in the buried ark, was going further than any Kharkaian native had in recorded history. It was a challenge everyone wanted to undertake… but few could participate in.

Necessity, ultimately, was the deciding factor. Armed with their knowledge of genetics the Kushan people screened their population to find whom among them was best for the journey. They would not take the old, and with some exceptions, the young could not go either. The colonists for the core-ward journey had to be fit and fruitful. There was to be no sickness among them, no disease, no deformities. While some human rights groups protested the draconian nature of this policy, the Kushan people had no choice. This was, perhaps, their only shot at the survival of the Kushan people. Brutal as it was, there was no allowance for everyone to go.

Tuur of Manaan had been one of the chosen for the Gold List.

He was an agricultural engineer, being the son of a noteworthy wind-trap construction overseer. Tuur had continued the practice after the death of his father, and was known as one of the more skilled of the wind-trap makers in the harbor of Bactra. He had even known his name to be carried as far north as Tiir, where once he was asked to travel to the city of Baali to construct wind traps there. Tuur was not a special man outside of this, just an ordinary colonist.

He had applied to the Gold List because he wanted to be more than what he was. The chance for a greater opportunity was before him, and his father felt that Tuur should go. The family line should continue on the New World.

Of course that was before his death. With Tuur leaving there would be no males of the family left. The line would die here on Kharak or vanish in marriage to another house.

He was not the only Manaani, but he was the last male of the Manaani descendants of Mahaiid Manaan, one of the great sand pirates during the aeon of strife. Tuur wasn’t sure if he was proud to carry this legacy or not, but his father had taken a deep pride in it.

But closer to him than the importance of his herriatage was the importance of his family. Today, he would be saying goodbye for the last time.

His possessions were already packed. He was only allowed to carry with him items that fit into a space no bigger than a shoebox. He had whittled everything down to only the most essential and personal of things. When they had been packed, all that remained for Tuur was to report to the cryo-fields to the north. He would have to go to the meeting station in town before proceeding there.

His mother did not say much. She had already cried late into the night about seeing her only son off to an unknown future. She was out of tears, and out of emotion. Tuur could not think of anything to say to her, his path was already set. There was no going back.

But there was Aii. The young girl was eight years old and barely capable of understanding the mission that her brother was about to take. She was a cute child, blossoming with life and promise. When she was born Tuur’s father had prophesied that Aii would be the ‘flower of the town’, and chased after by all the men.

Tuur wondered now what men would be left to chase Aii.

She was too young to accompany the sleepers- tests with children her age and younger did not end well. She would have to remain behind and take care of the reed of their mother. Tuur did not have words for this.

“Take your sister for a walk.” Was all his mother said to him that morning. So Tuur and Aii left to walk the coastline.

It was not a cliff over water, but over sand. Looking out across the cove Tuur surveyed the vast canvas-stretches of the wind traps. These wind traps did many things- from harvesting the moisture in the air to harnessing the wind for energy demands. It was a great thing, harnessing nature. The progressives of Kharakian society prided themselves on how easily they dominated it.

Aii bounced along ahead of him, smiling as she tracked a sand-lizard. This was her hobby, terrorizing small lizards who were helpless against the face of Kushan kind. Tuur wondered if the great ancestors of these creatures could have ever foreseen the arrival of the exiles.

Tuur heard the roar of an aircraft overhead, and looked up to see the huge air transport moaning across the sky. He shielded his face, watching the silhouette of the delta-shaped craft fly over in a cloudless sky.

A gust of wind kicked up, blowing the sand around them.

you’re going away, aren’t you?

Tuur looked down at Aii. She had her hands cupped, and in between her fingers the lizard peeked out at the world.

Tuur approached his sister and knelt down before her, unsmiling. “Yes Mi’ye, I’m going away.”

will you ever be coming back?

“I don’t know.”

Tuur did not know if the colonists would be returning here. It had been hoped by some that an emigration of the rest of Kharak’s population would be possible… once the planet had been cultivated and prepared. Even then, though, he had a feeling decades would pass before return would be considered.

The brochures conveniently ignored this question.

Aii looked down at the lizard in her hands. It peeked out of Aii’s fingers up at Tuur, and then again at the world. It’s little fingers grasped Aii’s own… Tuur never understood why the lizards had never attacked Aii whenever she picked them up. It had been her gift.

She smiled and bent down, releasing the little lizard. It scurried off across the hardsand, paused for a moment, then vanished in the brush.

Tuur had watched it go and before he knew it, his sister jumped on him in an embrace. She was crying.

Tuur couldn’t help but start crying too. Doubtless, he knew, this same scene was happening across the face of Kharak. No family had been untouched by the Gold list decision, either for loosing a member to it or having nobody go at all.

Tuur thought the latter group may have been luckier.

They sat together in that silence, just crying for a long moment. The air transport was already long gone.

It was time to go.

He had to part from his sister, eyes wet. He didn’t bother to clear them.

She wiped hers though, then took another look at him before she looked down and unclasped the locket around her neck.

“Mi’ye-“ Tuur started in protest.

I want you to have it .

She held it out for Tuur.

Tuur hesitated, but took the little locket and opened it for himself to see.

Tuur’s family had two years as a complete unit. In that time, they had taken photographs only rarely. The image in the locket was one such instance. He was dressed in white at the time, that shirt having been lost some years ago on a trip into the desert. Everything had been so distant then… that day especially.

He closed the locket, and couldn’t take it anymore. He hugged his sister again, regretting in that moment of all moments that he had to leave her in this world.

Promise me you’ll come back! She demanded, Promise!

“I promise, mi’ye”… was all Tuur could say. Somehow, someway, he would come back for them.

















”There’s nothing left. Everything’s gone….Kharak….is burning….”

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Soundtrack: The Mission (From the Sum of All Fears soundtrack)

[Norsehound]

2.1
The Keepers

The great pine called Taberah was a long and slender image. Nothing quite like it had ever come to pass before. It was an elegant, compact design highly functional for its intended purpose. It was one of the ships that held the entire population of the Kadeshi people.

She was one of three, being the second of the pines completed and outfitted for service. Though she didn't have the status and blessings of her older sister, the pine called Jahnnam, she was still majestic and beautiful among the silent stars.

As beautiful as she was, she was forever bound to the rosy haze behind it. This was their abode: the Garden of Kadesh. It was their haven.

Moreover the rosy haze was but the physical manifestation of their Protector, the Goddess Kadesh. They could not abandon her to be ravished by the avatars of Greed, nor could the Kadeshi themselves hope to leave her presence and be destroyed by the other monsters of the Outside.

It was borderline heresy for the Pine called Taberah to be this far away from the Gardens. She was on the fringe of the nebula with her swarmer ports open as the perfectly spherical Oss pods were being deployed. The remote sensors functioned as the eyes of the Kadesh, being in places where her servants could not. They informed the pines when intruders set their foot inside the gardens, and signaled to the nearest of the Protectors to come and deal with them. In this way, they had both increased their flock and their territory to totally encompass the garden. Now, few infidels ever dared to challenge the nebula’s protectors.

Though, against the black of naked space, the pine called Taberah was moon-white.

She would have been alone save for the small one-man vehicles that surrounded her. None of them moved as the mechanical servants of Kadesh were released into the darkness, and disappeared among the inky nothingness at the fringe of her Grace.

Though they were invisible among the stars, these automated eyes of Kadesh- ‘Oss’ pods as they had been ordained- were occasionally happened upon by the unclean. In every case, the vessel self destructed to prevent capture, and notified the Protectors of the violation simultaneously. No Kadeshi would serve another deity in life… a fact which also extended to her automated servants.

The pine named Taberah had finished its duties and recalled its craft. Within the confines of the vessel the operation was announced a success, and the pine would soon return to the warm embrace of the gardens.

“Huzzah!” the populace cried at the completion of the sermon, then returned to their daily tasks.

A door in this ring-world opened and emerging from it was the Speaker of Kadesh. There was only one in the entire population of the Kadeshi people, and he was the only one who was allowed to converse with the unclean. He was called Paul.

Paul was a tall man, dressed in the everyday white suit of the clean. Being a speaker to the unclean, he was allowed facial hair. The goatee about his chiseled face was the result of a long debate inside the inner circle of the Kadeshi religion. It had been permitted when the late Bishop Balberith pointed out that the unclean felt a little more complaint when they met like-bodied members. Many of the unclean had hair on their face, and so Paul was likewise given this feature.

Paul did not mind. In a way, he enjoyed his individuality. He was one of the few allowed in the inner sanctums, one of the few whom all Kadeshi knew by name and sight. He was one of the few allowed to go wherever he wished and one of the few allowed to overrule some decisions from the lower ranks of the clergy.

However his position was not entirely a joyful one. As Speaker of Kadesh, he was seen by some within the clergy as ‘virtually unclean’ in himself. Though he was born and raised a protector of Kadesh, his duties with the unclean meant he had to be separated from the rest of the pure. He was not allowed to touch anyone, nor was he allowed to be with more than three people at a time (unless they were of the clergy, or accompanying a clergyman). He was forbidden from the hydroponics areas.

Worst of all, however, was the fact that he was not allowed to mate. Under the rules of the clergy, the Speaker of Kadesh was not allowed to pass on his seed… as they were ‘tainted’ by contact with the unclean. Paul would be the last of his line, traced back thirteen generations to the ancient days of the Kadeshi people.

He began to move among the people. As he passed, people bowed to him, and he acknowledged with a slight nod. Paul did not speak much, despite his title. Though he was the mouthpiece of all of Kadesh there was very little he could say… or was allowed to say.

He was on his way to meet a Father of the local chapter. One of several on the Pine, Father Halcyon was one of the literate members of the clergy who preached to the population of Kadesh about the word of their Goddess. A Father reminded them all of their duties… and the benefits… they enjoyed while in the service of Kadesh. Halcyon had wished to see him, and as speaker of Kadesh, Paul was obligated to listen.

He traveled along the curving floor of the Pine. Constructed as such, the world of the Kadeshi people was in the inside of a ring. It gave them the floor they walked upon, and gave them the concept of ‘down.’ This had been a gift given to them from their Goddess Kadesh, and it was said in all the works from the early days that the Goddess had laid down the rule that the world would spin. The people would also fall, if they did not raise their heads to her Glory at the center of the universe.

Only the devout were allowed in the center of the world and into the lap of Kadesh, free from the evils of weight.

Paul reached the sanctum and raised a hand. He splayed his fingers in the given way, emulating the light-blending seal of Kadesh. The door opened, and Paul stepped through.

The acolytes at the door, masked in their ceremonial diamond-shaped crests, nodded to him. Paul was not obliged to nod back but accepted with a slight nod and continued further into the sanctum.

While the halls and exterior of Kadesh were white, almost all the interiors were black. This sanctum was no exception. The only spots of color in the entire room were the red seals of Kadesh. It was the only significant iconography allowed in the society of Kadesh.

Halcyon was a powerfully built, but short, when compared to the Speaker. He turned from the open book on the altar, and smiled broadly for Paul. Like all of the clergy, Halcyon was clothed in white. He bowed eagerly and greeted, “Thank you for coming, speaker.”

Few addressed Paul by his name. He nodded to Halcyon, and said, “What brings you to summon me here, Father Halcyon?”

Halcyon gestured for the young man to come closer, and Paul did so. Halcyon began, “I’ve just come across something interesting… I was hoping you could take the matter to the Bishop?”

Paul wondered why the Father didn’t go himself. “Father, perhaps you should speak with him directly?”

Halcyon waved a hand, “The bishop has denied me an audience! I’ve tried and tried, but the man refuses to see me!”

Paul did not know why. Halcyon had always been a faithful believer and a spirited man when giving sermons to the people. If anything, he was perhaps too eager for the Word. He often made his own speculations and elaboration on the canon of Silas. Perhaps, Paul wondered, this was what Halcyon had asked him here to think about.

The stout man turned back to the big book, motioning to it. “Here, I want you to look at this for me.”

Paul stepped forward. There were many copies of the Book of Silas. All of them were inscribed by hand from the original, which had been lost in the annals of history. Only the clergy were allowed to posses and read them. Paul himself did not have one, but was allowed access to one to remind himself with the word.

Paul examined the ornate calligraphy in the book, along with the polished artwork hand-drawn in ancient times by the first prophet. Halcyon mused aloud, “As you know, there are four books in the gospel of Silas, along with the Sages and the Divinity.”

“Yes, I am familiar with the contents of the scry.” Replied Paul. He would have to confess that he had an interest in history and ancient writings- particularly the mythology of his religion.

“Yes,” Replied Halcyon, “But… it seems I’ve come across an… an error… within the writings.”

The hairs on the back of Paul’s neck bristled. One did not question the scry openly; to do so was among one of the highest heresies within the society of Kadesh. One could be placed on the rack for this… or worse… released to space to plea your apology to Kadesh personally.

Sensing the shock about the Speaker, Halcyon raised a hand to diffuse the man’s fears. “Please, I wouldn’t go as far as to presume the scry is wrong. I have only encountered an inconsistency here.”

“Father Halcyon,” Paul said, “The writings have been considered inviolable for the past thirteen generations, ever since blessed Silas delivered them to us. What have you found that your predecessors have not?”

“Perhaps nothing.” Replied the Father, then gestured excitedly with a pointed finger, “Perhaps something! We know that there are two lost books of Kadesh!”

“Yes,” Paul replied, “The Destiny of Kadesh, and the Book of Love.”

“Exactly!” The Father replied, “Now, we know nothing about the contents of these books- only that they are lost. I think, based on clues within the Intentions and the Mystery, we can determine their contents.”

Paul wasn’t sure if this was a wise course of action. It may have been, Paul had guessed before, that the books were not ‘lost’, but deemed uncanonical by one Cardinal or another. For Halcyon to probe into these lost books and happen upon a forbidden idea… well… the Clergy did not tolerate deviation.

Halcyon moved around the altar, saying, “I have compiled a collection of notes… I was hoping you could take them to Bishop Stolas for him to critique? I would be most appreciative.”

Halcyon produced a book from beneath the altar at the front of the room and held it out to Paul. The speaker hesitated before taking it… as a foreboding feeling fell over him at Halcyon’s eccentricity.

Paul turned to go, but stopped in the doorway. “Father?”

“Yes?” asked Halcyon, optimism clear in his tone.

Paul didn’t want to dour the man’s mood, and he doubted it would accomplish anything. “Forgive me… it is nothing.”

“I see. May the Goddess shine upon you, my son.” Halcyon said, bidding the speaker a farewell.

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Paul decided to get this out of the way quickly. He had no other business for the day, other than visiting some of the new faces in the community and seeing to their faith and adjustment to their new life within Kadeshi. More than once some of these new arrivals turned out to be masked devils- hiding their heresy under masks of false sincerity. Paul had dealt with them… and had many stories to tell of such things.

Not that he would, however.

The city of the Pine spanned three levels of spinning rings. As each traveled at different speeds, Paul had to watch his step while traversing the stairway to the higher levels. Once at the uppermost level of the city, he approached the guards and stated his business. They conferred with the Gatekeeper, who was the guardian of the Chapel walls. With the Gatekeeper’s blessing Paul was permitted inside.

The Speaker of Kadesh rode the central shaft all the way to the innermost sanctum of the Pine. To an outsider it was obvious that this was the ship’s bridge. Duty stations lined the inside of the circle as it spun at a high rate, providing gravity. At the exact center of the room, positioned right at the rotational axis, was the throne for the local monarch. In this case that person was the Bishop Stolas: one of the three most powerful men in the civilization of Kadesh.

Paul entered through the only way into the bridge, through the back of the room at the hub entrance. He bowed at the hub in null gravity, and asked, “The Speaker wishes permission to approach the altar.”

“The Speaker may approach,” Softly echoed the voice of the Bishop- amplified through the room by the many speakers. Paul, grabbing the hand railing with one hand, crossed the gantry way towards the cage-like assembly where the Bishop and his alter boys were positioned.

The alter children were kneeling during their service- as it was said they were ever in prayer. They had no apparent function other than to remain there, holding the icons of ceremonial power. Paul had to wonder if the children had alternative uses… but he dared no question the clergy to their face. He kept his eyes focused ahead.

The Bishop had turned and showed an impassive look to Paul while he stared at the approaching Speaker. It was no secret among the clergy of the pine that Bishop Stolas enjoyed his power over people. As far as he was concerned only two entities in the universe stood above him in the throes of power: The Cardinal, and Kadesh herself. Even then Paul inwardly wondered about Stolas’ devotion to the Kadeshi religion.

Paul stopped on the gantry way and did his best to bow, one hand still holding the railing in that zero gravity space, while the other held the book. “My lord,” He said.

“Rise.” The Bishop commanded, and Paul did so. “What have you brought to me?”

Paul hesitated, but decided unwavering truth was the best answer. “Father Halcyon wished me to deliver this to you. He was most eager to hear your critique of his thoughts.”

“Hmm…I see.” Hummed the Bishop. He gestured with a hand, and one of the alter children relieved Paul of the heavy book. “Have you read any of it?”

“No, not directly.” Paul replied, “Though Father Halcyon has given me an insight into what he believes.”

“And what does that fop think he’s found this time?” Droned the Bishop.

Paul was uncertain at the use of the Bishop’s language, but nevertheless continued: “He believes he is able to interpret the context of the missing chapters, based on what he has deduced from the learnings of Kadesh.”

The Bishop opened the binding of the book and peered into it with a hesitant look- as if a pair of jaws would leap from the interior and devour his eyes. He closed it again and said stiffly, “Thank you Speaker. That will be all.”

Paul decided not to question further and bowed once, before he left the presence of the Bishop. He returned to the elevator and rode back down to the city levels, where he emerged again into the white air.

He couldn’t help but take a breath and exhale in the cleaner, fresher air. To be true, no place on the Pine held fresh air anymore, but for some strange reason the lower levels always seemed to be less congested than above.

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Imera was a simple woman. She was a petite being, no less petite than most of the other Kadeshi women on the Pine called Taberah. It was a natural thing, thinness, among the Kadeshi. Food never filled the bowl entirely, and there were only two meals during the day. Imera was finishing hers now, the simple soup concentrate that she and the rest of the Kadeshi population were forced to subsidize on.

Imera’s function was that of a Fuel Pod pilot. Along with her pod-mate Likos the two of them were responsible for Fuel Pod 59. It was a testament to Kadeshi superiority that such a vast ship needed only two people to operate it. Imera governed steering and the craft’s single gun, while Likos governed engineering and fueling the fighters.

In peacetime, however, Imera was a laundress. Her job was the manual labor of cleaning the many sheets and suits that passed through Kadeshi society on a daily basis. Her function also included the repair of such things. In her tasks, she was more than proficient.

Imera had no needs outside of her job- for she knew nothing else. As a girl she had played Scatch, but such things were not befitting of adults. She was a devout woman who had paid attention during sermons, and joined with the rest in the holy chants of the Cathedral.

Once she had her life nearly taken away from her- when her brother was discovered of heresy. The man had coveted something alien… an icon found in his travels among the Gardens in his assigned swarmer. The alien thing had been confiscated, and her brother interrogated. He had suffered long and hard for his trespass and in the end Imera had been told he took his own life rather than return to society and face his sins. Imera shed no tears- such was the way of things.

