The stone pyramid was vast and resembled the more famous monuments of the Egyptian pharaohs. However, its foundation stones had been laid down many centuries later, by an entirely different culture; the Aztecs. A temple with a dark and horrific past, its stones were stained by the blood of countless human sacrifices.
As the afternoon rains cleared and the sun broke through the clouds, the Aztec temple and city shone the colour of gold. Birds of incredible plumage chattered and rose into the sky, whilst white robed men and women strode purposefully from building to building. An idyllic and peaceful scene belied the violent history of the rebuilt city. It was here, surrounded by the boundless fruits of nature, that the Triplanetary Church had made its terrestrial home.
Bishop Dydnski knelt before the alter which had once dripped with the blood of sacrificial victims. Now covered with a simple white cotton cloth, and adorned with a hand carved wooden icon, the site of death had apparently become a place of more benign worship. The Bishop bowed his head and with hands crossed over his chest, mumbled a prayer. Behind him, several hundred mainly young, and physically beautiful disciples also knelt in prayer; but their chant was quite audible. As one, they intoned over and over again, 'Only through penance can we seek redemption.'
'The Godless ones will be with you in a matter of minutes my son,' the voice spoke to the bishop in his head. 'Are you prepared for what must be done?'
'We have been preparing ourselves for a long time my lord,' Dydnski replied mentally. 'The disciples are all prepared to lay down their lives and look forward to their final salvation.'
'That is good to hear cherished one; only through penance can we seek redemption. Their penance will be sufficient to ensure a place in the eternal garden.'
'Have we completed our task lord?'
'Very nearly my son, very nearly. The society of the godless ones is crumbling around them. The time for cleansing is very nearly upon them. The sterilization process begins soon.'
'Then, this is also the time to take my place at your side?' the Bishop asked hopefully.
'Unfortunately not child,' was the reply. 'Your own job is as yet, unfinished. There is more for you to complete. However, I do not wish to detract from the pleasure of dispatching so many to their final judgment. Find satisfaction in what has to be done this day and tomorrow we can discuss your other tasks.'
'I see…thank you my lord.'
'Go forward and greet the sinners my son!'
'Only through penance can we seek redemption!'
With the completion of the spiritual conference, Bishop Dydnski rose and led his disciples out of the temple and into the bright golden sunshine. As he lifted his arms and raised his head to the sky, the first troop carriers appeared over the treetops.
Marine sergeant Morgan sat in the hold of the C-134 military transport and tried to concentrate his mind on the job ahead. It appeared a relatively simple operation, their brief was to take into custody all the members of the religious cult and secure the area. Masorak agents would then be flown in to take away evidence and sift though their computer files.
All of which sounded straightforward enough, but it bothered Morgan that the intelligence offered to the three squads of marines had been very sketchy. They weren't expecting any resistance, yet they were going in with full kit and with air support close by; not exactly what you'd expect on a simple search and secure mission.
Of course, he'd heard all about the Triplanetary Church and how they were being linked to the nuclear explosion in central Sao Paulo. It didn't take the brains of a senior officer to figure out that was why they were neutralizing the cult's South American hideaway. He just hoped the fanatical bastards wouldn't explode another atomic as soon as the VTOL (vertical take-off and landing) troopship hit the deck
Perhaps it was the thought of being nuked that was making him and his squad so twitchy. Conventional weapons they could fight, a sodding great nuke, they couldn't. Feeling better for having analysed his fear, Morgan checked the straps to his kit once more, and then braced as the vectored thrust kicked in.
The hold of the transporter shuddered as the turbofans roared. The heavily armed and armoured aircraft dropped rapidly toward the cleared central plaza of the Aztec city, arresting its descent only at the last possible second. As soon as the huge rough-terrain wheels touched the ground, the rear ramp dropped and the marines poured out into the bright sunlight. Helicopter gunships bristling with chain-guns and missiles circled overhead, the whoop, whoop of their rotor-blades reverberating off the surrounding trees and stone buildings.