She continued her duties in the laundry sections for seven of the ten-hour day. Three Kadeshi hours were devoted to sleep. At the beginning and mid-time of her work session she was permitted to eat, and she did so at one of the several intermittent food courts positioned in the inside of the ring. It was a short distance from the laundry sections, and Imera thought the exercise was good.

She was there that particular morning, some half-hour before she had to report for duty. She saw Likos there. His daily job was maintenance on the ship’s hanger that protected the fuel pods. He greeted Imera warmly, and the two discussed the day and the facts of their work. They also spoke of interpretations on the will of Kadesh, as they had been suggested by Father Lossen earlier that week.

Anyone looking at the pair could recognize that they were intended for one another. They would be partnered together and create a family, as it typically was for jointed members of a fuel pod crew. Imera was indifferent to the matter- all she knew was her job. Likos, however, would claim some enthusiasm for the idea. It was a new venture, he would say, and he was eager to see what kind of child the two would produce.

Imera parted company with Likos on a good note and returned to her work. The miles of white sheets awaited her.

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Paul returned to his darkened room and closed the door. He was not alone in here.

“Are you here?” He asked to the darkness.

“Yes.” A voice replied.

Paul had been very cautious. He had taken every precaution he knew to make sure of all places this room was safe. His father had taught him everything he knew, from what the Clergy was looking for to how they bugged the rooms of the various servants of Kadesh.

Paul knew his room was bugged. The camera was placed behind black paneling, looking through his room at the doorway. The only places he could shield himself were his desk, and the head of his bed. All else was under the eyes and scrutiny of the Clergy and their voyeuristic servants.

Paul had inhibited the sound sensors to the room. It was not a serious enough of an impediment to coerce a repair effort. Plus, how could anyone avoid the vision of Kadesh? The camera remained, and Paul allowed it to be so.

But they could not see what happened in the darkness, which is how Paul saw his Merrah.

He did not need to see her face now in the complete darkness. They had seen one another as they passed in the halls, or while he was on duty in her realm as servitor in the cafeterias. This was enough for him during the day.

He heard the heavy weight land on the desk of his room, and needed not to ask what it is. It was his gift to her… a symbol of finality in their promise. The little figurine, a T-shaped symbol headed with a loop- had been passed down in Paul’s family line for as far back as he could remember… as far back as Tobit, the defining swarmer pilot of the Protectors. This symbol was his secret- and it allowed the Cameras to go blind momentarily when it was revealed.

In this complicated way, the two could meet in the dark.

Paul spread his heretical hands over Merrah’s back, and their lips connected. The camera would never hear the sighs of joy both lovers expressed as they allowed themselves this indulgence in the room. It wouldn’t be long- Merrah was needed elsewhere, and her presence would be missed. Paul too, had places to be. The only allowance he was given in his room was to sleep and to meditate. He was only allowed to return for trivial things, and the excuse now was a need for a handkerchief.

They felt each other over with their hands… their lips. No words were spoken between them as they just felt each over in the darkness.

Finally, she whispered, “Soon.”

“Soon.” Paul replied.

The lovers had timed this appropriately. Merrah’s intended was another Swarmer pilot- Bahad. Bahad was a stupid man, and as Merrah’s flight commander could never have Merrah’s love. As Speaker, Paul would never be allowed to have Merrah as his own.

Yet, hope remained in giving Merrah a small part of him to make a child. Using Bahad as an aegis, Paul hoped to give Merrah motherhood of the Speaker’s child without anyone knowing. As Merrah loved Paul beyond all sense, she would gladly do this… even if the child never learned the real identity of the father.

Were his actions now revealed, Paul would be immediately executed. He would be made an example to others thinking of blasphemy and adultery, and he would be ripped apart. His corpse would be dragged through the city, then hung over the entrance to the Cathedral before finally being cast into space. Merrah would share in punishment, but not aside Paul: she would have her child ripped from her body first, the body stoned by scornful women in a special ceremony, and then her corpse given to Kadesh. The population would thus not only be cleansed from the filth, but also kept occupied.

Paul was well aware of the selfishness of his actions… but he continued without concern to them Paul’s confidence came from the knowledge that he was intelligent… and was many steps ahead of the Clergy’s efforts to eradicate the roaming heresy.

Their time ended. They kissed for one last time, holding each other in the dark, and then made ready for the exit. Merrah pocketed the ankh, and stood in front of Paul as the Speaker prepared to open the door. This was another part of their method- of getting the two of them out of the room with no-one suspecting.

Paul tapped on the door once, and both of them stepped out of the room as one. Merrah, Paul’s forward shadow, turned left. Paul turned right, and to the camera in the room it seemed Merrah was just passing by.

Paul let no expression leak from his face as he walked away, his back turned to Merrah. He would see her again, sometime soon, and two weeks from now… all would be ready.

Paul was about to make his first stop to the Basali- one of his inductees, when he stopped and looked up.

There were sixteen racks positioned intermittently through the interior of the city. They were mounted high over the walkways so that the accused was visible for all to see. Most of them were left to die, and all of them were always out of reach from a sympathetic hand.

Halcyon hung on the rack. His robes looked disheveled, his face beaten, and his mouth gagged. His head hung limp, but his eyes flickered when he noticed Paul. He struggled against the ropes, his eyes bulging as if he had something important… something vital… to say.

But nothing came. The man was gagged, and all that emerged were muffled cries of pain.

Paul could do nothing. He returned his gaze ahead and continued under the man. He would later recall that this was the first instant he questioned his faith in Kadesh.

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This is the civilization of the Kadeshi people for the past thirteen generations.

Look at it well, for it will not last.

[Silver_Wolf#]

Epic man . Just pure gold, nothing else I can say.

[Norsehound]

I have to wonder what Hiroshi and DC will think of this. After all, it's DC's fault mostly that I ended up back here.

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2.2
Refugees

Tuur Soban breathed heavily. He was having another episode.

The black-clothed marine of the Kushan mothership was sitting down at the center of the Kyda court, hunched over himself and wide-eyed as his mind drifted far and away… back to where it all started and the promise he had given.

Alatto was kind enough not to laugh at him when he had these episodes. Everyone had them… it was just that Tuur’s was so bad he was left like this for a while. Unfortunately, therapy for this kind of stress wasn’t rescued when the exiles were forced to leave their homeworld.

Enough was enough. Alatto kicked Tuur in the side. “Tuur… Tuur hey!”

“He’s lost it.” Joan grunted, arms crossed.

“He’ll be fine,” The dark-skinned Manaani man said, reaching down and shaking Tuur’s shoulder with a big hand. Finally Tuur snapped out of it, sobbing and hunching over tighter. Joan sighed with impatience while Alatto said to the man, “Hey Tuur, you’ll be fine. Snap out of it, man!”

Tuur slowly regained consciousness, his mind being dragged back away from the cliff side where his sister was standing. The lizard was gone… the jet was over the horizon. The winds had stopped blowing.

Tuur needed to blink a few times before the Kyda court resolved in his vision. He looked around, and one by one recognized his squad mates. As he did, his sanity returned in segments, and the strengthened, battle-hardened and bitter marine returned to his senses.

“Finally.” Joan toned with impatience.

“What?” Tuur asked.

Alatto, smiling, said, “We’re five minutes out to hyperspace exit. Came ta get ya.”

Tuur winced, then asked, “It took two of you?”

“Yeah, I needed to hold his hand.” Joan dismissed, throwing Tuur his rifle and walking off in disgust.

Tuur and Alatto exchanged glances, then chuckled as the two men started for the exit from the empty Kyda ball court.

“So,” Tuur asked, “Where are we going this time? Not more rocks I hope.”

“Nope.” Alatto said, smiling, “Wait till you hear what I got.”

----------------------------------

Fleet Intelligence was the name given to the collective panel of about forty people in a spherical room. It was a large forum arrangement, with tiered levels surrounding a large hologramatic projector. On these tiers were computer stations, and manning most of them were assigned personnel to Fleet Intelligence.

The new, leading assembly of the Kushan people had a quagmire… and it was not of the fun and mysterious kind.

Karan had asked of the Bentusi in their last meeting, ”This is a dangerous and unpredictable region. Can you give us information that will guide us through the nebula?”

The Bentusi’s response was: ”We hear nothing there. Even the Taiidan fear the Great Nebula. No one returns.

Without elaborating on what, the Bentusi jumped to hyperspace after selling the exiles drone technology.

What compounded matters was the announcer’s sudden declaration, “Hyperspace module fully charged.” And with that, Karan launched the exiles into the unknown.

Fleet Intelligence was in chaos at the Bentusi’s enigmatic statement. No one returns? What does that say for the Exiles?! If the Taiidan, a galaxy-spanning empire that annihilated their world, was afraid of this place… then what chance did the Kushan people have?

Emilia didn’t know, and Anam Naabal was clearly in a panic. The Somtaaw-Kiith daughter of a mining emperor just watched Anam divulge into a nervous breakdown. When Anam left to go get a stress pill, Emilia snuck a glance at Anam’s terminal.

‘WE ARE DEAD’ was written across the screen.

Emilia chuckled to herself and returned to the game of Kest she was playing against the computer. Before she knew it, Anam was over her shoulder scowling. “How by the equatorial hells can you be playing Kest at a time like this? We’re facing certain doom here!”

“Or not.” Emilia dismissed. She looked up at Anam and said, “Who knows what the Bentusi meant?”

“So ‘No-one returns’ doesn’t bother you then?” Anam asked.

“I’m sure we can handle it.” Emilia replied, then looked over at Anam’s station, “We made it through the asteroids didn’t we?”

“Yeah…” Anam replied in a disbelieving tone.

“So?” Emilia shrugged, “We fought off the genocide fleet, captured some of their ships, survived an asteroid barrage and made friends with the Bentusi. What could possibly happen ahead that we can’t face?”

“A black hole?” Anam suggested, “An evil force of Biblical proportions? Space mines?”

“Invisible ghosts that suck souls?” Emilia suggested.

Anam took it seriously and started to pale. “What?”

Emilia just laughed it off.

Just then, Karan’s voice echoed from overhead, “Hyperspace exit in three minutes. All hands, stand by.”

“Here we go…” Uttered Anam and cleared his station.

--------------------------------------

In the great, massive interior of the mothership, space had been provided for the scout pilots. There were births for about forty individuals, stacked on bunk beds. Lockers were provided for everyone, and there were segregated shower and bathroom facilities. All had been accounted for when it came to the concerns of the scout pilot’s needs. After all, there surely wouldn’t be a need for more support ships, would there?

The demands of the Kushan fighter force had far exceeded the designers’ intentions. With now more than three dozen strike craft cradled in the hanger of the Mothership, the demands of the pilot barracks were grossly over-exceeded.

Hot bunking was now enforced. Mothership supply systems had been commandeered to fabricate bunks and cots. Lockers were now reserved for flight commanders- everyone else had to stow their uniforms and helmets within reach of their cots. This, of course, was to say nothing of their possessions. So far nobody had been murdered for stealing, but thieves had been known among the pilots and craft crews.

What made matters worse was the disposition of the sexes. Barracks had been stacked on either side of the room, one for males and one for females. That ratio went out the window the moment Kharak was set ablaze, and sleepers were awakened to take up the slack of the budding Kushan navy. Inter-gender fights were uncommon, mostly due to inflated mistakes or over-indulgences on the part of the pilots.

Kharak’s destruction had changed all of them. Very few remained the same after learning their home was a burned cinder, and that they were the last ones left.

Kamara S’jet was not alone in this. She had been sleeping sideways on her cot when the alarm sounded. “All pilots,” It called after the klaxon, “To your fighters. All pilots, to your fighters.”

Kamara snapped awake. She had done this so often now that she was instantly awake at the first tone. Gone were the long hours where a shower and checking her clipcom’s mailbox were necessary to rouse her from bed.

“Hey Kama,” Teased Errad, “No time to nap! Get up!”

Kamara swung a hand out to slap the playful redhead, but he was already gone and running to the hanger. Kamara grunted, grabbed her helmet and also broke into a run. She flew by the Kushan Space Exploration Logo- now long forgotten in the face of the Homeworld war.

Pilot quarters was conveniently placed next to the main hanger. The cradles for the scouts now accommodated new, state-of-the-art Kushan strike craft created out of necessity for war.

The hallway ended in the ‘spot deck’- an area where the hull gravity was only half its strength. It allowed easy transition between null and full gravity without the disorientation that would send a pilot careening across the hanger. By now, Kamara and the other pilots had this down to an instinctive reflex… but time to time newbies would need rescuing.

Kamara launched herself from the spot deck and drifted across her interceptor. Her eyes were closed- she had practiced this maneuver enough. Her hand drifted by the fire-orange Triikor painted aside her cockpit. Her hand found the hatch, and her eyes snapped open. Within two seconds she was in the cockpit, fitting her helmet on. She finished buckling in while the canopy closed, and announced, “Interceptor oh-one-three, ready for launch.”

“Standby.” Was the reply in her helmet. Her gaze focused out on the distant traffic light- the go signal for launch.

Her life would begin again when the red light turned green, and she was permitted to kill.

----------------------------------

Karan S’jet was only 24 when she plugged herself into the mothership systems. She was a neuroscientist, and knew all about the systems that surrounded her. She had taught herself, during the ship’s construction, how to manipulate the ship’s systems at the speed of thought. She could access any system remotely with her mind and use any system on the mothership as if it was an extension of her body.

She wasn’t trained in being a Goddess.

With her mind everywhere, and her ability to project herself to any place in the fleet, she had unwittingly become the patron deity of the Kushan people. It was troubling for her, being something venerated by her people. She never imagined that she’d be in this position- much less being the only thing standing between the hostile outside and her adopted children.

Karan bore it without complaint. She still had friends within the mothership crew, and like a goddess she found it amusing from time to time to peek in on what her fellow creatures were doing around her. It was oddly surreal, as if she could look in on the blood cells of her body to see how they functioned.

Hyperspace was one of the unusual things that she doubted she’d ever understand. Necessity had placed her command chamber in close proximity to the Hyperspace core. She had been told this was because she had better control over the core’s systems when she was closer to it, but she secretly believed that the designers simply ran out of room during construction.

In her mind she reserved a special spot of hostility for those designers… the compassionless, machine-like minions of logic whom had insisted on being aboard the Mothership when they took off. Because they were here, and because they insisted on a timely launch, the Mothership left dock incomplete… and their world was destroyed. She knew what they thought of her- an expendable component in the machine that needed to last as long as the mission demanded it.

Karan resisted asking her ‘followers’ murder those designers, despite how tempting the prospect was.

A meter dinged in her mind, informing her that she would need to interrupt the hyperspace module soon. It was a barbaric process to be sure- suddenly cutting power to the hyperspace module and allowing the wave-form to collapse. Scientists studying the core were sure that there was a more ‘graceful’ way to end hyperspace… but their understanding was admittedly small.

For now, the module was left on until the pre-set timer had expired. It was set based on complex calculations… including the distance desired, the duration of travel in hyperspace, possible eddies in the intervening magnetic field… whole lists of computations that she was thankful to leave to computers. For now, she trusted them.

After all, it landed them on the doorstep of the Taiidan fleet. That operation went spectacularly.

“Hyperspace exit imminent.” She chimed, and turned her attention to the core.

It thrummed within her… or specifically, behind her. As part of the mothership, it was confusing sometimes to tell what was ‘part’ of her, and what was ‘around’ her. One of these days she might get the hang of it… provided the system didn’t kill her fist.

She took a breath, then ended the quantum waveform.

-------------------------------------------------------

Contrary to popular assumption, Hyperspace was not an alternate dimension. It was an area of space created in transit by complex module of machinery simply dubbed ‘the hyperspace module’. Nobody knew the exact origins of the module, and the Kushan people certainly had no idea where theirs was manufactured.

When a vessel traversed hyperspace, it entered and exited this temporary other world through use of a window. The Kushan people had always thought the hue was purple, but the Bentusi’s golden hyperdrive raised some interesting questions. Regardless, the tell-tale hyperspace window and sing-song tone through the hull always signaled the change of scenery.

The huge, vertical window opened in space and pulled back. The curved lines and sleek features of the Kushan fleet emerged like toys surfacing from water. After a moment, every ship in the armada had cleared their windows and had manifested in naked space.

“Hyperspace jump completed.” Karan announced, then looked up.

She had seen their destination before in the ‘preview shots’. Apparently the hodge-podge navigation staff included a photographer in their midst, for a picture of their intended destination always appeared on the transit screen. The small pink dot that had been growing steadily now dominated the vision before the mothership.

Karan relaxed her sensors and looked out of the Mothership’s forward screens to marvel at the spectacle. Never in her life had she imagined something as…beautiful as this before. It was the epitome of stellar phenomenon: a stellar nursery. Here, stars were born and systems came to life. Perhaps within a million years, solar systems would form within the midst of this huge veil of gas and dust.

Were she an artist, she would have immortalized this image forever in the swirls of paint and canvas. With sadness she realized Aean, long dead now on Kharak, would have loved to have painted this… and given it to her.

However, she was a little tickled to note that someone was now snapping pictures off the observation deck with a camera.

-----------------------------

The green light was lit, and the Interceptors were ordered to launch. Kamara didn’t hesitate and kicked her fighter out of its docking cradle with a quick burst from the engines.

The fighters were arranging themselves into parade formation outside. Already above her, the pod-like Defenders were also arranging themselves into the same row. She wondered which one of them was piloted by Bona- the tubby Bona Manaan that helped the Navy team against the Marines in the Kyda battle last week. Bona had been a sweetheart in the face of stupid pilots, and Kamara reminded herself she needed to find the friend next time they were back in the hanger.

For the present, she turned to her sensors and instruments. The interceptors were given formation orders, and she fell in line. When the craft were in position, all she could do was sit and wait for further orders. She examined space around them.

The Kushan Armada was a collection of native built and captured craft. A pair of Turanic Raider Ion array frigates hovered in her vision… and she smiled smugly when she remembered the operation to capture them. Someone in fleet command had anticipated the maneuver and jumped the ambushing frigates with salvage corvettes. The result netted the Kushan fleet two brand-new heavy-hitting ships… which they used to kill the Turanic carrier. The fleet had more, but then they ran afoul of the Taiidan fleet.

Of that particular battle, the Kushan came out on top again by not only defeating the fleet but also stealing a pair of destroyers and one of their resource collectors. It was an odd statement to the fact that the heaviest ships in the Kushan fleet belonged to the force that wiped out their planet. The lead destroyer, Ahban-Oh, was the de-facto flagship of the de-facto fleet leader Johnas Soban. The man stepped into the position, volunteering when nobody else wanted it and was turned into fleet command virtually overnight. Since they weren’t dead, Kamara guessed he was a good leader.

Kamara’s radio buzzed with a voice saying, “Hey Kama. Still dozin over there?”

“By all the hells of the equator,” growled Kamara over her comm, “ERRAD! SHUT UP!!!”

“All of you,” their squadron leader cawed, “Cut the chatter! Another off-kilter word and you’ll be cleaning latrines. I’m watching your radios.”

Kamara smiled. At least that would cut back on Errad’s crap. She didn’t know about the red-headed S’jet pilot, other than that they were in the same Kiith and that he had come from a well of, prestigious family. Apparently he was from the higher end of the S’jeti… though she seriously doubted he had any relationship with Karan.

For the moment, Kamara relaxed back in her cockpit and allowed herself a moment of peace. The nebula looked beautiful from here, actually.

------------------------------------------

“The nebula is incredibly rich in energy and resources. Energy levels are so high that our sensors are having trouble compensating.”

Such droned the voice of Cynsk S’jet, announcer of fleet intelligence. As the mouthpiece of the intelligence assembly, Cynsk was indisputably the most drawl, monotone voice of the entire Kushan flight staff. The only time he ever showed emotion was during the burning of Kharak… and even among those who knew him, it was a landmark achievement.

“That’s an understatement!” Someone cried from fleet intelligence, but the microphones didn’t pick it up. Indeed, swarming dots, sensor pings, and erratic information now crowded the sensor manager. Nobody could make heads or tails of the display, and IFF tags were everywhere.

“Sajuuk,” Hissed Anam, “What a mess… it’s going to take us hours to slog through this junk!”

“Maybe that’s what the Bentusi were afraid of,” Emilia offered, “utter confusion.”

She giggled as Anam continued being frustrated at his console, stabbing keys as he tried to force the sensors to cooperate.

---------------------------------------------

Drifting some kilometers away from the mothership, one of the intermittent contacts winking in the sensor manager was actually staring back. It’s big, red eye was focused on the grey slant in its vision.

It wasn’t alone. Crowding the space by the multitude were more of these spherical white pods, just slightly bigger than a crouching man. All of them had their eyes aimed at the newcomers… watching…reporting.

One of them spotted the pair of craft making their way through the dust veins. The maws… ripping and tearing at the gentle fabric at the edge of the nebula. The hungry harvesters had the particular attention of the observers.

Then, in a wink, they vanished. They relocated themselves on powerful puffs of their rocket motors, evading detection by their quandary.

But their masters had already been informed. Soon, the unclean will be met, and given the choice.

---------------------------------------------------
Welcome to the Garden. Enjoy your stay.

[Hiroshi_Tea]

jeez, Norse
you make being a Kadeshi seem like a bad thing
it's sure the cross between Catholic/communist hybrid world
would be most wonderful to live in
i'm sure the Pines would be a nicer place
if that Silas Bastard didn't take those pills.


my thoughts:
a very good writing Norse. i really like your interpretations of the way things work in the homeworld universe. from the way the needleship is laid out to the arrangements in the mothership. it's quite in depth and immersing

while i recognize that the kadeshi lifestyle would be less than perfect. but, i always imagined that it would operate less on fear but rather a calmer mix of religion and political structuring.

Your current model: i perfectly agree with the hierarchical divisions of the race and the "big brother is watching' aspect; however, the dominant Catholic twist isn't to my liking. i'm sensing some animosity against the Church here as the kadeshi seem to be an outright satire of it, down to the child abuse. while it isn't to my taste, the satire, it works very well for your purposes.

currently, the heretical people are outright beaten and killed. while this fitting in your universe, i assumed that the kadeshi would be more resourceful than that. Rather, i imagined that they would have 'reeducation' camps that would correct these heretics but for their sin, they would be regulated to special tier of the hierarchy for reconverts and converts.

i might have to write my own short story to provide my view of the kadeshi

[Stingra]

I am reminded of the 'monk-planet' from the abandoned drafts of Alien3, and I like it alot. It mixes gothic imagery with science fiction and doesn't overdo it like Warhammer 40K does, though it seems a little darker than what you'd think the Kadeshi were.

But it offers a nice duality between the clean, sterile exterior that we see in the game.

[Norsehound]

Child abuse? If you're referring to Bishop Stolas... he's a special case. All the leaders of the Kadeshi religion are wacked out one way or another, and Stolas is a fan of flexing his power and making everyone his slave. I can't go in-depth about the description of his character, because nobody is in a position to 'see' it. Paul can, but Paul isn't THAT much of an inside man, and doesn't know what the other leaders of the religion think about one another.

I have no animosity towards the Catholic church (being a Roman Catholic myself), but when taking inspiration for the Kadeshi religion, for some reason I went with Catholicism as a model. Perhaps because of the white and religious zeal of the protectors.

If anything though, it's a Catholicism of the middle ages. Inquisitions of the population were frequent, and due to the demands of space there were always heretics being saught out. Anyone disagreeing with the church was immediately suspect and purged. The Kadeshi are a paranoid people obsessed with spiritual clenliness.

I had written in my notes that Halcyon was hung on the rack as an example to the rest of the Pine Taberah for questioning religion. Bishop Stolas did it mostly as a knee-jerk reaction, since Halcyon was getting too inquisitive and something had to be done about him (heretics in the higher ups aren't as frequent). The shock from this sudden execution of someone Paul knew well serves to push him in the direction of questioning his religion.

And remember, as terrible as this Kadeshi society is, it will not last. This is the story about how the Kadehsi survive to the next generation, after all.

...but in the end, maybe I'll go back and revise some portions of the Kadeshi chapter if most people feel it's too offensive. *shrugs* I never imagined Kadeshi society was a pretty one.

And yes, the Pines are Beautiful, BEAUTIFUL spaceships to live in. The white halls, cool black interiors, and the hanging gardens are the most breathtaking of places in the inside of any ship in the Homeworld war. They are a mixture of NASA designs and 2001-esque design aesthetic. The bridge is a fun place to work also, since command hovers in zero gravity.

...all of it perverted when Silas took over the religion.

Remember that the Protectorate fleet was supposed to be a gift, after all. This includes the Pines

Thanks everyone.

[Chrome]

I think I'm liking this current setup. You've got Paul established much more, and your setting up the situation where he directly questions his faith have a nice pace to them. Just enough mystery to keep me wondering what happens next, but enough goings on to say "Yeah he'd question Kadesh after that."

I'm not sure what to make of the altar children aspect. While I don't mind some of the Catholic aspects of the Kadeshi religion, I think they're pushing it a bit too close to parallel. While I understand that's the background you were raised with--thus the most familiar becomes part of one's writing and stories--I think it pushes it a little too far out of the Homeworld vibe.

I don't mind your having them there, it'd make sense that children with high potential to become Clergy would go that route. I just think the whole "implication" bit is what broke the suspension of disbelief there.

However, this opens a whole other door that you can use later in the story: the corruptions of the Clergy that Paul *hasn't* seen. While they may not be abusing children, who's to say they aren't abusing something or someone else? It might be a nice little linch-pin in the Kadeshi survival plan if you're planning it that way. Paul and others can discover what the Clergy really have been hiding from the populace...that'd make a rather nice religion-breaker there, considering that we know the Kadeshi religion itself is going to need a major overhaul...

And in some ways...looking at this...you might want to have the events be spinnable as such for Paul or others to use on the main population later: "The Goddess herself showed that we have erred in our worship of her." Nothing tears a religion's followers apart faster than conflicting interpretations of their deity's wishes.

[Norsehound]

There is a bit of a problem here in that I don't have time to explore the greater part of the "Kadeshi civilization." Book II happens at its end.

There is unquestionably corruption within the Kadeshi elite. Look at who took over the religion from it's beginning. Barabbus wasn't necessarily a believer in the religion he propagated, but used it to assume total authority over the Kadeshi people. As a dictator using theology as a tool, how do you suppose his successors would grow up? Especially when they could have everything they wanted- so long as they did it and could spin it in a religious light.

I have the ideas for other stories set during the 'height' of the Kadeshi people. If I get around to them (maybe after Book III?) I can describe the corruption of the church. Either way, nobody's really in a position to explore the inner circles of Barabbus' interpretation of Silas' religion... and I don't have time really for anyone to get there. Paul is about as high up on the Kadeshi latter as one can get, and even THEY think he's borderline heretical.

And yea, feeling much better about how this is turning out so far

BTW, should I call you C, now that you've dumped the 'Deep', Chrome?

[Hiroshi_Tea]

that's not Chrome
that's an imposter!
Deep Chrome is somewhere else
something must have gotten messed up in the GREAT FORUM CLEANSING

now you got both chrome's and my opinions
and both are good
i hope they encourage you to finish
this EPIC tale of EPIC proportions timely

[Norsehound]

2.4
The meeting

Word had arrived.

The terrible, grim news was proclaimed by Bishop Stolas on high. He announced to his followers that the unclean had once again come to challenge the borders of Kadesh, seeking to defile her holy graces and usurp the glory of her being for their own devious ends. This cannot come to pass.

The Sermon began as demanded by tradition. Passed down from the earliest generations, when the first swords were raised in defense of their Goddess, the people of Kadesh had a meal.

They all ate silently in their rooms. This was the only instance where they were allowed bred. The stale, crusty bread tasted slightly plastic-like to Paul… but he knew this was because it was stored for long periods of time. Splitting and eating the bread was representative of splitting the enemy…and feasting on his remains. This was how it was described in the gospel of Silas.

This was the Kadeshi way.

Paul, however, deviated slightly. He sat in front of his desk, facing his mirror as the ceremonial white-and-red plate before him held the sacramental bred. The glass of water was resting by his right hand, in the corner between the desk and the wall of the cupboard.

The camera could not see this hand.

Discreetly he held up the pinched powder in his fingers and sprinkled it into his water. He would wait a minute for the poison to dissolve, and war to begin inside his glass.

Liifa pedals were hard to acquire, especially when he was forbidden from entry into the greenhouses. Nevertheless, thanks to Merrah and other discreet methods, he had gained the ceremonial blossom for his own use. Earlier he had ground the thing into powder, and mixed it with several other ingredients. The poison was now piled in a handkerchief next to the glass of water.

He did not know how or why, but he was aware of the nameless spirit that lived in the food of the people that caused them to go blind. He saw it everyday in the streets: pale looks and mindless content in the faces of the people. Even his own Merrah was not removed from the effects, and she had been fasting herself to escape the potency of the spirit. They were told it was a blessing on the food, bringing happiness and content to all those living in content with Kadesh.

But Paul was starting to believe it was something other than benevolent protection that imbued their food. He realized now, this solution his father handed down to him, had spared him the stupidity inflicting the others. He had assumed before that his immunity to this was why he was chosen as the Speaker… but perhaps… it was because of this.

He did not know why his father made him promise to take the substance and poison his water. He had secretly believed his father was training him for the role as Speaker, and that this was part of the ritual required of one who walked among the unclean. Now Paul was beginning to think differently.

Something was changing to Paul, but he wasn’t sure what. It was as if fate had suddenly grabbed him and turned him to face another direction. Yet, unlike Silas himself, Paul seemed to have no idea what fate was asking of him. All he knew… all he could feel… was that something was coming. It would be a profound change that would turn his world upside-down.

Perhaps Paul was facing his doom. Maybe this was what a man felt before he was to die, or before the clergy came down on him for an imaginary heresy. Perhaps what Paul was feeling was the imminent doom that came before discovery. Maybe Merrah had confessed, or Halcyon implicated him in his heresy. Paul did not know… he only knew that something had changed.

Paul pinched the powder into his water and swirled it some. He returned the cup to the desk, allowing the poisons to war with each other in his glass before he could drink the resultant peace. He stared at his bread.

It was not broken. Somehow Paul had forgotten altogether that it was there, as he was lost in his own thoughts. He looked up into the mirror, staring into his own face and eyes… wondering if he could find the answer to this new question that arose unbidden in his mind: Who am I?

Who was he, Paul? Speaker of Kadesh? What was destiny asking of this normal man?

The bell stated to ring, sounding through the speakers. It was time to go.

He drank the water.

---------------------------------------------------------

Emilia winced, then pointed at her screen. “What’s that?”

“What’s what? I’m busy over here!” Anam responded. He was in the middle of several lines of complex code, trying to make the sensors cooperate with him.

“No look,” Emilia replied, “This contact here- it’s consistent.”

“What?” Asked Anam, abandoning his work and moving over to Emilia’s station. He tapped on her controls, asking the sensors to display the particulars of that contact.

It massed just under one hundred thousand tons.

“By God…” uttered Anam. He turned and cried, “Definite contact closing ahead!”

Anam moved off, leaving Emilia to deal with Cynsk on her own.

----------------------------------------------------
“There is a contact closing with the mothership. Sensors instability in this region makes it difficult to identify.”

“What?” Johnas Soban asked, stepping up into the destroyers’ signal booth and raising the binoculars.

Ahban-Oh was positioned just slightly ahead of the fleet line, along with her sister ship the Susraya. If there was a contact closing, Johnas would be the first capital asset to deal with it.

“By the sand….” Johnas trailed off when he spotted it with his binoculars.

Facing them was the dark shape of a circle. No more detail could be made out at this distance, but all Johnas could make of the profile was the spherical shape that cut out the background of the brilliant nebula.

“Uh, sir?” Asked one of the bridge crew, “does this mean we should go to battle stations?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Replied Johnas.

-------------------------------------------

Now that fleet intelligence was aware of the contact, the collective assembly had turned its thinking to the new arrival.

Emilia had her headset out and connected to the instrument panel. She held one of the earmuffs to her ear, where it relayed the signal-to-sound translation directly to her. She was monitoring the output of the unidentified ship. “Logs show a hyperspace signature upon entry… faint in the background noise, but it’s there.”

“Wait,” Anam asked, “How come hyperspace sensors didn’t pick it up?”

Emilia adjusted her instruments, calling up the complete spectrograph of sensor feed for the past twenty minutes. She isolated the point, then scrolled down through the data at the moment of suspected hyperspace entry.

She shook her head, “I don’t know… I think the waveform wasn’t powerful enough to register… but look at this,” She lowered her headphones and pointed at the screen again. Anam walked over and looked over her shoulder at the data. He winced. “How can THAT be?”

“I can’t say.” Replied Emilia, “But from here, it looks like this UFO’s hyperspace signature is similar to our own.”

“I’m going to start a track.” Anam announced, moving to his station. Emilia fitted the earmuffs back over her head.

------------------------------------

As part of the training demanded of a speaker, Paul was fluent in the use of a swarmer.

It had been a part of his family lineage, when he reflected. Ever since the earliest days, thirteen generations before, Paul’s family line had included at least one significant swarmer pilot in every generation. It was no shame to his family then that Paul had followed suit.

He was being prepared in a swarmer outfit. The two technicians assisted him in preparing him for space. Paul looked over his shoulder to consider the craft.

It was a standard swarmer. Normally Paul’s ride in the service of Speaker was an advanced swarmer painted orange, to note he was a cleric among the pilots. That ship, however, had been damaged on an attempt on Paul’s life. The former Turanic Raider Zizjin, having masked his entry into the Kadesh, attempted to strike a blow from within by killing its speaker. Paul evaded the attempt and survived. Zizjin did not.

Paul felt it fitting to use a normal swarmer for this venture, however. He would better represent the people this way. Alone, he finished tugging his gloves on, then settled the microphone set about his face.

The swarmer suit was a completely featureless garb of a heavy vinyl coating. The only breaks in the otherwise seamless suit were at the wrists, ankles, waistline, neck, and back to allow the wearer to ‘climb into’ the suit. The waistline break was pretty much only to allow access to the electronics package that monitored the swarmer pilot’s performance.

The suit’s composition allowed for a complex heating and cooling exchange to run through the capillaries inside the material. Though Paul was wearing enough bulk to make it look as if he would swelter, he was actually quite comfortable in the cool landing bay with the garb on. When the boots, gloves, and mask were all in place Paul would be able to survive being thrown into a vacuum with little discomfort.

The technicians finished preparing his craft. Now all that remained was the mask. Paul tested his gloves before folding the rubbery cowl over his head. It covered everything except his face, and the material sealed with the rest of the rubber insulating component of his suit. The technicians watched as he placed the back of the helmet on, locking in the sections at its back. Paul closed the mask himself, and brought the diamond-shaped face over his own and pressed it into position. The technicians continued to wait while the Speaker, as he was trained to do, finished fitting himself in his suit.

Thus Paul had been transformed from a simple citizen, into a Protector of Kadesh. The Kadeshi people had an aversion to the cumbersome glass-bowl helmets and visors used by the unclean. When one wore the suit of Kadesh, one abandoned all sense of identity and desire to become a Protector. The only desire of a Protector was the safety of the Garden… and a Protector would fight to no end to see that the garden was safe.

Paul’s role was a different means to this same end. He would meet these aliens, and give them the choice.

Paul looked at the display in the inside of the mask. All systems were secure: his suit was completely sealed. He turned and stepped in his suit for the open hatch of the Swarmer- the attendants carrying his umbilical cable and guiding him to the open swarmer hatch as he went.

The only way into the swarmer was through the hatch in the nose. The white plate had bent upward from the nose, exposing the squashed sphere of a command pod. This pod had also opened, revealing the contour-fitting seat that Paul would use to command the swarmer.

Paul was assisted in, and was the only instance where one was allowed to touch the speaker. The attendants slid him in with a standing position into the pilot pod- his feet grasping the control yokes there and sliding into place. He could feel the bar through the thick rubber of the suit.

With the umbilical secure within the pod, Paul leaned forward. The pod rolled around him, allowing him to shift his weight and hunch into the forward part of the seat. Now his mask interfaced with the view transmitter, and the vision of the Pod dominated his sight. He heard and felt the rest of the command pod close over him, and the cool metal of the receptors pressing along his back. He was now completely encased in the pod.

For a moment, the old feeling of claustrophobia crept into him as he settled into the chair. He willed it away, having conquered this feeling long ago. It would pass momentarily.

The attendants withdrew. Paul waited several seconds… before the Pod was kicked out into space in a violent way.

But he was free.

The fears of claustrophobia vanished when he was released into space. He could almost dispel his earlier misgivings of the Kadeshi religion when he was here in space. Surely, the Kadeshi swarmer was an invention of a deity, who crafted the vessel specifically for the demands of beings wishing to fly.

The Swarmer reacted not as a ship he was merely possessing for his needs, but an extension of his body. He was the swarmer, as far as he was concerned. Every discreet twitch of his muscles, every breath, every subtle motion was transferred through the pod’s computers and happened in the guidance of the ship. It took many months of training to be perfected, but the end result was near divinity in the experience.

Paul glided through space, away from the Pine called Taberah, and started for the visitors.

----------------------------------

The job of Ambassador was an important one, and many people had to be considered before the position was whittled down considerably. Only one man, they deemed, was important for the job.

Unfortunately, that one man declined the position. The greatest diplomat on the planet, Favir Manaan, thus recommended Jeremiah Manaan for the position of lead Ambassador. Many thought it was a joke at the time since this Jeremiah was a virtual nobody from the deep desert, who had little to his name.

What they were unaware of was Jeremiah’s deep understanding of communication. Though he was a straightforward man without much style or prose, he knew how to deliver an official statement without rehearsal. Moreover, the man was versed in almost every language and custom Kharak held within the deep deserts. It was with unparalleled astonishment that the Mothership team learned that Jeremiah Manaan, for the past twelve years, had been negotiating peace treaties between the still-present sand raiders in the equator.