Morgan ran for the nearest available cover, a ruin some three hundred metres from the drop-point. The rest of his platoon fanned out behind him and rapidly positioned themselves behind piles of stone and rubble. As soon as the last squad had left the transporter, it rose back into the sky and under the cover of circling jet fighters, prepared to leave the area. Once it had risen higher than the forest top-cover, the C-134 rotated its nozzles and began to make the transition from vertical to horizontal flight; a transition it never completed.
There was a flash of flame and a brief trail of smoke, which originated from the peak of the temple. A shoulder-launched missile accelerated toward the lumbering transport, hitting it just below the port wing-root. There was an explosion, the wing folded and the flaming wreckage crashed into the forest, instantly killing the crew of four.
Not waiting to be ordered, a helicopter gunship swooped down and loosed a salvo of rockets at the temple peak in retaliation. What years of erosion had failed to do, the chopper managed in a matter of seconds. The rockets hit one face of the pyramid, near the top of the structure. Stone was turned into rubble as the tip disintegrated, snuffing out the aggressive missile crew, which had fired upon the transport.
But, that unfortunately, wasn't the end of the firefight. To Morgan's dismay, his platoon came under automatic fire from many points about the ancient Aztec city. Clearly, the religious fanatics were going to make a fight of it and they weren't going to come peacefully. The ruins afforded perfect cover for the cult and if they were prepared to fight it out to the bitter end, then the marines were likely to suffer heavy casualties. Damn it! They should have had better intelligence! Why weren't they warned that the mothers were armed to the teeth?
There was a cry, then a scream from Morgan's left. Bryce, one of his platoon, was screaming her head off, blood pouring from one eye socket. Cursing, the sergeant shuffled over to the wounded marine, ripped open a field-hypo and pressed it against the marine's bloody neck. The screaming stopped as the anesthetic took immediate effect. A medic braved the crossfire and took over, applying a dressing to the poor girl's shattered nose and eye socket. It was clear a tracer round had hit her, fired by one of Triplanetary Church pacifists.
Well, there was no point in them staying where they were; the crossfire would gradually pick them off. They had to move and move soon!
'Fox one to fox three, do you copy?' his comm-headset yelped. 'Morgan, we're pinned down here. We've got to make a move!'
'Roger that Captain!' Morgan answered the ground force leader. 'We're being cut-up in this crossfire. I can see our objective, but we'll be sliced to ribbons before we're halfway to it. There's a lot of open ground to cover!'
'Okay sarge, hang on where you are for the moment,' the captain ordered, having to yell to be heard above the sound of gunfire reverberating around the ruins. 'I've called in the gunships. They're going to take out as many hostiles as possible and suppress their activity. When you see the opportunity, make for your objective. Then, cover my section as we do the same. Got that?'
'Sure have, Captain!'
'Okay, keep your head down. Here they come!'
Three Aggressor helicopter gunships descended on the still smouldering temple and other Aztec buildings. Each fired a salvo of laser-designated Lance missiles, which unerringly homed in on their targets. The air was filled with dust and smoke as the missiles reduced tons of rock into yet more rubble. The dead
ly crossfire came to an abrupt halt and seizing the opportunity, Morgan stood up and dashed toward his objective, the surviving members of his platoon close on his heels.
They'd managed to cross about half the open ground between the drop-point and the base of the temple before the firing began again. The gunships couldn't pick off all the fanatical gunmen. The air was filled with tracer and whistling rounds, spurring the marines to run even faster toward the relative safety of the dark opening that led to the interior of the temple. Morgan fired from the hip in the general direction of the aggressors. More in the hope of putting their aim off, than actually hitting one of the bastards. There was a cry and another of his squad fell.