The most important man in Kushan diplomatic history, thus, was also prepared in his own flight suit, and settling into the white Diplomatic corvette with his aide and the translators. The pilots were already inside, waiting impatiently for the diplomats to get in. Jeremiah understood their mistrust of diplomats and diplomacy- nobody liked the notion of talking heads with no action. Jeremiah distrusted them also, which enforced his self-declared ethic of getting to the point.

Jeremiah finished belting up, then looked at his aide. “Are you ok?” He asked.

The shaky intern nodded nervously. The poor woman was only an intern, having accompanied Jeremiah to the mothership for only a short while. She had come to him for an interview in politics, and Jeremiah had invited her to come to the mothership as a ‘taste of the exiting’. Jeremiah thought all up-and-coming diplomats should have some experience with danger.

He didn’t anticipate Kharak being bombed into oblivion on their return. He was half certain Emarah, the intern, would have died from a heart attack. To his surprise she remained resolute, and remained his attendant for the missions they were sent on.

Both of them could write books on the experience of the Bentusi. Jeremiah was still getting over that- the enigmatic traders were like nothing he had ever encountered before. Sure he had watched entertainment vids of the ‘first contact’ scenario, but the Bentusi trade had been little more than a silent exchange of greetings and loading the exchange unit into the diplomatic corvette before they were cast off.

Jeremiah was hoping that this would be another landmark event in the history of Kushan space travel. He gripped his optimism as tightly as he did his restraints as the corvette launched from the mothership hanger.

-----------------------------------------

Kamara watched with the rest of the interceptor pilots as the white corvette and it’s tell-tale cyan drive emissions departed from the maw of the mothership’s hanger. She checked her IFF codes, ready in an instant to declare the unidentified objects as hostile.

Bona Manaan, with her fellow Defender pilots, also swallowed. The group was in wall formation, presenting it’s facing towards the enemy mothership with guns folded. This was going to be different from rock dodging… this time, her targets would be firing back.

Johnas Soban also waited in the signal booth of his destroyer, binoculars focused on the distant space vehicles and the approaching fighter. His crew was completely silent, all listening to the comm. Channels for this historic moment.

Tuur, Alatto, and the Marines were still gearing up. Though all of them hoped for the best- all of them were realists. How likely was it that the Bentusi had been mistaken? Perhaps these aliens were the reason ‘no one returns’ from the great nebula. Tuur and the marines would be ready for anything.

Anam, Emilia, and the majority of Fleet Intelligence all watched as the two craft closed with one another. White and white, both craft conveyed were ready to relay their true intentions.

Karan, above all of them, turned her godlike head from the needs of the mothership to lean forward and listen to the exchange.

------------------------------

Paul stopped his craft first and awaited for the other vessel to come to him. Through the eyes of the swarmer he could make out the various ships and shapes among the unusual fleet. It was a bigger group than most that Paul had to deal with- more than a dozen large capital ships and many groups of small craft. Only once in the history of the Protectors had a force come this large… and that required the Requiem.

The largest of the alien craft was a tall pillar of a ship, grey in color. It seemed almost as tall as one of their needles was long. Despite standing on its end, the ship seemed to carry some kind of majesty to it. There was no flare to the design, no extravagant details or fear-inspiring imagery. It could almost be considered Kadeshi in its design and simplicity. Form and function united.

The rest of the grey-colored starships looked the same. None of them were flashy, but all mundane shapes and basic forms. If these people chose to integrate themselves with the Kadeshi, Paul would be more than interested to learn what he could about these people and where they came from.

Duty beckoned, and the large, white craft was coming to a stop before his swarmer.

It was time.

----------------------------------------

The conversation that flowed between the two ships seemed to last longer than everyone remembered it. Paul, only a moment after the ship stopped before him, began his liturgy:

“This is the Garden…of Kadesh. For thirteen generations we have protected it from the…unclean.”

He started to circle the larger corvette, aiming his swarmer’s weapons at the direct center of the vehicle. “The Turanic Raiders who came before you refused to join and were…punished…for this trespass. Like theirs your ship has already defiled this holy place.”

That got some of the heads in Fleet Intelligence wondering how exactly they ‘defiled’ the nebula. Almost all of them guessed immediately it was the harvesters, still sucking away at the copious nebula gas.

“If you have come to join,” Paul continued, “We welcome you… and will spare your ship until all have disembarked. If you have come to consume the garden you will be…removed… at once.”

Paul stopped his swarmer before the white Corvette. “What are your intentions?"

--------------------------------------
Ambassador away...

Edit: Minor skin irritation corrected

[Raptor_Shadow]

Damnit Norse you're doing it again. I must demand MORE!

I agree that Paul musing on the implications o the altar boys seems a bit direct, simply having them there, and among the mention of religion and bishops, allows the reader to draw their own conclusions anyway, I think.

[Hiroshi_Tea]

Norse, minor inconsistency
no one is allowed to touch the speaker
however you have several aids
dressing him up in the swarmer suit

beyond that
i am insanely enjoying your depiction of the Kadeshi Swarmer

[Norsehound]

Oh Blah.

Well, touch his skin. :-P

[Dot]

Norse, minor inconsistency
no one is allowed to touch the speaker
however you have several aids
dressing him up in the swarmer suit

Maybe they are wearing gloves.

[Chrome]

I would assume gloves as well. However, I think it would've made more sense for pilots to throw their suits on themselves without assistance. I find it a bit odd that something as streamlined and split in the middle isn't able to be put on by Paul himself. In space like that, I'd think anyone would learn at a fairly young age how to get into a suit fast should emergencies arise.

This is setting up very nicely, and I like how the Kushan are already coming across as potentially problematic for the Kadeshi even before the fighting got started.

[Norsehound]

Perhaps I will revise this section also... I just imagined that there were ground crews to assist the pilots into the Swarmers. It's how my mind's eye imagined it, anyway.

Because well... consider: the Swarmer is THE most advanced space fighter in the universe, bar none (since it's dubious whether or not I want to accept the super acolyte as 'real' in HW :\ ). It translates every motion of the pilot's body through the interface into the motion of the craft.

Putting on the suit is simple. Donning the gloves and boots are also simple. However, fitting and sealing of the helmet, handling the umbilical chord, and walking to the Swarmer's hatch are not easy on your own. The control mechanisms are very precise also, and have to be connected the right way or risk....oddities in flight.

As to the swarmer crews... I should probably illustrate the distinction between swarmers at some point. Orange craft are part of a group of ordained holy pilots who form the 'elite' of the Kadeshi swarmer groups. Their technicians are also ordained, with special training and talents granted to them by the clergy. Only THEY are allowed to deal with ordained vessels and pilots, of which Paul is one of.

I need to get around to posting more chapters, but a combination of lack of productivity and staring a 2,500 word essay in the face (due monday) have kind of interrupted my flow. :\

Thanks for the feedback all.

[Chrome]

I like that idea about the "ordained" groups. I always figured there was some distinction between orange, yellow, and white swarmers.

Perhaps yellow is "ordained in training?" or the level just below them?

Anyways best of luck about the essay.

PS. No offense intended, but your taking a dig at Cataclysm every chance you get--even when it's somewhat related to the topic at hand--is getting a bit tiresome. You might want to restrain yourself every now and then. It seems rather juvenile for an otherwise civil, gifted writer like yourself to be doing that on these forums.

[Hiroshi_Tea]

there are canon purple-pink ones
but feel free to omit those if you wish

[Chrome]

Back to the idea of multiple classes.

Maybe it's more of a squadron thing? In militaries today there's a lot of like, the 15th Squadron or some such. And there are those with special reputations, as well. And I'm not even talking fighters.

Perhaps the Kadeshi have something similar. It could go like this: a First Squadron (the elite, ordained pilots), then a Second Squadron (ordained-in-training), and a Third Squadron (some other high-end job), and then Fourth comprised of the rest (the white swarmers). The First would have a pretty fearsome reputation, by that general IRL rule... And to see the Kushan kick their asses later on would be...pretty rattling for any 'deshi.

[Norsehound]

I'm playing through the Kadeshi missions in off-moments I have... keeping an eye out for those purple swarmers. I also thought they existed, but I also wonder if they were a product of just being in other missions. I'd imagine they would be craft piloted by pastors of the congregation, while orange craft are just ordained pilots (like Knighted officers within the United Kingdom.)

As to Cata... perhaps I do go overboard from time to time in my dislike for the series. I should probably mention that with the National Novel Writing month coming up in November... I need a plot to write about. I thought about re-writing Cataclysm as I would have liked it, and with the Taiidani as exiles over the Kushans (just to provide a contrast).

I don't hate Cataclysm as a game (it was my first homeworld game), but after playing the original Homeworld I became disappointed with Cata for the abrupt change in tone it had compared to the original. Reguardless, all that is for another thread.

[Chrome]

Yeah, it is.

Your Cataclysm rewrite might interest some people here. If I recall correctly, you and Beast had some agreement on ideas regarding improvements to the storyline. (Even I think Cata could've done with another layer of complexity in its plotline. Somtaaw vs. Beast seems a little too black-and-white in my mind.)

Maybe once you've gotten your basic ideas set up, you could post some excerpts or drafts here? I know it's yet another fanfic for you to stick in your sig's links, but it might get some of your frustrations with Cata out into a form that might help you and others understand what you're on about.

[Norsehound]

Some ideas for my Cataclysm re-do have started to manifest... mainly in the redesign of the Kuun-Lan.

I don't have a plot really set up as of yet, but ideas are coming.

Now that I'm done with that neusance of a paper (deadlines and I don't get along well together :\), KADESH:

-------------
2.5
Misjudgment

Jeremiah Manaan, Ambassador of the Kushan people, had listened while the Kadeshi pilot was talking. He had been reprising his response with every new statement he heard. This was his gift.

So while Emarah the intern was growing increasingly pale at the Kadeshi’s statement, Jeremiah was in a zen of concentration as to how he would deal with this problem.

The Kadeshi identified themselves by name, the length of time they had been here (significant to them, otherwise it would have gone unmentioned), and defined others outside their culture: Unclean

Jeremiah, if given time, could work up quite a few interpretations of the Kadeshi theory of ‘uncleanness’. He had only seconds to comprise the response.

The Kadeshi had given them an ultimatum. They could either join the Protectors willingly, live here for the rest of their lives, or they could die. The finality in the tone of their ambassador meant that the Kadeshi would hear no compromise.

Jeremiah took a breath, and then started his response.

“We were unaware of the significance of this location. We mean you no conflict. Please allow us time to prepare out engines so we may with draw as requested.”

When he reflected upon it many years later, Jeremiah would recount this as the worst compromise he had ever delivered. The Kadeshi did not ‘request’ them to leave- they had told the Kushan people to join or die. No compromises.

But then, he would also add that it was the only thing he could say to the Kadeshi at the time. The Kushan people were on a mission to return to their ancestral homeworld. They would not be stopped by anyone- including these Kadeshi.

The swarmer seemed to stare at them as if it were a man’s face, wide-eyed, and already arrived at what had to be done.

“If you will not join, Then die.” Was the simple, almost dismissive reply, “There is no…’withdrawal’…from the Garden.”

Fleet intelligent was dead silent for a moment. The shock of the Kadeshi response was mixed with a sense of loss. Again they had made an enemy among the stars. Again the Kushan people would be fighting for survival.

Again they would be hunted for committing a violation they had been completely unaware of.

The biggest difference between this situation and the ones of the Turanic Raiders and Taiidani, however, was that the Bentusi had said No one Returns from the Gardens of Kadesh. Nobody. Not the Turanics, not the Taiidan…

What broke the assembly out of their melancholy and shock was a word of profanity that echoing across the room from someone in fleet intelligence who was still paying attention.

After that second, the room exploded with noise and activity. War was upon the Kushan people again.

------------------------------------

Paul had to admire these strangers.

He had dealt with many kinds of outsiders before in his profession as Speaker of Kadesh. Many of them were crude beings, undeterred by the appearance of the Protectors and dismissive of their strength. They often looked down upon the smaller craft, dismissing Paul and his warnings as puny and unimaginative.

Many of these beings were Turanic Raiders and Paul had a good understanding of their ways. To them, barbarism was a show of strength. They were louder, bigger, and wider than the Kadeshi were, and thus always assumed their superiority when they trespassed on Kadeshi lands. They met their ends quickly, screaming louder than they had when Paul had delivered the ultimatum.

But these people were different.

Their response was futile. The Kadeshi could not compromise. Paul was given two responses to any answer the unclean would give: a warm welcome among the Protectors of Her beauty, or an imminent death with no reprieve.

And yet, these beings had responded to Paul as if he were an equal. True, their prose was perhaps a little confused, as there was no ‘request’ in Paul’s liturgy. Yet even that in itself, the offer of a compromise, suggested hope of civility in these people.

As he flew back to the Pine it suddenly struck him as odd that he felt some…sympathy…for these creatures. Perhaps, he realized, because of the act that had to be performed now for anyone who disagreed with the Gospel. They had refused and thus had to die.

Just as Halcyon, who had questioned, was put to death.

His swarmer returned to the square opening where he had launched from earlier. His personal euphoria of flying a swarmer again would fade, and he would be entering a nearly empty Pine as all the Protectors were called to service.

He would not miss the euphoria though… an even deeper sense was gripping him.

He was in the clutches of history. This battle would not go normally.

-------------------------------------------------

“HellHELLHLELL!!!” Kamara swore upwards as she watched the needle-like mothership disgorge a cloud of fighters. She brought her interceptor into motion- rocking back and forth to prevent anyone getting a lock on her fighter. It was standard Kushan ‘evasive tactics’.

“Interceptors!” Ordered the flight leader, “Return fire!”

The interceptors broke from their stationary position and rocketed forward. Rotary guns within the formation answered the Kadeshi swarmers, and yellow darts flew for the massed fighter craft.

But the pods were faster than anything ever encountered before in Kushan science. As the flashed by, Kamara wondered just exactly how fast these things were going.

-------------------------------------------------------

Emilia turned her head and announced, “Enemy fighters maximum velocity is estimated to be at 1,500 meters per second.”

“Ah-Shaddah, how is this even possible!?” Demanded Anam as he flicked through several screens on his display, “Not even our probes go that fast! These things have to be unmanned!”

That seemed to be the consensus from half of Fleet intelligence. There was just sheer disbelief that a fighter like this could exist- let alone be engineered by human hands. Truly this was the scourge the Bentusi spoke of when they said ‘no one returns’ from the great nebula.

The Kushan people had only one option left open to them: They had to fight.

There was no other choice.

----------------------------------------------------------

Fleet command had been keen to test some of the new technologies delivered by the Bentusi, once they offered something to trade. It was a timely decision within the oort cloud surrounding Kharak- for without Ion cannons the mothership would not have lasted the battle.

A pair of new Puppeteer-class frigates was the result of such ‘trials’ of drone technology. It had been a Godsend to the Kushan space engineering teams, who had been battling with useless automated drone technology at the behest of some fleet commanders on the mothership. The Bentusi provided the final answer needed to complete the coding for the drone network, and thus the Puppeteer was born.

Now was their baptism in fire.

The Puppeteers sprayed their can-shaped drones into space, where they quickly assembled into a sphere surrounding the frigate. Within seconds, the drones orientated themselves towards the Kadeshi craft and fired.

Though the drone guns were small- only just larger than the size of a man- they packed a medium rotary cannon. Combined fire from all twenty-four drones was considered to be a ‘divine hail of wrath’ as quoted by one of the artistic engineers.

The results were devastating. The Swarmers ran into a wall of firepower just as dangerous as they were unleashing upon the unclean, and no fighter escaped being hit at least once by the lethal projectiles.

But swarmer armor was strong. The Protectors would not go down easily.

-----------------------------------------

“SAJUUK!!” Shouted the helm officer of the Ahban-Oh as a white blur flashed by the cockpit.

Decompression alarms sang from the damage control panel, but someone was on it. “Status?” Demanded Johnas.

“Spoon of Sajuuk,” The officer there reported, “That pass holed several compartments in the upper levels!”

“That’s three meters of solid armor!” Denied Johnas.

“I can’t explain it sir! Damage controls en-route.”

Johnas turned and ordered, “Shutters! Now!”

The shutters, normally reserved for protecting the crew from the uncertain sights of Hyperspace, folded up and closed before the large windows of the bridge, observation deck, and other posts. The Ahban-Oh now had as much shielding as she could raise.

“Get me fleet intelligence!” Johnas demanded, “We need orders!”

-------------------------------------------------

Imera was content with her position at the fringe of the battle. She, along with pods 48 and 83, hung just outside the estimated firing range of most of the unclean’s vessels. They would wait here for the swarmers to return.

Pod 92 had ventured ahead, as was ordered of them by the clergy. They would scan the unclean vessels, and provide an idea of where they were most vulnerable. So far the swarmers had been concentrating on the violating craft. Two dissimilar vessels, both blocky, had been slowly raping the garden by pilliaging her beauty. This was the source of disdain for the Kadeshi, and they were targeted first as symbols of the Unclean’s heresy.

All Imera needed to concern herself with, though, was maintaining position. In the aft portion of the fuel pod, Likos was manning the fuel pumps and giving fuel to the stronger elements of Kadesh.

Imera smiled. Everything was well.

--------------------------------------------------

Vlir was leading the attack wave on the second run.

He was a big man- bigger and more muscular than any Kadeshi born native among the Gardens in nearly twelve generations. He was an oddity, and fortunate for the Kadeshi, an oddity centered in the Pine called Taberah. He would have been treated as an abomination, also, had he not displayed devotion and zeal for the cause of Kadesh.

Vlir’s father had been “Mahor the Mighty” once, a generation ago, and had been one of the Turanic Pirate lords that harassed the Amalekyte lands in the deep east. However, things had gone afowl for him when he refused to bow to the Imperial Decree. Fleeing from others seeking to take down his wealth and power, Mahor had fled into the Gardens seeking protection from his creditors.

There he met the Kadesh, and when so offered, he decided to join them gladly than return to the life of a fugitive. Mahor had been a proud and dedicated worker- and he was in the right place at the right time to save the late Bishop Balberith when the Pine called Moserath came under attack from Mahor’s creditors.

Vlir had called upon this favor to combat the opposition against his appointment to the Swarmers. In the end, the clergy did not regret it: Vlir was one of the most dangerous swarmer pilots of the Kadeshi protectorate.

And now Vlir had his sights on the heretical vessels.

“Heathens!” He hissed, firing his swarmer’s weapons at a passing group of strike craft, “You have offended the goddess with your flagrant heresy! Punished be all of you for raping our beloved and dear protector, The Goddess Kadesh!”

Some thought Vlir would have made a perfect minister, but nobody was willing to take that step in Kadeshi society. After all, the man was born from the Unclean.

---------------------------------------------------

The porter-class corvette had the dubious distinction of being the first corvette-sized craft to enter service. Designed to salvage any alien technology encountered en-route to Hiigara, the little craft had gone above and beyond the call of duty in most situations…with surprising results.

The crew of Porter no. 8, for example, was responsible for towing in the Ahban-Oh when so asked by command. Now that they had tugged in the current flagship of the Kushan military arm, the crew of Porter 8 were feeling a little smug. Two of the three were intoxicated, giving the group the ease they felt in the heat of battle.

The crew didn’t expect to be ordered into action in the middle of combat, but here they were. Someone decided that the Salvage corvettes had a use, and they received orders moments after the Kadeshi began their attack.

“Wait,” The pilot said, “What? Say again?”

“Whazit now?” asked one of the operators behind and to the pilot’s left.

The pilot listened for a moment, then said, “Are you sure? All right…” He lowered the headset around his neck and activated the Porter’s engines.

“Woa wait,” said the other operator, “What’s going on?”

“Command’s asked us to nab one of these alien ships.” Replied the pilot.

“Yer not serious.” Said one of the crew, observing a swarmer flash by at ludicrous speed.

The pilot frowned. “Not the fighters!” He pointed out the window, “Those things! The pods!”

“Ooooh.” Both operators cooed.

The porters closed in on their prey.

----------------------------------

“The enemy fighters appear to be focusing their attacks on our resource collectors,” Cynsk announced dryly from overhead, “Allocate ships to defend them.”

This was lost in the chaos consuming fleet intelligence. Damage reports were coming in from across the fleet, and testaments to the lethality of the swarmer’s guns were numerous.

Amidst the chaos, Emilia was keeping track on various measurements. For instance, the mass of the swarmers.

“Anam,” She said, “I’m reading a massive drop in mass on the swarmers.”

Anam didn’t turn his head- he was busy digging through more information. “So?” he asked while returning to an emissions graph from the enemy mothership.

Emilia nodded at the screen, “They’re running out of fuel… and fast.”

Anam looked up at the hologram. In one moment, the swarmers were all over the Kushan fleet. In the next…

“Enemy units withdrawing.” Observed someone from across the room.

Anam looked to Emilia. Emilia just turned her head back at him. “Fuel?” She suggested.

--------------------------------

Fuel Pod 59 continued to float peacefully at the fringe of the battle. Her sisters were also unmolested, hanging there as the flocks of swarmer pods returned for their replenishment of fuel.

Imera watched the thirsty craft queue up and dock to the underside of her pod. She was happy to be at least doing this for them, serving an important function of the Protector’s duties. It wasn’t much, but at least it was better than doing nothing.

Refueling was one of the only times really where the pilots could express themselves. As Protectors, they were all under the shield of anonymity and thus could get away with some things that the clergy would not have necessarily sanctioned.

Apparently word got out that a woman piloted Pod 59. “Thanks mama!” Called one of the swarmer pilots, who kicked in his drives and ducked back into the obscurity of war.

Imera just smiled and shook her head. It was all in good fun.

It seemed like a flash, and then the pilots were gone. Back into the fray of killing and cleansing the garden of the heretical mass.

But then she noticed something out of the corner of her eye- a splotch of yellow advancing fast on her fighter. She turned her head and focused at the pair of vehicles approaching her pod.

The two ships approaching were certainly odd. Though they bore the color scheme of the invaders, they seemed unarmed. Nothing about their blocky structure suggested hostility or malice. They seemed rather harmless actually, and Imera wondered what they were up to.

She became a little perturbed as they drew closer, then outright fearful when they were less than a kilometer away. “Likos…?” She said, arming the fuel pod’s one kinetic cannon.

She fired a blue bolt at one of the incoming pods. It ricochet off the top carapace of the first advancing form, leaving only a small scorch mark where it hit. A second later she fired again.

The silent forms were not deterred by Imera’s display of force. She looked over the four advancing shapes desperately at the waves of Protectors, menacing the rest of the aliens as she sat helpless.

“Likos… I think we’re in trouble…” Imera replied.

Two of the four ships broke off and came to either side of the Fuel Pod’s bulk. Slowly they closed in- each of the craft’s four pads drawing closer and closer to the hull.

She tried to activate the ship’s engines, but something was wrong. None of the controls were working. She tried the computer interfaces, jostled the control yokes, and then went frantic and tried every switch. “Likos!” She cried, her voice full of panic.

Then the vessels hugged her craft.

-----------------------------------------------------

“KLANG!!”

“Aha! Gotcha!” Announced one of the buzzed operators of Porter-8, “Now, let’s haul this puppy back to base!”

“What’s a puppy?” asked the other one.

“I can’t see anything!” Complained the pilot, peering out of his windows as best as he could.

-----------------------------------------------------

The Pine called Taberah was in euphoria while her warriors were out doing the duty of Kadesh. Their populations had all gathered inside the sanctums, on their knees and murmuring as one the hymns of Kadesh. Children were at the back, silent as they had yet to learn the songs of praise that must be sung.

Bishop Stolas, hands raised and parted wide while he stood within his cage, was also chanting aloud the reprisals of Kadesh. The Scry was open before it, and the image presented to the facing was that of the Mercy of Kadesh. Scrawled in the third generation by the renowned bibliscist Tabuh, the artwork within the Scry was the only exception to the law that One Could Not Deface Any of Her Works.

The Mercy of Kadesh portrayed the lady Goddess, eyes closed, and turned away from the hordes of the unclean. The masses of heretical beings were depicted as dark blobs and shadows- with wide maws of teeth and even wider eyes of ignorance. All children knew that Kadesh’s beauty could not be perceived with the open eye. One only received enlightenment when the eye was closed.

Paul sat in his cabin, as he was instructed to do by the demands of his religion. He had no book open before him, as he was not allowed to directly posses a Scry.

As he watched the battle through his own screen, though, questions were plying the inside of his thoughts. He was doing his best to suppress them. The Garden had always been a certainty to his people, and it had been the basis of his life. Surely…

But something nagged at him. Something his father tried to tell him in the last days. Something important… about truths. He recalled a proverb his father had given him once, something his own father had said to him: ‘White is truth, that can be certain. But when a white tries to be whiter and white, then there is something amiss.’

Bishop Stolas was being extra loud this day.

Paul forcibly shoved it all aside to return to his immediate concern: Merrah. She was out there somewhere, in the thick of things doing the Goddess’s work. Soon these heretics would be burned, as all were, and they would never be seen again. Paul would continue with his intentions with Merrah, before being parted with her forever afterward.

But the feeling of change wasn’t going away.

-----------------------------

“We have to do something here sir!” Johnas’ executive officer demanded on the bridge of the Ahban-Oh, “These things are chewing us apart!”

Johnas nodded angrily, as his head was connected to a headset. “Tell those collective morons in fleet command to give us some orders! We’re sitting ducks out here to-“

“YEAHA!! GOT ONE!” Shouted a voice from helm as the Taiidan destroyer’s Ion cannons vaporized a swarmer.

“Say that again?” Johnas demanded.

----------------------

Anam glanced at the charge on the hyperspace module, then glared at his screen. The thick swarms of the enemy craft were proving to be too much for the strike craft to handle. The craft were phenomenally fast, unbelievably well armored, and with clearly superior weaponry. There was no way the Kushan people could hope to withstand this assault for long.

“Hyperspace module charging,” Karan’s voice toned above them all, “Ready in one minute.”

“I’m still getting a consistent power reading,” Emilia said, “Looks like they have some kind of field emitter in effect.”

Anam, with a flick of a hand, brought up the emissions graph from the enemy mothership. Something surprised him. “What the…”

“Mm?” Emilia asked.

“You know how you said the hyperspace signature was identical to our own?” He asked.

Emilia shifted in her seat to look at Anam’s screen, and shock spread across her face. “No way…”

Anam looked back at his screen. He had the Mothership’s hyperspace core emissions open also, for comparison.

There was a 92% match.

----------------------------------------------
The first of the captured alien vessels was being brought in to the hanger.

“Salvage field released,” Announced the pilot of Porter-8, “You got it?”

Harbor control was already exerting its remote manipulation over the unusual white pod-craft and guided it into the hanger. Every time a Porter brought something into The Maw (the popular name for the starboard side hanger), the control crews ‘handed over the keys’ of their captured vehicles to docking command.

Some artful joker in the Mothership’s foundry had even crafted makeshift keys, supposedly from the hull of the captured ships, and had them delivered to docking command’s office. Thus, the docking command operators were wondering what the ‘key’ to this pod would look like.

The captured vessel glided through the huge cavern of a docking interior to the closest spot deck, where Tuur’s squadron of marines were waiting. They had hustled out of their damage control gear and reported to the hanger to start duty with the other three squadrons assigned to the task.

Tuur wasn’t sure of the make of the alien ship this time around. He wondered briefly if this would be their first experience with another form of intelligent life. Alatto seemed to think so- he went on about his pet theories of alien beings that resided in unusual places in the galaxy. The fact that nobody knew anything about the Kadeshi reinforced Alatto’s belief that they were dealing with a new kind of life form.

Alatto wouldn’t get the chance to shake the alien’s hands if it were the case. Tuur was the point man for the squadron, and would go into the alien ship first.

As the pod glided down to the spot deck, the hanger’s grappling arm was raised. The implement was an adapted hauling crane that was designed to move about the walls of the hanger and anchor massive components in place while the construction teams worked. It had been hastily refitted with a cutting claw at its tip, turning it into the primary breaching tool used in the mothership.

The Arm’s girder was swinging up now, looking for any obvious hatches to plug into. The crews were hesitant, after all this WAS a ship carrying strike craft fuel. The last thing they wanted to do was burrow into a fuel tank and create the largest shrapnel grenade known to Kushan kind. The operators stopped the arm and consulted an echo-mapping scan made while the ship was in descent. The arm moved again, this time aiming for the apparent bridge of the craft.

Tuur and his team waited patiently, watching the arm and its yellow-black painted length traverse the frigate-sized craft. Then it secured itself to a spot on the nose.

The sound coming from the breaching arm echoed off the far wall of the hanger bay at a delay of three seconds. The noise was so loud the marines could hear it through their helmets, even with the sound receptors turned off. A poet somewhere among the Kushan people described it as the ‘death cry of Kharak made manifest.’ An apt description, given the carnage that ensued afterward.

Normally this was done in the zero-g part of the hanger, but the teams didn’t want to take the chances that anyone alive in there would be blown out by decompression. Within a minute, the arm had finished its work, and moved aside the chunk of hull cut out of the pearly white vehicle.

Tuur and his marines were on the move. They lept off the spot deck’s gravity and propelled themselves by pushing themselves along the length by the girders. In under a minute they arrived at the hole and positioned themselves around it.

They waited, then Tuur propelled himself through the hole, expecting anything. In his mind he was prepared for anything: A sword wielding fanatic with Sajuuk on his lips, a live grenade, automated mines, projectile weapons, even his imagination was allowed to conjure strange biological creatures with dart-throwing spitters.

The last thing he expected in this red-lit interior was a beautiful woman, pressing herself against the pilot seat with eyes wide open in fear.

It Tuur hesitate to see her, as it reminded him of those same scared wide-eyes the lizards gave when Aii held them. He was stunned a little in realizing that the situation was more or less the same here: Their ship was captured, and so was this creature.

Then it occurred to Tuur how silly it was to be pointing an automatic at such a beautiful creature. Still, he couldn’t let his guard down, and the weapon remained raised.

“Point?” Alatto asked from above.

“Encounter. Wait one.” Tuur replied. After a moment he slowly lowered his automatic weapon, the shouldered it. “Looks like your theory’s scrubbed again, Alatto.”

A soft curse was heard over the chatter, followed by Joan’s laughter. Tuur finished securing his rifle and reached a black-gloved hand out for the woman. Her eyes darted to his hand again and then back at his helmet.

Tuur imagined he looked quite intimidating to this frightened woman. It was ironic a way, given the situation. “Hey Alatto.”

“Yeah?” asked the Marine.

“This girl is in a panic.”

“Knock her out.” Suggested Alatto.

Tuur didn’t like the idea of hitting girls. Scaring them with rifles was bad enough. “I’m going to take my helmet off.”

“What? Tuur, don’t-“ Joan protested, but was cut off when Tuur unsealed his helmet and took it off. Once it was free, he let it drift behind him and turned to look at the Kadeshi woman.

She seemed a little more receptive this time, inching away from her place against the wall and moving towards him. Her pearl-white hands reached out and took his black-gloved one.

Just then a scream echoed through the chamber, and Tuur was knocked into the instrument panel. By reflex he reached up and intercepted the man’s dagger-arm, and after a second assessed his attacker.

His attacker was a man, dressed in the same white garb the woman was. Only instead of fear, this man had anger. This was the dagger-wielding fanatic Tuur had expected upon entry. He was late.

The man was weak though, and Tuur’s Sobani training overcame the man like a reed branch. The Kadeshi man whimpered under Tuur’s grip and was forced to let go of the dagger. He tried punching Tuur, but the blow came weak and half hearted. When Tuur replied in kind, the man was knocked cold.

“Having fun in there?” asked Alatto, making the other marines laugh.

Tuur shoved the unconscious man up through the hole. “Another prisoner.”

“Got him.” Alatto said.

Tuur then saw the dagger floating in null gravity and took a hold of it. He examined the blade... saw it to be surprisingly primitive in shape and style. It was virtually undecorated, save for the circular splayed logo in red at it’s hilt. He looked at the back, saw nothing spectacular, then sheathed the thing in one of his pockets.

“What about your lady friend?” asked Alatto from above.

“Huh?” Tuur asked, and turned to see the woman creeping closer to him. She was still wide-eyed and confused, but offered no protest when Tuur took a hold of her. He helped the woman from the pod, and both of them emerged into the blue light.

“Oh go figure,” Joan groaned, “The first alien woman WOULD be a babe.”

They stopped when Karan’s voice echoed from above, “Hyperspace module fully charged.”

------------------------------------

“Engage the hyperdrive.” Suggested Cynsk.

He was apparently unaware of the strike craft still outside the ship.

“What?!” Demanded Kamara, “Withdraw? We’ll be sitting ducks out there!”

“Do you want to stay out here and get shot up?!” Replied Erasmus from another interceptor.

Kamara frowned, then turned her interceptor for the hanger.

-------------------------------------

“I don’t care,” Anam was saying, “Stuff them all in. We’ll worry about refueling and repairing them AFTER we’re clear of the nebula.”

Emilia was shaking her head. “That field is still up…” she murmured.

Fighters and corvettes were all piling back into the hanger as fast as possible. The Drone Frigates hovered aside the bay, doing the best they could to cover the strike craft, science vessels, and harvesters as they marshaled back into the hanger. The Kadeshi, fortunately, were pulling back to withdraw.

Kamara’s fighter made it into the bay, then nose-dived downward. She killed the drives and allowed her fighter to float. She’d be safe here.

“Kamara?” Her radio buzzed. Kamara leaned forward in her cockpit when she recognized Bona. Kamara looked up and saw a Defender drifting nearby, the canopy’s top facing her interceptor.

“Bona? Are you all right?”

“I’m not sure…” She replied, “Am….Am I alive?”

Kamara kept from laughing. Every pilot’s first experience in combat was hell. That’s the way it was. “Yes Bona, you’re alive.”

“…really?”

“Uh-huh. When we get back, you’ll have to tell me all about your combat kills.”

Bona was quiet on the other end. “Kamara?” She asked, “Are you sure we’ll come back alive?”

“We’ll be fine. Karan will get us out of this.” Kamara reassured.

----------------------------

“Strike craft are in!” Shouted someone in fleet command.

“Coordinates set, Engage hyperdrive.” Cynsk commanded.

Anam and Emilia raised their heads. “Hyperspace engaged.” Karan announced.

The windows of hyperspace opened before them. The mothership’s, largest and tallest of all, was like a welcome door to a better beyond. The door to heaven had opened, beckoning them to escape this purgatory of relentless combat.

The windows lingered, then closed. Salvation had been denied.

----------------------------

Vlir was laughing triumphantly as the hyperspace windows closed. “SEE!” He roared behind his mask, “SEE THE POWER OF KADESH!!! None of you will escape her judgement, none of you will escape her wrath! Behold we, the embodiment of her divine vengeance, shall cleanse this holy place of your filth!”

With this, the second wave of Kadeshi retribution was launched.

------------------------

Karan was at a loss first to explain why the hyperdrive module had failed. The charge was lost, now, that was their hyperspace discharge for the next ten minutes. Karan allowed the computers to chew on processing a model as to how hyperspace could have been interrupted this way.

She glanced at the charts describing the hyperspace process. While the science of hyperspace was based on empirical data, the mothership still had sensors everywhere that recorded everything that happened in any system, anywhere. Karan was reviewing what happened to the hyperdrive…specifically the sensors that tripped the module.

The core was designed to interrupt Hyperspace transition in three occurrences. The first was when navigation determined the time-to-distance ratio had expired, and the Mothership was at her destination. The second was if the ship’s sensors detected any irregularities in either the waveform effect or the mothership’s hull integrity. The last was when a gravimetric anomaly is detected by the ship’s sensors- usually to allow the mothership and her crew to explore the particular phenomena.

Karan willed up the sensor information display and compared it against the hyperspace core’s interruption programming.

What she found was interesting.

-------------------------------------------------

“Hyperdrive jump failed!” Announced Karan’s voice over the heads of fleet intelligence, “The quantum waveform collapsed due to some kind of inhibitor field.”

Above Emilia and Anam’s heads, Cynsk said from his podium, “Analyzing field. Continue to protect the mothership until the source is located.”

Emilia immediately jumped to the spectrograph of the enemy mothership. Anam was thinking the same thing, and pulled up the emissions chart on his own monitor. “Anam,” Emilia said.

“That power field.” Anam completed.

Emilia was already patching herself in to fleet command. She was startled by the response.

“Yes Emilia,” Karan’s soft voice said in her headphones, “What can I do for you?”

Emilia wasn’t accustomed to talking to Karan directly. She had to compose herself a second before saying, “M-Ma’am… the effect… it’s the enemy mothership.”

------------------------------------------

“EQUATORIAL HELLS!!!” Shouted Johnas. He was furious. Furious not only at the swarmers outside and their ungodly waves of death and destruction, but also at command. Somehow, someone in that gigantic pillar of a mothership messed up the hyperspace drive and got them trapped here… in this hell.

“Equatorial hells, sir?” Asked one of the crewmembers.

Johnas turned and barked, “Just get us into motion! All hands to battlestations, secure the hyperdrive. Break formation!”

The ships arrayed around the mothership broke from their military parade stances. They wouldn’t be breathing easily yet.

Then again, the Kadeshi would rather have them not breathe at all.

-------------------------------------

The Pine continued to drift past the grey pillar. Another wave of protectors launched from the Pine’s cavernous interior… more bodies were being thrown onto the fire.

Paul could not deny a sense of surprise at how long this particular batch of unclean had survived. Usually the infidels from the outside were in a panic and disarray by now. When the Kadeshi fell on them, few retained their sense to fight back against the red tide. But these aliens had done more than just keep their cool: they had whittled away the first wave of swarmers that set against them.

The feeling of prophecy was strongest then. No force in the history of the Protectors had withheld this long save one: the ancient force from the past that defined the Requiem. With each passing moment, it seemed more evident to Paul that the Requiem would happen again. It would be the only response the clergy had to infidels who dared resist the will of Kadesh a first time.

Paul’s thoughts returned to Merrah once more. He had no way of knowing if she was alive or dead now. With the anonymity of the Protector’s name, it meant he could not simply call her name and expect her to respond. She was Kadeshi in this, and prided herself on protecting their home in space.