Morgan feared they weren't going to make it to the temple. The gunships were raking the surrounding ruins once more, trying to eliminate the members of Triplanetary Church, but as soon as one of them fell another picked up their weapon and carried on firing. The freaks were obviously so fanatical they were willing to fight to the death; their only wish to take as many of the marines with them as possible! There was a whoosh and a fireball fell from the sky; one of the choppers had taken a hit from a blowpipe and disintegrated. Shit, this place was hotter than a whore from hell!
Suddenly, a withering hail of automatic fire and grenades erupted from the temple entrance; the very place the doomed marines were desperately running to! However, the firestorm wasn't aimed at the marines, it was being directed and accurately pinpointed at the hidden members of Triplanetary Church. A figure dressed in all black combat fatigues waved desperately from the dark entrance, his face hidden in the shadows but his bellowing voice clearly audible. 'Come on MOVE!'
Morgan and the survivors of his squad covered the last twenty or so metres in huge bounds. Then, they were literally dragged inside the stonewalls of the pyramid temple. The marine sergeant collapsed against a stonewall breathing hard, his heart feeling like it would burst out of his chest. As his eyes became gradually accustomed to the relative gloom, the shadowy figures of their new allies took on substance. By the time the other squads had, under heavy covering fire, crossed the open-ground, Morgan could clearly see who the black-clad troops were.
One of their mysterious allies turned to look at him. Under the black fatigue-cap was a wizened old face of indeterminate age, with a trim grey beard and penetrating eyes. Obviously fit and muscular despite his age, the stranger held an automatic rifle with familiar ease. He held Morgan's gaze and with a deadly serious voice told the marine, 'I'm sorry about your Captain, his death is a tragedy, but unfortunately necessary. It looks like you're in charge of the marines now Sergeant. Welcome to Sin City!'
The marine sergeant let out a heartfelt groan. No wonder they weren't briefed properly; their assault had been nothing more than a diversion! The real attacking force must have come in from the rain-forest under cover of night, possibly days before. 'Masorak! Shit! I should have known!' he cursed.
Bishop Dydnski looked out over the ruined Aztec city from the secret chamber sited near the crushed peak of the temple. He was more than satisfied with the results so far. The attacking marines were suffering heavy casualties; bodies lay wounded and unmoving in the area, which had once been the central plaza of the city. Most of the bodies wore the white robes of the church, but many wore bloodied jungle fatigues. Not that Dydnski cared who the casualties were, so long as there were plenty of them.
The TWDF marines may have been planning a rapid and covert operation, but the Bishop's careful planning had ensured there never was any chance of that. Not only were all his disciples, all those beautiful young people, willing to die for their Lord and take as many of the sinners with them as possible; the whole event was being broadcast as the most macabre entertainment to all the Interweb news channels and social media, across the Triplanetary alliance.
A spy satellite had been conveniently diverted from other tasks and using its digitally enhanced optics, was recording the whole episode in startling clarity. These images were being supplemented by shocking close-ups, courtesy of several remote holo-cams sited strategically in and around the ruins. The numerous images were creatively cut and mixed in a state-of-the-art studio buried in the foundations of the temple. Then they were beamed to several communications satellites, on a constantly varying, encoded wavelength. This ensured the entire populations of the three human planets saw the most creative, and most horrific, images of the Triplanetary Church defending its holy ground from the intrusion of godless sinners.
It was, Dydnski had to admit to himself, a masterpiece of media manipulation. He could barely wait for the finale. It would be a spectacle that would set this world alight!
'He's here,' the thought entered his mind.
'I know,' he replied, turning to look at the source of the interruption.
'You seem unconcerned.'
'Myrddin will be just another casualty amongst all the others. The final act of purification will see to that, Miss Smith,' he told the flame-haired woman who stood before him. Unlike the members of the Triplanetary Church, the agent provocateur wore combat fatigues that did little to hide her lithe, female form. Dydnski however, wasn't impressed by her physical attributes, he could see beyond the flesh to the cold soul inside. Unlike the beautiful young, who were dying for the cause, this woman was not what she appeared.