Paul would pray to his people’s goddess to return her to him. Even though it meant sinning greatly against the established religion of Kadesh, paul would pray anyway for her safe return. As the battle continued, all his mind and hopes dwelled on this one prayer.

-------------------------------

Kamara was furious now. She blasted her interceptor out of the hanger with the rest of the interceptors, and immediately turned to meet the incoming swarmers with a hail of bullets. In his own interceptor, Errad saw Kamara’s Blade flash by with the fire-red Triikor on its canopy and recoiled in fear. The swiftness Kamara undertook in attacking the Kadeshi was almost unparalleled.

Most of them could hear her profanity and raging over the comm.

It was like that through most of the fleet. The closing of the hyperspace window instilled in most of them a desperation now. They were liked cornered animals, fighting to the very last.

Some remained calm. Karan knew that the source of the hyperspace interruption was drifting behind her about two kilometers away.

She asked fleet command nicely to do something about it.

--------------------------------

“What? Finally.” Johnas said and hung up the communications pod. “Helm, about face. Take us to the enemy mothership.”

“What?” Asked Helm.

Johnas’ exec pointed out, “Sir, that thing is putting out enemy fighters like no tomorrow. You want to bring us closer?”

Johnas winced. “Karan just asked me to do something about the inhibitor field.”

“You mean, that space ship?”

“What else?” Johnas asked, “It’s not like that god Qwaar-Jet has come out of mythology and held us here for fun.”

The entire capital force of the Kushan people turned as one, and faced the enemy mothership.

--------------------------

The sudden sight of the entire Kushan fleet turning towards the mothership made Bishop Stolas hesitate on his mighty throne.

He stumbled in his liturgy. This was something he’d have to atone for later, as it turned heads in the bridge. They’d be questioning why their leader stumbled, and that would lead to bigger problems.

He continued with his fists raised, chanting louder and louder the priase of Kadesh.

Ion Beams from the Kushan Firelance frigates stabbed into the white hull of the Pine called Taberah. White hull was scorched under the particle beams as they danced across the spine of the craft.

The rumbling was felt through the entire ship.

More beams slammed into the side of the mothership- this time from the destroyers. The assault frigates were also chiming in, firing mass drivers and plasma bolts at the gigantic craft.

Stolas stopped his chanting, crying out, “Navigators! Face the heathens, prepare the Eyes!”

“Amen.” Answered the monks.

The massive head of the Pine turned slowly. Her spine was already alight with projectile cannons firing their blue bolts into space. A wave of attack bombers flew overhead- the quick craft were too fast for the small projectile cannons of the Pine to hit them.

The head of the Pine called Taberah continued to turn, swinging into the enemy formation.

---------------------

Johnas laughed aloud. “What’s that thing doing? It can’t hope to-“

He stopped as the head of the vessel ploughed right thorough the closest Ion array frigate. Distress calls went out as the ship rolled against the hardened shell of the Pine’s head- the ion arrays wrapping around the tubular cannon barrel and destroying the ship’s use as a weapon.

Johnas was speechless.

The Kushan fleet continued to fire anyway- the swarmers were almost forgotten in the Kushan fleet’s combine efforts to burn the pine from stem to stern.

-----------------------

The hell that was outside was now being delivered into the Pine itself. Strikes against the hull rumbled into a deafening roar on the inside. Lights flickered under the combined impacts of the unclean weapons- causing discord and panic among the citizens within the Pine’s confines.

Paul looked away from the screen and up at the ceiling. Yes… it was different now. No force from the outside had dared to attack a Pine. These were no ordinary outsiders…

The bridge shook, and one of the stations sparkled with explosions. The Bishop maintained his hold on the central command station, glaring with divine hatred at the grey pillar.

Then the Eyes lit up. Concealed beneath the forward dome of the Pine’s massive head, the twin omnidirectional ion beams opened fire from a flat surface. It caught the Kushan fleet by complete surprise- making some attack bomber pilots jinx to escape getting fried by the beam. Its target, the first of the Vengence-class assault frigates, saw it’s crew ducking in recoil from the sudden burst of the ion beams.

But the Kushan reprisal was nearly five times as great. Ion beams were crashing against the head of the Pine, causing more vibration damage directly to the bridge this time. Bishop Stolas, a devout man, looked to his altar for guidance.

The Command, Control, and Communications panel designed into every one of the Kadeshi needleships was designed to provide the commanding officer with information and notification on every major mothership system. It’s designer had color-coded everything for importance, and helped envision the computer system behind it. It wasn’t hard, reprogramming some of the systems that were accessible on that ancient carrier, and the result was a finely-tuned instrument which could tell the commander everything he wanted to know.

Bishop Stolas was a devout man who had memorized the hymns and prayers of Kadesh religiously. Of the three leading members of Kadeshi civilization, one could say two things about Bishop Stolas. The first was that he was a dominator, and loved being in control of the situation and the people involved. Anything that disagreed with him, he sought out to destroy. The second was that he was incredibly devout, and had memorized every passage of Kadesh and could shame anyone among the population for their ignorance in the matter.

The red lights now flashing across the board meant nothing to him. He could not understand them. What’s worse is that he had no control over the situation. The unclean were getting the better of him. This was impossible. The unclean could never hold superiority over the holy protectors. It was unthinkable.

Stolas, eyes wide and jaw shivering, was on the verge of collapse. He did what every other religious man did, and appealed to his Goddess. “KADESH!! SAVE ME!!”

Someone wise among the navigation council, seeing that the Pine called Taberah could not last much longer, activated the hyperspace engines.

The massive pine’s red hyperspace window fluctuated open. The graceful eye of Kadesh, as it had been called by her believers, moved back to wash over the Pine called Taberah. In an instant, the pine was gone.

--------------------------------------

After the shock of the needleship’s departure, there was utter silence in fleet command. Only Cynsk interrupted, saying, “The inhibitor field has disappeared…. The hyperdrive is fully functional.”

But instead of cheers of victory, someone broke out in tears and collapsed at his station.

It was over.

Then the celebrations began.

----------------------------
Hello 'Deshi.

[Darcnighte]

Norse it would seem that i can't get enough of your prose; this is a great start to book II, i can see that it has ties to catholicism, (hope i spelt that right) of centuries past, with the images pressented in your writtings, from when the church was at it's height.
I also like the way in which you're presenting both sides of the battle here, however i personaly would like to get to know your characters a bit more in the interim, be able to make more of a connection some how. I'm sure you have plans for this, this is merely my opinion having read book one, the character development before the action seems to be alot less here than in the first book.

thats my 2 cents for the moment

Darc out

[Chrome]

Darcnighte, I think Norse is planning a different way of character development here: Having the action define the characters as you go along by showing how they react, and how they cope with its aftermath.

[Silver_Wolf#]

One slight problem Norse, though it's an easily fixed one , : During the boarding of the fuel pod your characters(marines) described themselves and the kadeshi as being both "human" , they should however be saying "kushani" or something of the ilk.

[Norsehound]

Readers note: I've added some bits to the end of the last chapter.

I thought I would be dragging it out some more, but it just wrote itself the way it did. There wasn't much more to say after discovering the Kadeshi can botch a hyperdrive. Besides, can you begin a chapter with action and end it in quiet moments? :\

[Chrome]

Norse, from my experience with Legacies, key chapters that indicate major plot movements tend to almost write themselves. And when that happens, they can go on until you feel like a proper pause can be felt before hitting the next chapter. (And I think you did just fine as far as finding a good pause in events to call an end to this chapter.)

I've sometimes had to move chapter endings and beginnings around in some sections. And I'm facing a similar problem right now which is why I'm so stalled on updates to my own fanfiction, wee. So I can definitely relate. Don't worry about them being too long or too short--sometimes a story just needs to be told with chapters of varying lengths or whatever. But I figured you mostly knew that. Just know this one didn't feel too long at all. Action has a way of making long chapters feel really short sometimes.

At any rate, don't feel bad about adding/editing stuff. Sometimes a little retconning or touch-up can go a long way.

[Nerdfish]

I have kept tab on this, Norse. Again I should congratulate you on rebooting this impressive piece.

I have caught a few possible typos while reading it. Here we go.

then the pods self distracted to prevent being dirtied by the unwashed masses
There were births for about forty individuals
This was the only instance where they were allowed bred
“We were unaware of the significance of this location. We mean you no conflict. Please allow us time to prepare out engines so we may with draw as requested.”

My spelling is usually very poor so please excuse me if I missed more typos then I caught.

Also, would you mind discussing a few phases.

But then she noticed something out of the corner of her eye- a splotch of yellow advancing fast on her fighter.

A few pod is technically a frigate.

“By God…” uttered Anam. He turned and cried, “Definite contact closing ahead!”

I think The Kushan call their god Sajuuk.

That seemed to be the consensus from half of Fleet intelligence. There was just sheer disbelief that a fighter like this could exist- let alone be engineered by human hands.

Are Kushan human or they just look like us?

The silent forms were not deterred by Imera’s display of force. She looked over the four advancing shapes desperately at the waves of Protectors, menacing the rest of the aliens as she sat helpless.

I think it take 2 savager to capture a pod, although this is uncertain.

Very good work overall. You reminded me how I play the mission. I had a salvaged missile destroyer in my fleet and counter heavy corvettes. Needless to say my Kushan fleet slaughered the Kadesh, twice, in that mission.

Definitely looking forward to more.

[Norsehound]

Hmm... I wonder if I should take some time out and go over these revisions.

As to the human/Kushan thing... it's just how I know how to phrase it. All of the races (Kushan, Taiidan, Turanic, and Kadeshi) are human or humanoid. Am I supposed to replace them with Kushan or Kushanoid?

I thought about it... and part of me reasons that the Kushan name for "God" is Sajuuk- this is where we get Sajuuk-Cor (Wrath of God). It could be interpreted that "Sajuuk" is the name for God, and they say "Sajuuk" over god, but for some instances in the story it better conveys the urgency of the statement if I just say "Oh My God" instead of "Oh my Sajuuk".

I'm wrestling, literally, with a wrestling scene. It might be easier if I just have one of the combatants shot :\

[Norsehound]

2.6
Damages

A sweep of the space surrounding the mothership by the capital vessels managed to pull some survivors from deep space. While some of them were Kushan, some of the survivors were the white-suited fanatics from the Kadeshi side. This information, combined with the knowledge of what was in the fuel pod, raised some interesting questions as to what these people actually were.

At a glance the pale, thin humanoids were no different from the Turanic Raiders, Taiidani, Bentusi, and even the Kushan people themselves. They were humanoid in appearance- four limbs, a head, two eyes… the usual. The small scientific community on the mothership was waiting blood and tissue samples to come in from the first of the ‘specimens’ now located in the medical section of the Mothership.

The man was still unconscious when the Marines brought the two of them in on stretchers. The girl hadn’t moved much, but frequently her gaze would rest on Tuur. It unnerved him a little, being picked out like that with such wide brown eyes. He tried not to look at her too much, or he might do something foolish.

Tuur wanted to wait back a little to see how the girl was settling in, and Alatto let him off with a wink. Tuur decided to get even later and squash any rumors that Alatto might be cooking up. He saw his squad mates go, headed back for duty, then turned back to peer in through the glass into the hospital beds.

The woman was laying peacefully on the medical bed as a nurse worked around her. It took a moment, but the nurse got the woman to peel up her sleeve and expose some bare skin. The Kadeshi looked over the nurse again and through the glass at Tuur, as if seeking approval for this action.

Tuur couldn’t help but nod, and smiled at his own reflex. The woman gave out a cry at getting pricked with the needle, but the nurse was persistent. In a moment she had a blood sample and was trying to console the Kadeshi female.

The blond looked at him again.

He couldn’t help but feel the rising blood in his cheeks and looked away. She was, simply, adorable… though Tuur would never say that in front of his fellow marines. It was bad enough that Alatto was getting ideas… and that Tuur was helping to propagate them.

He had determined never to cry again after Kharak was burned and his family extinguished. He had become hardened in his duty: breaking into spaceships and knocking out their crews. It had brought out a new side of Tuur Manaan… a monster. He had taken lessons from Hareed Soban, separating himself from his past life by adopting the Sobani surname. With no immediate family, this was his choice and he was free to partake in it.

His smile faded when he realized what he had become.

He looked up again at the girl as the smile slipped from his face. She was wide-eyed still, looking at the nurse, trying to figure out what this woman wanted her to do.

The Kadeshi woman looked at the window again, but Tuur was gone.

-------------------------------------

Many of the pilots who had embarked on the Kadeshi battle were green. This had been their first real combat tour, aside from shooting at slow-moving rocks.

Bona didn’t react to it well.

She puked as soon as she left the cockpit, shivering from shock, and had to be handled by some of her fellow defender pilots. This was how Kamara found her, being carried by a pair of the defender squad all the way back to the barracks.

They set her down on one of the cots belonging to the Defenders. It was an unusual thing, the defender squaddies. They were like a sort of clique within the larger strike-craft community, and often watched out for each other. Perhaps because nearly half of the Defender pilots were older veterans, who were likely fathers and grandparents back on Kharak.

Kamara watched Bona being dropped off and decided to see her. “Hi.” Kamara greeted as she knelt down beside the thicker woman.

Bona murmured a hello back, rolled on her side and asked, “Am I alive?”

Kamara couldn’t help it but laugh, and replied, “you’re alive.”

“Oh good.” cooed the Manaani woman, “I couldn’t tell…”

“First time combat experience plays hell with pilots,” Kamara said, observing another pilot wander over to a wall and also vomit. “You’re not alone in this.”

“Thanks.” Bona chimed softly.

Kamara motioned to stand, then stopped when Bona asked, “I never thought I’d be doing this, you know.”

Kamara sat back down next to Bona and said, “None of us did.”

“You know,” Bona smiled, “I’m an architect. That’s why I was chosen… because of my designing skills. I designed half a dozen houses in Tiir… graduated with high honors from university.”

Kamara nodded. She hadn’t talked with other pilots about their Kharakian professions… most of the notion that this was a colony mission disappeared after the mothership returned to the scaffold.

“Now I’m a fighter pilot,” She smiled, laughing slightly, “A fat fighter pilot that’s no good in combat.”

“Stop it.” Kamara toned when Bona started laughing. Kamara’s tone got the Defender pilot’s attention. “Listen to me,” Kamara said, “As long as we’re out there shooting at the enemy, we’re doing some good for everyone else. The Sleepers need us, every one of us.”

“Maybe they should put me back in and find someone else.” Bona moaned.

Kamara gave up. She let her friend roll her head away, then stood and walked back to her bunk.

-------------------------------------

Alatto and the rest of Tuur’s marines turned into the hallway leading to the hanger.

“So…” Joan said, “You leave Tuur bewitched by that alien woman. Next thing you’ll know he’ll be-“

“Joan, shut up.” Morris Soban, one of the marines, grunted.

“You could complain about anything couldn’t you?” Adrian Paktu added.

Alatto waved a hand. “Relax,” Replied the imposing Manaani, “I figured it was better then letting him space out again.”

Adrian smirked, “I think Joan has her own ideas for therapy.”

“Shock treatment.” The woman replied.

The sounds of commotion came from down the hall. The marines picked up the pace, and in a short while they were back in the spot deck on the hanger.

-----------------------

Kushan scientists were amazed at the performance of these new vehicles. At first they had been convinced that the craft were highly advanced drones, that the Kadeshi had accomplished what the Kushan people had not.

But then the startling evidence returned from the first of the drifting swarmers. The craft, once out of fuel, had either cut their engines and drifted in space- or self-destructed. Despite the best efforts of the porters to return examples of the unusual craft, only a handful had been brought back.

The first was one of the larger ones, painted white and orange. This distinction had yet to be identified, but that concern went out of mind when an echo-scan of the craft’s interior located a pilot cabin and occupant. Surely this was impossible!

The larger pod had been landed on the moon deck and the marines prepared to open it. Some concerned scientists were there also, ready and eager to examine the craft.

What nobody expected was the monster set loose in the hanger. The door had opened by itself, without the need for the cutting arm. When the Marines moved up to inspect the open hatch…something came out.

That something was a very muscular humanoid, clad in a completely white flight suit with a diamond-shaped mask for a face. It ejected itself from the pod in a fluid motion, as if the pod itself reacted biologically to the presence of the marines. The white giant attacked, swinging fist and foot into the marines whenever they tried to approach.

What was worse than his combat proficiency was the fact that he was a very vocal man. Amidst the screams and yells of triumph, the pilot was taunting them.

“UNCLEAN!!” He boomed as he stood atop his swarmer. He parted his hands wide, saying, “You shall never subdue me, the protector of the Gardens! I in turn will bring upon you terror and fear for the rest of your days, as punishment for raping Her immaculate ranges!”

The marine’s second attempt to subdue the white giant was when Alatto and the rest of the squadron entered.

-------------------------------

“Emilia, look at this.” Anam said as Emilia yawned.

“I’m off duty in a minute.” Emilia reminded him, but leaned over to look at Anam’s data.

Anam pulled up a schematic of the alien mothership. Emilia winced and asked, “Where did you get that?”

“Just a little something I was able to gather. Deep scans, data from that fuel pod we captured… look at it!”

“Yeah, the mothership.”

“No no, look closer.” Anam said and pointed.

Emilia saw it, winced, and asked, “What are all those rings?”

Anam turned to her. “You know how we have gravity now, right?”

“Yeah, something reverse-engineered from that wreckage. Without it, we’d all have muscle atrophy.”

“Grav Plating-A.” Anam nodded. He pointed at the chart, “But this thing uses spinning rings about a central axis to simulate artificial gravity.”

Emilia pondered that for a second, then asked, “So it saves on power…?”

“And also saves on maneuvering thrusters. This ship is highly stable in flight with all that rotation.” Anam pointed out, “you remember gyroscopes? How they keep balance on one end? Same thing here. It’s able to fly in a straight line without maneuvering thrusters because of the rotation going on in there.”

“Yeah,” Emilia said, “But what happens if the centrifuge stops? What happens to all that inertia?”

Anam looked at her, putting his hands together. Then he parted his hands as he made an exploding noise.

----------------------------------------------

The big Kadeshi pilot was still on top of his swarmer, mocking the marines, a minute after his explosive introduction.

Alatto and the other Marines were trying to figure out what to do with him.

“Uh-huh… all right.” Alatto said and hung up the communications phone.

“Well?” Joan asked.

“We can’t shoot him.” Alatto replied.

“…what!?” Joan asked.

Morris added, “What are we supposed to do? Lure him to the examination ward with cookies?”

“UNCLEAN!!!” Declared the swarmer pilot, “You shall all shrivel and die under the blazing wrath of Her Glory!”

“Sajuuk’s toes,” Adiran grumbled, “Didn’t we leave all the Gaalsien on Kharak to burn?”

“Why hasn’t anyone shot him yet?” Joan asked.

“Because we can’t.” Morris said, “Didn’t you hear Alatto? If command says we can’t shoot him, then we can’t!”

“Just a little?” Joan replied “The leg or the foot?”

“Maybe I should wrestle him down.” Alatto suggested, stretching his arms and flexing as he did.

“Please,” Joan replied, “I think I’ve had enough testosterone-inspired events for today.”

“My God, did you sign up to represent the feminist movement on Kharak?” asked Adiran.

“No, I had five older brothers. I’ll just leave it at that.” Joan replied.

Adrian’s jaw dropped. Morris voiced Adrian’s surprise, “Good Lord, Five? I thought Soban had limits on that kind of thing.”

“Not the Sobani-Hasaal family.” Replied Joan. She nodded at Morris, “What about you?”

“Me? I signed up for the military academy.”

“For what?” Adiran asked, “Military intelligence?”

Alatto stepped forward, “I’m going to wrestle him.”

“INFADELS!!!” Announced the Kadeshi, “You shall all burn! Every one of you! Down to the last man, woman, and child! Your kind is inferior in the light of Kadesh’s chosen.”

“Shut up!!” Replied Joan.

The Swarmer pilot laughed and then boomed, “What are you to tell me anything, unclean wench! Return to your hordes of men so you can satisfy your carnal lusts and desires! I wish not to look upon you again!”

Joan started moving.

“Uh… shouldn’t we stop her?” Adrian asked.

“She’s going to shoot him.” Morris said.

Joan stood before the Swarmer, underneath the nose and far enough so she could see the man.

“What’s the matter?” Demanded the pilot, “Come to grovel for forgiveness before a mighty servant of Kadesh? I will not listen to your words, nor acc-“

A gunshot rang through the hanger- loud enough to echo off the far wall of the mothership’s atmosphere birth.

The White Giant spun and fell off his swarmer. It took him a while to tumble in the gravity, and when he landed, Joan was there.

She figured he was like every man and kicked him where she knew it would hurt.

She walked away as the white Giant curled up into a fetal position, trying his best not to moan from behind his mask.

Alatto moaned, “Aww…great… what am I going to tell command now?”

“Hey,” Adiran said, “Let’s jump the guy while he’s still whining like a baby.”

“Good idea.” Morris said, and the two marines joined with the rest to take advantage of the Kadeshi pilot’s weakness. In a moment, they dragged him off to the medical wing.

---------------

Johnas Soban was looking at the thing handed to him by his exec. It was a long oval-like object, one end burned from an obvious chemical reaction. It was colored blue for some reason.

“Where did you find this?” Johnas asked his exec.

“Uhm… cabin 14 sir.”

Johnas held up the object. It was a projectile from the swarmer craft. Despite passing through the ship’s antiballistic and depleted uranium armor, the shell was completely intact. Johnas had never seen anything like it before.

“uh Captain?” asked the comm. Officer, “Yellow Fairy’s pulling up.”

“Finally.” Johnas said, pocketing the Kadeshi shell in his jacket, “Tell her to start on the top.”

“Fairy?” Replied the comm officer, “Yeah we can use some assistance. Start topside.”

“Alrighty!” Chimed the pleasant female voice.

Yellow Fairy glided by. It was the fleet’s resident repair corvette- originally constructed to repair ships during the battle with the Taiidani fleet. After it’s initial use, a woman by the name of Hunna Somtaaw had requested repeatedly to be assigned to this duty- and fleet command had allowed it. Now she was “Yellow Fairy”- the yellow-winged corvette that usually caused relief and calm whenever she appeared.

She was essential during the rock-dodging mayhem of earlier this week, when the Mothership was bombarded by nearly a dozen rocks the size of a frigate.

Nobody knew how, but she seemed to have wired together the systems so she could operate the corvette alone. She was quite possessive of it- letting nobody near it or work on it unless she asked for their help. Some even claimed to have seen some off-regs decoration covering the ship’s hull, but so far Fleet Command hadn’t called her out on it.

Hunna Somtaaw hummed to herself as her corvette drifted over the top of the Taiidan destroyer. She flashed the matter beam and shot green particles from the corvette’s loan forward-mounted turret. In this way, the sticky raw particles shot across space and stuck to wherever there was damage or holes in the armor- sealing it and forming a barrier so that damage control teams could work easier inside.

There was some who believed the repair beam (as it was called) could be fired into the way of incoming weapons fire, dulling the heads of projectiles and diffusing the power behind ion beams. Nobody had tried to prove this through scientific experimentation yet, though.

Also weaving about the fleet was “The Pit Stop”- the fleet’s one Support Frigate. Resembling the old refueling stations for automobiles in the northern steppes, the Support Frigate performed a bigger role than Yellow Fairy and often was ordered out ahead of the fleet to refuel the roving bands of fighters whenever they were out in the field. Pit Stop’s crew knew Hunna, and vowed that they’d have a higher repair record than the Somtaaw Woman could garner up among the capital ships. It was a friendly competition, supported by the entire fleet.

“Who do you have bets on, sir?” Asked Johnas’ exec when the thought struck him.

“Are you crazy?” Asked Johnas, “Fairy of course.”

“Any particular reason?” Asked helm.

“Well, for the moment, because she’s repairing our ship?” Johnas replied.

----------------------------

The last component slid into place. “Cabin pressure stable…” announced one of the operators.

“All right,” Said Doctor Damian S’jet- the ‘Captain’ of the vessel, “Let’s roll!”

The scientific bunch started laughing, but he triggered the computer system to fire the thrusters.

When embarking into space, the designers of the Mothership program realized that hazardous and dangerous research could not hope to be conducted in the mothership. In the event of a serious catastrophe during research, gutting the mothership in an accident was unacceptable. For this reason, the “Hub” design of research modules was conceived.

Nobody knew why, but plans called for six of these ‘slices’ to come together and form a rudimentary space station. Only then could the station start to spin, provided the much-needed gravity for several important projects. Because of the sensitive nature of some of the station’s equipment, the ‘black magic’ hull plating (as the scientists called it) wasn’t permitted on the Hubs.

But now they didn’t need it. The hub was spinning to give gravity.

Even though a small party was being thrown by the bunch gathered in module 5, Module 2 was occupied by a single man. He didn’t really feel like sharing in the festivities… since he was fully feeling the neglect of his position. This was Professor Andris Laa’sir, quite possibly the only Laa’sir who was awake.

Once the Taiidani prisoners had been taken captive, command felt they needed more qualified personnel to examine the DNA and blood samples and come up with a reasonable explanation as to the similarities. For this they revived Andris… and only Andris. After several weeks of looking into the matter, even he was stumped as to why the Taiidani had the same physical makeup as the Kushan people.

But rather than put him back in hibernation, command directed him to stay aboard the Hub craft as part of the research team. Never did he feel so out of place as among a group of specialists who were designing hull components, engines, and weapons systems. The only viable contributions (few as they were) had been in life support systems. There at least his knowledge in biological needs and restrictions could be applied to the application of life support.

So while the research team continued to celebrate “station completion hour” and swing around models of the craft and their various products… Andris remained in his part of the hub, continuing on his thesis for a new paper: Universal Harmony through Genetics.

He was mildly annoyed when there was a knock on the bulkhead door behind him. He wasn’t supposed to be disturbed- was this Malaan thinking he should get in on the fun and not be a ‘spoil sport’ again?

“For the love of Sajuuk and the waters… Leave me alone Malaan!”

“Um, Professor Laa’sir?” Asked a woman’s voice.

Andris turned his chair around. It was a petite woman, brown hair and clear green eyes, dressed in the blue jumpsuit of the research team. This woman was new- where did she come from?

More importantly, what did she want with him?

“Who are you?” He asked directly.

“M-My name is Ama S’jet… I came over on the new Hub.”

Oh, was that it. Maybe Malaan sent her to try coaxing him into the festivities. He turned his chair around, “I’m not interested in the celebrations.”

“I didn’t come here for that…professor.” She replied, stepping forward, “I have something from the mothership I was told to give to you.”

Oh? Maybe those freeloading doctors decided they needed a geneticist after all, instead of sticking him among these weapon-heads. He turned around again and saw that she was carrying a case… a frozen medical sample case.

“What is this?” He asked, taking it from her and examining the label.

Ama nodded, folding her hands behind her back meekly, “I-It’s genetic samples from the Kadeshi prisoners… I was told… you would like to look at them?”

Lovely. A new species and they decided to drag him out of obscurity again. Oh well, it wouldn’t hurt. He opened the case and examined the contents. He reached over and powered up his microscope. It was only after he positioned the slides that he noticed Ama was still there. “What are you still doing here?”

“I was assigned to be your lab assistant sir.”

Now he knew someone was playing a prank on him. He would make sure personally that Malaan roasted in whatever hell Sajuuk had prepared for miscreant souls like that one. He gave the girl a once over, then asked her, “What is your training?”

“I was selected as a specialist in Genetic Coding… one of five.”

Not bad. “I’ll have to look at the particulars later.” Andris dismissed. He looked at the samples himself.

After a careful moment of study, he pulled away from the scope and said, “This can’t be right. They must have sent me some patient’s sample by mistake.”

“No Professor,” Replied Ama, “I was told these were specifically samples from a female Kadeshi specimen. They have her in the medical section of the mothership now… this is the first batch of samples they collected.”

Andris winced and examined the data again. Blood cell structure was the same…. But what about other cells?

“Hand me the bone marrow image.”

Ama walked to stand beside the professor and handed him the desired sample. Andris plugged it in and examined it. “Ah, I see.”

“Professor?”

“Do you know anything about bone decalcification?”

“Yes,” She replied, “The removal of calcium ions from bone-“

“Yes yes,” Andris nodded, “But the causes in this case… deep space applications.”

“A symptom of prolonged microgravity?”

“Yes, that’ll do.” Andris said, then waved a hand in a circle as he explained, “Certain levels of gravity produce different levels of calcification in bones, correct?”

“Yes…”

“Well take a look at this.” Andris said and directed her to the scope. She peered into the eye pieces to examine the image made of the woman’s bone marrow.

“There’s a 2% difference…”

“Yes,” Replied Andris, “Which suggests a different level of gravity for an individual to develop in. Nothing harmful when in planetary gravity, given therapy. Still… you say this sample was taken from the Kadeshi?”

“Yes professor.”

“Then we should get started.”

---------------------

Doctor Missia S’Jet had some harsh words for the Marine team when they brought the White Giant in. She dismissed them with an anrgy wave and set about removing the bullet and tending to the projectile wound in the giant’s arm.

“Must have hurt like hell when it went in,” Morris said, then looked to Joan, “You shot him with a flichette round.”

Joan shrugged, “it’s all I carry in my sidearm.”

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman.” Morris said.

Adrian added, “Remind me never to allow you to shoot me.”

Joan smiled.

Alatto finished his conversation with command on the phone, hung up, and sighed.

“Well?” Morris asked.

“I don’t want to tell you right now.” Replied Alatto, in regards to their punishment for violating a direct order. Since none of them stopped Joan, they were all in it together. Even Tuur.

“Where’s Tuur?” asked Adrian.

“I dunno. Let’s go find him.” Alatto said.

“The usual place?” Joan asked.

----------------------------------

The Pine called Taberah was no longer alone.

They had gathered in the Lull… one of the areas in the Garden where the gas and particles had gathered such to form a sort of pit in the clouds. It was here that the three needles converged: The Pine Taberah, the Pine Jahannam, and the Pine called Moseroth.

The Cardinal was aboard Taberah now, speaking with Bishop Stolas about the gravity of the situation while Taberah was under repairs.

Paul had nothing to say. He nodded to the Swarmer pilot, who turned and started away from the speaker. Paul turned away and started walking for his own quarters. He did his best to maintain his stride and steady gaze.

The Speaker of Kadesh returned to his cabin and prepared to turn in early. He would be needed again for the Requiem, where he would give the defilers one last chance for redemption.

He finished washing himself, then turned out the lights. He settled into bed.

There he started to cry. In the bliss of a silence where no-one would hear him, Paul wept. He shed tears like no other time in his life, and not since his father had died.

Bahad had informed the Speaker of their losses in combat. Vlir, Tohalas, Kymen, Dimas, Michau, Toba… so many others…including Merrah.

Bahad did not know the circumstances of her death, only that she had not returned with the pilots.

There was little hope that she survived. The Unclean were never forgiving with their captives, if any were taken. The Kadeshi were not concerned for them either, as they had been among the unclean and must be purged. One way or another, even if Merrah had survived the firefight, she would never be returning to Paul’s side again.

It was for this reason Paul wept. He wept for another reason too, at least a small part of him was contributing to his sorrow.

Kadesh had failed him. His religion… the power and might behind the words of the prophets… had failed him.

He did not know why he had put faith in this idea, since it was blasphemy from it’s conception. Kadesh had no obligation to grant his request, as small a thing as it was. Perhaps he deserved failure for encouraging heresy.

Paul didn’t care. He had one hope in his mind and it was gone. The hope of having something to hold on to was fading… leaving Paul nothing more than an empty servant of an empty, suspicious, religion.

What good was a man when he was empty?

Paul wept for the loss of many things.

---------------------------
War means tremendous disagreements and crushed promises.

[Silver_Wolf#]

Nicely done, looking forward to the next chapter .

[Nerdfish]

Just curious, does anyone remember if multiguns were allowed for Kadesh missions. Multiguns where brutally effective against strike crafts.

Cheers for the new chapter.

[Norsehound]

Multigun corvettes were made available in the first of the Kadeshi missions. I didn't translate the announcement... but maybe I could add it in if I go back over the chapter. Something to the effect of a panicked scientist coming up with the idea of mounting as many turrets as possible on a Hammer

[Nerdfish]

Thanks for answering hound, Looking forward to the next one.

[Norsehound]

2.7
Cumulus

There were three leading monarchs of Kadeshi society. These were the religious heads of the civilization of Kadesh- none were said to be more holy than these three men.

Passed down from the favored apostle of Silas, founder of their religion, was the Cardinal. It was a prime position that commanded respect, and ultimately commanded the entire religious motions of Kadesh. There had been thirteen Cardinals: the passing of each one marked the passing of a generation. Many lived to long years.

The current Cardinal was called Apollyon, and had been elected Cardinal for the past fifty-two years of the old calendar. He was a strict and devout man, praising the word of Kadesh and bringing down Heretics with a show of brute force as an example to all who would defile or diverge from the teachings of Silas. However, as brutal as he was, he was a wise and powerful leader who brought prosperity to the people aboard the Pine called Jahannam. Never had the enemy seriously damaged the Pine called Jahannam, and the Cardinal was sometimes merciful to those who had changed their minds and decided to join with Kadesh after refusing the first time.

In contrast to this, Bishop Halphas was perhaps worse than Bishop Stolas. Halphas was a cruel, harsh man who ruled the pine Moseroth with an iron fist. There was never a heretic among the Moseroth congregation as Halphas encouraged strict and rigid unity among his congregation. While Stolas was quick to punishment as a reaction, Halphas commanded work from heretics- punishing them with various duties until they died. No man was a waste on Moseroth.

The three Pines of Kadesh had gathered in this place to tend to the insult of their time- The Pine Taberah. It had returned in a sorry state- most of her pilots were gone, and the ship was ablaze. Damage was clearly visible on the exterior of the Pine and it would take many months to wash away the blemishes of sin from the exterior.

Cardinal Apollyon had made a face when he boarded with Bishop Halphas- as if the very air on Taberah rank with uncleanness. This wasn’t far from the truth, since the ozone of fried components was rank in the air.

The clergy had met in the private halls on Taberah, where their secret meeting lasted for hours. Finally they summoned the Speaker of Kadesh to their chambers for commands.

Paul arrived, having only received four hours of sleep.

-------------

Paul hid his weariness from the Bishops and Cardinal as he stood before them. In a way he was prepped and energized- he had to be, least he face a punishment from the hand of Halphas.

Cardinal Apollyon stared at the Speaker with a level and firm gaze. It was as if the great Cardinal was waiting for the Speaker to break down under his gaze.

Paul returned the stare with equal intensity.

“Speaker,” Began the Cardinal, “We have heard the testimony from your Bishop. We wish to hear your evaluation of this clot of unclean waste that, even know, erodes the grace of Kadesh’s womb. What can you tell us of this infection, this heinous plague?”

Paul had to choose his words carefully, despite his weariness. He reminded himself that he was a servant of Kadesh now… no more existed to his being. “They are an unusual people.” He said, and explained, “They are not like the others whom have challenged the sight of the Garden.”

“Elaborate.” Cawed Halphas.

“They came in a great grey pillar,” Paul began, “With many ships. Some of their vessels are known to us, but many of them were not. They fought with tenacity never seen before in others. They did not break, they did not run, nor did they clamor over one another as the Turanic raiders do. When they died, their cries for blood were no louder than their screams. When they fought their will and tenacity was greater than their flight to retreat. When they moved, they moved with thought and purpose. If this is a time of legends and history, then surely this is the greatest test of our faith yet put before us.”

That seemed to satisfy the clergy, and they nodded grimly.

“You believe,” The Cardinal said, “That this clot of darkness is a test of our faith?”

“I could not personify it otherwise, my lord.” Replied Paul.

The Cardinal pressed his fingers together. “Then you believe the way we should burn this heresy is through fire? Through the requiem?”

“It is our way.” Paul replied, “If they refuse to join us.”

“And you think such heretics deserve a chance to join?” Asked Halphas, “They have disgraced the Pine called Taberah! Slain many of our warriors! Raped the sublime glory of our Goddess and protector, Kadesh!”

“But imagine what warriors they can be,” Paul said, “If they can be taken to the hammer and re-forged in her name?”

This also impressed the clergymen. Possibly because of the potential of reaping the ill from the good, as was demanded of their religion.

The Cardinal nodded, then said, “Very well. You shall speak on our behalf for the Requiem. It is in your hands to make them submit to her glory… or face the fire and become engulfed in the pyre of Her majesty.”

“I am your servant.” Paul said, and knelt before the clergymen.

He would do his duty. There was no other thing asked of him.

-------------------------

The White Giant was watching the woman who was taking care of him. He was under heavy restraint. Try as he might, he could not budge the witchcraft implements they had placed on him.

He had seen he was not alone. At least a dozen other white-suited Protectors were here… some of them without restraint. If he returned to the Pine called Taberah, he would denounce them all for heresy and offer to flog them himself for remaining so compliant with the unclean.

He turned his massive head to look at the frail woman taking care of him. She had defiled his Holy armor- ripping away the mask and cutting into the suit. She did it without care, and without his seeing it. She had bewitched him with some spell that made him sleep.

But now he was awake. He would not allow her to defile him again.

The woman started treating the mysterious ailment that shot pain through his side. More witchcraft from the unclean- that female had only to point and pain shot through his side with a loud noise. If he found that woman, he would tear her limb from limb!

But first he needed to escape this bind of black witchcraft that this hag had him under.

The woman touched his skin.

“Do not touch me, infidel!” He bellowed.

She frowned, then slapped him.

This came as a shock to the giant, who had never before encountered a woman of this kind. Nevertheless, she was undoubtedly taking perverse pleasure in torturing him like this. She worked again on the wound in his side.

“Woman! You will not touch me!”

She frowned, then growled back; “I will touch you in whatever way I please to make you better.”

“I would rather die than allow your black magic to work its spell on me! I will be released from this-!”

She slapped him again.

“Woman! How dare you lay your hand on my face!”

“I’ll do much worse if you continue to be a nuisance!” Replied the woman.