'I am unconvinced that your confidence is warranted,' she told him. 'Myrddin is no ordinary human being. His powers are derived directly from the untouchables. You should not underestimate him.'
'Nor should we overestimate him,' came the irritated retort. 'He is of no consequence this day.'
'When they cloned you Dydnski, they should have remembered to remove your character faults. You are, it has to be said, a fat, arrogant pig,' Smith thought at him in an openly hostile manner.
'Please, you are ruining the moment for me,' he sighed wearily. 'The situation is under control and I intend to enjoy the spectacle. As should you, if such a thing is possible. We each serve our masters in different ways.'
The agent provocateur chose not to reply. Instead, she stood beside the leader of Triplanetary Church and allowed herself the luxury of examining the scene outside. The light of the sinking sun shed a golden cast upon the devastation below. Flames and smoke from the burning wreckage of the two aircraft rose high into the sky, dancing in the light breeze. The white robes of the fallen fanatics took on a yellow hue, stained by the red of blood in the evening light. In fact, the world outside the temple was awash with yellows, gold’s and of course, red. It was, she felt somewhere in her cold heart, a beautiful sight.
'Matters appear to be going well,' sentient computer 4920/61, head of the Starweb council reported to the other members. 'As we speak, the already weakened human society on Terra is about to be torn apart. The operation instigated by our agents nears its climax. The human society teeters on the edge of a precipice, torn apart by their own greed and godless religion.'
'The group known as the Triplanetary Church has been successful in its aims?' another member of the council asked.
'Beyond our expectations 2894/45! It would appear that the godless human races yearn for a shepherd to lead them to the light. Such a shepherd we have supplied, and the young have flocked to his side. With a little bit of encouragement, of course…’
'There is justice in such a scheme.' a third Starweb member considered. 'Only through penance can they seek redemption. To realise this as they are being fumigated and removed from God's universe is surely what the Lord would wish?'
'I agree with the honoured member,' sentient member 3049/72 entered the discussion. 'However, it would appear that not all the humans will follow this religious cult, set up by our agents on Terra. I am not convinced that any civil disruption will greatly affect the armed forces of their Triplanetary alliance. Handicap—possibly. Disable—unlikely.'
'That is why a frontal assault by our own fleets must continue. We cannot rely upon the aggressive nature of the species to entirely destroy themselves. They have
come close many times, but have always pulled back from the precipice. To entirely sterilize these planets and finally remove these vermin from God's garden, we must do a little more…' the head of the Starweb council told all the members.
'When will this final process begin?' member 8439/29 asked.
'As soon as the civil unrest upon the planet Terra reaches its climax. The human space fleet and planetary defences are very strong. They have made great leaps in their technology since our last encounter. The split within their own society will give us the advantage we need.'
'Surely, if their technology has become so advanced, we should dismiss the prime commandment? For so long as the humanoid races posed no actual threat to ourselves, it seemed sensible to destroy them with a level of force that matched their own. However, this is no longer the case. I perceive that these final outposts of the human race do indeed pose a threat to the Starweb itself,' a concerned member of the council demanded.
The head of the Starweb council was quick to quell such a suggestion. 'No, that must NOT happen!' he told them all. 'My predecessor broke the Prime Commandment during our last encounter with these particular humans. Our failure in that campaign has been a source of shame and sin that we have yet to repent for. Our only redemption is to rid the universe of this menace without breaking the rules laid down for us by our Lord. If we do not, then we are no better than the vermin ourselves!'
'4920/61 is correct,' another sentient mainframe added in support. 'That is why we have carefully implemented the current plan of action. Success will be ours, but it will be achieved without bringing more shame upon the Starweb itself. The Prime Commandment must not be compromised!'
'On that we are all agreed,' the presiding mainframe told them all. '’The current course of action will continue until it has reached its conclusion…'
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