“Then do so!” Replied the giant, “I, Vlir, Son of Mahor will tolerate any pain that you can do onto me!”

“Well then suffer the pain of my medicines! Because I’m not letting you go and I won’t allow you to die!” Replied the doctor.

“Fah! Your medicines mean nothing! Only the light of the Goddess will cure me of my ailments!” Vlir barked, then spit on her.

Doctor Missia S’jet became a very unhappy woman.

----------------------

They didn’t find Tuur at the Kyda courts. It was not unheard of, but they tried checking the barracks, the hanger, and then the refinery. He wasn’t in any of his normal retreats.

“Ok,” Morris said, “This is bad. Since when does he go anywhere except his bunk, the showers, or in one of his spots?”

“You think he spaced himself?” Asked Adrian.

“What,” Alatto replied, “A man like Tuur, space himself after laying a hand on that creature he brought in?”

Joan growled, “I don’t what to know what he’s thinking, if he’s thinking that.”

“So he threw himself into space out of love?” Asked Adrian, “How does that make sense?”

“Well, how does spacing out about Kharak and his dead sister make sense?” Morris replied.

“Oh shut up,” Adrian answered, “You didn’t loose anyone in the firestorm. Shut it.”

“I never said that.” Morris answered dryly.

“Hey,” Joan said, “Instead of having a pity party, why don’t we keep looking for Tuur?”

“Yeah, but where could he be?” Morris asked.

-----------------

The nurse came in, then smiled. She walked over to the waiting area. “Sargent?”

Tuur raised his head. He had been seated in the waiting room with a cup of cool water. His hand flicked and he closed the locket. “Yes?”

The nurse smiled. “Someone’s asking for you.”

Tuur blinked, then stood. He replaced the locket in its place under his combat shirt and followed the nurse into the hospital.

Tuur could feel the… the ease of the place as he walked in. It seemed subdued, compared to what he expected. Then he realized that this was the wing where they were keeping the prisoners… the combat wounded must be elsewhere. Tuur looked from bed to bed, assessing some of the Kadeshi as he passed. He hesitated when he came to a large man, bound to the bed with what looked like a muzzle over his face and an IV implanted in his arm. He screamed behind the mask as Doctor Missia worked on a bullet wound to his side.

Tuur examined the man for a moment, wondering what he did to Doctor Missia to have her work on him without an anesthetic.

He looked up and saw the nurse motioning to him, then continued along the row of beds.

Then he saw her.

The woman’s eyes were a little less wide now… she wasn’t as panicked as before. A small grin was on her face, and her wide eyes tracked him as he approached her.

The nurse smiled, then put a hand on Tuur’s shoulder as she passed him. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She said with a grin. Tuur turned to watch her walk back down the row, then turned back to the woman.

It was an awkward moment between them, forcing Tuur to raise a hand to the back of his head and scratch it in nervousness. “Erhm…” He began, “Hel-oh?”

“Hello?” She repeated.

Tuur shook his head, unable to hold back a nervous grin. She, too, smiled at him while she lay on her side while on the examination table.

“Auh…” Tuur fumbled, “How are you?”

“I am…fine.” She answered in Kharakian. This was weird.

“How do you understand me?” He asked. As far as he was aware, there wasn’t a translation system in-use to transpose what they were saying.

She just shrugged, and continued smiling at him.

Tuur found and pulled up a chair to sit beside her bed. “What’s your name?” He asked.

“I am called Imera.” She answered.

“Imera? I’m Tuur.”

“Tuur.” She replied, then smiled again, “A small name.”

“Small doesn’t mean unimportant.” Replied Tuur; “It’s a simple name. My parents didn’t want anything extravagant for me, I guess.”

“Imera was chosen for me.” She replied.

“Chosen?” He asked her.

She hesitated, then replied, “It was one of the names perfected in the Gospel of Kadesh. One of the many that have been sanctified and are beholden in her name.”

Tuur smiled at the prose behind the explanation, then said, “Well… I hope Kadesh can forgive a mere man for having a name like ‘Tuur’.”

“No,” Imera replied, “I don’t think she can.”

“Oh…” Tuur replied, not sure really how to reply to that. Feeling the conversation was headed for an awkward direction really fast, he changed the subject. “This Kadesh… what is it?”

“She is our protector,” Replied Imera, “From the unclean outside.”

“Unclean?” Tuur asked, “What makes someone unclean?”

“They do not share the grace of Kadesh’s protection.” Imera answered.

“How does Kadesh protect you?” He asked, “I mean… is she a Goddess or something?”

“She is everything.” Imera replied, “She is the world… the light of the universe, the creator of all things, the light of our spirits. She protects us as we are ordained to protect her from the unclean who seek to rape her divine sublimity.”

Tuur nodded, following her commentary. Either the Kushan people were in for a big surprise when the Kadeshi goddess got wind of what they were doing here… or it was a myth. He supposed they’d find out soon.

“What is she protecting you from?” Tuur asked.

Imera seemed at a loss at that. Her lips moved, trying to find an answer, but she ultimately replied, “You know… I don’t know.”

------------------

As the harvesters continued their operations in the nebula, and as the repairs were going on all over the fleet, Karan was everywhere across the mothership. She checked on the reactors, the hyperspace core, monitored the construction progress of the new multi-gun corvettes and even peeked in on the research being done at the Science satellite.

She observed the ship’s communication system being used, and out of curiosity picked up on the transmission. It was from a group of Marines, and they were signaling the Ahban-oh.

“Admiral? This is Corporal Alatto Manaan… Fire Team Aba. We’re missing our team leader.”

“What am I supposed to do about it corporal?”

“Well… we’ve looked for him in his normal spots… we think he might have spaced himself.”

“What?”

“I mean, I can’t think of where else he would be….”

Karan decided to investigate on her own. She identified who this Marine was- Alatto Manaan, and investigated the unit he was attached to. There… A Tuur Soban was the designated team leader of that particular fire team. She couldn’t help but glance at his background history… and hesitated. She understood why his team would assume he would space himself.

She used the ship’s hull-mounted radars and did a flash-ping in the immediate vicinity of the mothership. There were hundreds of silhouettes out there, and she tasked one of the supercomputers to comb through them. Even if she didn’t find the Sargent, the salvage and rescue teams might want an update.

She then tasked her mind to the ship’s internal systems- checking everywhere in the office compartments. It didn’t take that long to find him by his ID tag.

Karan found the closest Camera and trained it on his location. She toyed with the idea of using her programmed voice synthesizers and broadcast a godlike declaration for him to report to his squadron (he was on probation after all…apparently one of his squad shot a prisoner). But she stopped at the sight.

He was talking to one of the Kadeshi prisoners. She was a pretty thing, petite like most of the prisoners (with one…apparently difficult…exception). She was smiling … the only Kadeshi prisoner who was.

And she saw Tuur was smiling too. She didn’t know the man, but the earlier glance at his record showed that he had every reason to be depressed. Loosing his only family on Kharak… he wasn’t alone, but the Lieutenant that oversaw Tuur had remarked on the man’s…instability.

Karan just watched them for a small moment, basking in the fact that someone, somewhere, in the fleet had found some small measure of hope for the future.

Perhaps, she wondered, it might also be a bridge to these unusual protectors that had savaged them. In the very least, perhaps they could be made to cooperate and not get locked up in the hibernation capsules as the rest of their prisoners had been.

She pulled her mind out of that little scene and returned to the communiqué in effect. “Corporal Manaan,” Karan interceded, “Your Sargent is located in the port side medical wing, in ward 5.”

“Huh?” Replied the very surprised marine, “Ah ohm….uh… ah Thanks! Karan…?”

“Not a problem.” Karan replied, a little sorry that her vocal processors weren’t programmed to translate laughter. Again she cursed the scientists who designed her cage’s particulars.

Instead of returning to the programming around her, most of her thoughts rested within that camera that was watching the budding romance. Then a thought struck her.

“Corporal Manaan?”

“Huh? Oh, yes ma’am?”

“Please, take your time.”

“Eh? Oh…ehm…yes ma’am.”

-----------------------------

They arrived fifteen minutes after Karan pointed them in the right direction. They snuck in, coming in quietly and being unnoticed by Tuur until the girls' ’yes flickered from him to over his shoulder. Tuur turned around.

“My my,” Alatto said, “So I guess you’re buttering up the aliens already, eh? I didn’t know you had it in you buddy.”

“No way,” Adrian replied, “When’s it my turn to butter up the aliens?”

Joan punched him in the shoulder, “Shut up.”

Tuur asked, “Where have you guys been?”

“Looking for you.” Replied Alatto, “After we uh…convinced…Mr. Giant over there,” Alatto looked over at the still-squirming Kadeshi patient, “to come off his mighty space ship, we went looking for you.”

“And you guys didn’t look in the waiting room?” Tuur asked.

The group was silent to that one.

“Oh, get this,” Adrian said, “Because Joan shot the alien? We’re in trouble.”

Tuur looked from Adrian to Joan.

“What?” Joan replied, “He called me a whore.”

“Wench actually.” Morris said. Joan glared at him.

Tuur asked, “Was that a problem?”

“What, shooting him?” Joan asked.

Alatto answered Tuur, “Command didn’t want us shooting any of the captives. They recommended ‘active restraint.”

“Oh.” Tuur replied. He stood, “Sorry, I should have been there.”

“Nah,” Alatto said, putting a hand on Tuur’s shoulder and forcing him back into the seat, “You needed this, sir.”

Tuur looked from him to his command.

“Yeah, seriously?” Adrian said, “It was nice to have you not spacing out for a change.” Morris hit him. “Hey!”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it to his face!” Morris replied.

“Why? Oh….oh right.” Adrian said.

Tuur looked away.

The girl was laughing.

“Huh?” Adrian and Morris asked simultaneously.

“Who are you people?” Asked the woman, “And what do you want with Tuur?”

“We’re his…uhm….” Adrian fumbled, “What would you call us?”

“Like a true Paktu.” Morris said to Adrian, then turned to the woman, “We’re troops under his command. Marines.”

“What’s a…marine?” Asked the woman.

The group looked at one another.

“Soldiers.” Alatto explained, “We fight.”

“Fight? You mean… you are Protectors?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Alatto said.

“Oh, I see…” the woman answered, nodding only twice and looking lost.

Tuur told the Marines, “Her name is Imera. Imera, this is Alatto, Joan, Morris, and Adrian. We’re the ones who pulled you out of your spaceship.”

“Yes….Yes I…I only remember you, though.” Imera said. Then she noticed the hilt of a Kadeshi dagger in one of Tuur’s pockets. She hesitated as she saw it.

Tuur followed her gaze, then pulled out the dagger.

“Likos…” she said, “Where’s Likos?”

---------------------------

The Pine called Taberah, in three hours, had been fully repaired. The interior was functional again and all systems appeared to be working. Most of the red was gone from the altar in the chapel.

It was time.

The might of Kadesh was being gathered. In a few moments, the three Pines would go to the Cathedral. There they would set the Altar and prepare for the first eulogy. This was the beginning of Requiem.

Paul had to familiarize himself with the ceremony, even though he wouldn’t have a big part in it. His task was simple: Offer the hand of mercy to the unclean as a final chance for redemption. If they chose to bow before Kadesh, they would be spared. True, they would perhaps undergo a process of trials no unclean had ever been forced to undertake- but they would be permitted to enter Kadesh. There, as Paul promised, he would allow the hammer of faith to forge a new generation of warriors even more fierce than the Protectors had ever been before.

If they turned away the hand of mercy and chose the path of destruction, then the heavens of Kadesh would part and a white rain would fall upon the unclean. In fire, they would be burned from eternity like the filthy mass of heretical demons that they were. Their memory would be purged from the annals of the Garden, and recorded as nothing more than another test of the Protector’s Faith and duty in guarding this holy place.

Paul was preparing himself, despite the lack of sleep.

Though nobody was allowed to touch the Speaker, as he walked among unclean, this rule was exempt when handled by the ordained. These were more than just simply retainers- but priests and altar-guards during confession or prayer. They had smeared their uniforms with blood, just as Paul had, prior to preparing him for his mission.

His Pod was ready. The Advanced Swarmer was painted with orange, signifying the vessel as being commanded by one of the ordained. His mission as a protector was a holy one, and he was to be allowed the utmost respect in the swirl of battle.

He would not be alone. The whole multitude of Kadesh was rallying with him. The Ordained were also boarding their special swarmers, and their scarlet drive trails would mix with the golden plumes of the rest of the Protectors. If the unclean persisted, then the Erelim would be called forth to battle.

Paul wondered if these strangers would be able to withstand the Erelim. While the Pine called Taberah was under repair, he had conversed with the survivors of the first battle and learned curious things. They spoke of strange powers these outsiders possessed. Paul saw thorough some of the things… but others had him worried.

There was say that some unusual craft among the unclean had certain powers… powers of seduction. They were able to lull away some of the protectors and draw them towards the Grey pillar. Paul had not seen it for himself, and was dubious of the stories he was told… nevertheless… it was but one more sign to him that these outsiders were different than the ones that had come before.

As Paul’s helmet was being mounted he felt history touch him again. More now than ever, it seemed fate was sitting on his brow, waiting for something to happen. He tried to dismiss it as being tired from a night of little sleep…yet… even that explanation seemed hollow and insufficient.

The Speaker of Kadesh slid into his pod, then leaned forward. The hatch… and he felt… the hand of fate…closed over him.

The Requiem had begun.

----------------------------------------------
Only one will have the blessings and smiles of Kadesh...

[Raptor_Shadow]

Apart from typos and stuff (the whole thing could probably do with a couple of proof-reading passes) the story is as great as ever. I am rightfully entranced.

MOAR!

[Nerdfish]

Working on Acrobating the first book, need a cover.

[Norsehound]

No need. Scroll to the bottom.

Though I may decide to go over it again someday and make a cover myself for it...

[Nerdfish]

Thanks for the headsup.
Moar !

[Chrome]

That "Smeared uniforms with blood" bit so totally reminds me of the Feydakin.

I have often noticed similarities between the Fremen and the Kadeshi. Both live in environments hostile to them. Both use a religious standpoint from which to see the world. And of course, both have their certain "Unclean" that they hunt down. For the Kadeshi it's the intruders. For the Fremen, it's the Harkonnen. And both are stubborn as all freaking hell.

I don't know if you were using Dune as a reference for that part of the Requiem, but it's a nice, properly creepy touch to this overall concept.

I also like how some Kadeshi prisoners were total knuckleheads, while the girl was at least willing to converse with the Kushan and find out what they were. I used the "Hiigarans as Protectors of another ilk" bit in Legacies myself, so it doesn't surprise me too much that you'd use it. What surprises me is how you use it, and that's unusual.

Also, liked the part where you had Dr. Sjet working on the guy without an anesthetic. That is not someone I'd want to piss off. Did you intend that as a foreshadowing of how the Kushan completely kick the Kadeshi's asses or what?

[Norsehound]

Wanna know something?

The moment I heard the voice of the Kadeshi speaker, instantly I equated him with Stilgar from the David Lynch version of Dune since they sound so much alike. I'm sure one can see why I chose Paul as a name for him

Dune has been quoted to be one of the influences of Homeworld (Kharak), so I think the Dune equation is appropriate here.

Well, 'Knucklehead' sounds a little too derisive to describe the prisoners. In Imera's case, we can compare her Very Simple Life to her new surroundings. Her wide-eyed bout of fear is like whenever a wounded animal is caged and brought into a household (I know, because we've cared for an injured dove once and her eyes seemed to never close). But Imera started to open up to the one person who showed her some semblance of kindness, which was Tuur.

Vlir is...well...Vlir. In a way he kind of has Nazaa's traits from Taiidan Civil War (big, boastful, powerful man), but I suppose in this sequence he represents the hostile ignorance of Kadesh, who tried to use his words as a weapon. When the Doctor introduced herself to the cast, she seemed like someone who had little tolerance for stupidity (like McCoy?), and so...appropriately...'dealt' with the situation when Vlir became obnoxious.

[Chrome]

Well I really just meant the one guy as far as knuckleheaded. *shrugs* Since he was more or less acting in that fashion. I should've realized yet again that he was just the exception, not the rule. Sorry about that.

And, your Dune references? Awesome. I love both the Lynch and Sci-Fi versions of Dune (saw the Lynch one first, and think it blows the Sci-Fi one away on sheer visual grandeur and the epic feel) and I am particularly impressed by the casting for the former. Stilgar is simply badass in that movie, and has a very unique voice. He certainly would've fit for Speaker, and in the novel it's obvious a naib really does speak in the best interests of the tribe (since he did the diplomacy with Leto earlier before meeting Paul in the desert). Also, that's why you gave Paul the beard, didn't you? So he'd look even more like his Fremen counterpart.

I thought your choice of Paul was Biblical actually. Saul becoming Paul and so on. This makes a bit more sense, and gives me an odd bit of foreshadowing about this Paul's role in the Kadeshi. So I look forward to what you do with him. I have a feeling he's going to have this Mentat moment where everything suddenly just adds up perfectly and he'll know what to do, much like Paul when he and Jessica were in the one tent in the desert. (That's in the novel, not in either remake.)

And I do see a lot of Dune in both HW1 and HW2. Not so much Cata, which seems to be more horror-movie influenced. The Kadeshi just stand out as the strongest Dune element to me becuase they are so similar to the Fremen. A religious fighting people with a very clear philosophy about how they deal with the world.

Nice use of your actual experiences with the dove when it came to writing Imera. I look forward to seeing more of this story.

PS. Requiem is such a fitting name. I imagine haunting choruses, death, mayhem, and destruction....

[Hiroshi_Tea]

the kadeshi and the Kushan did kinda remind me of the atreidies and the fremen
the statement, "the hawk and the mouse (maud'dib) are the same"
is certainly true in every way here
thanks for bringing the dune references out into the open

[Khar Makaan]

First book was good...
But what yet makes the second book is better to me
Maybe because i'm influenced by the fact i've played HW i think ^^
Nice work, keep it up man

[Nerdfish]

Opps.

I think good Andris forgot to put on his gloves, and spray his hands before working on the sample. I would assume he leaves his biosafety hood on - but since he was typing just a moment ago, he still need to put on gloves and spray his hands.

The biological community is paranoid about contaminations. Say if he found something in the sample, would it be from the blood or from the room he works in ?

Just my 2 cents.

[Norsehound]

The bio samples in question were in sealed slides and data from the Mothership's medical scanners. The specialized equipment was sent and installed in the research ships, however.

Presumably Kushan medical science is one or two steps above ours- sterilization wouldn't be that crucial unless Andris wanted to crack open the cases and manipulate the materials inside.

[Nerdfish]

Sealed slides ! I want those !
Thanks for answering.

[Infidelicious]

needs more chapters IMO.

[Norsehound]

I've tried at least twice to start the chapter talking about the battle... and both attempts weren't as satisfying.

Everyone knows that this is -The- chapter that was prophesied ever since Silas's religion overtook the prison ship, centuries ago. (Though I don't think I wrote an actual scene where the prophecy was made in-dialog... nevertheless... the Kadeshi religion had it coming.)

But how to start it? Begin in the moments between the missions, and how long should it be? Should I squeeze in some more character development before the drop?