by Ian Woodhead
“Status update, Index!” he shouted, as soon as the process was complete.
“All the instruments are recording to optimum capacity.”
“Thank you, ship. Thank you!” He walked over to the sleeping man, stored in his very own sleep chamber, and leaned over the oblong casket. Trooper Cole had insisted on having that box placed on his chest before Philip put him to sleep. He fully understood the split caused when the seizures first took hold of Trooper Cole. It had been his mind’s attempt to segregate the new ability, to contain it so it would not cause a total meltdown if there ever was a threatened melding of the two personalities.
“You have your very own Pandora’s box, my friend,” he murmured. “Index, transfer current activity to the forward monitor.”
“She will not allow that.”
The Prime Chaplain heard the words but refused to believe them. “Repeat your last statement, Index.”
The Index did not reply. He wrapped his fingers around the shard and was ready to detach it from the interface when the forward monitors burst into life. “About time.” Philip kept his hand in place as the screen only showed him static. “What is this?”
The picture cleared. It showed the interior of this ship with the focus on the Prime Chaplain’s body as he laid on the deck. His eyes travelled down his doppelgänger’s shaking form until he reached his right foot which was attached, via another ridged blue pipe to the floor. The Prime Chaplain jumped back in shock as a panel in the deck in from of him sank a couple of inches before it slid out of sight. He groaned as another thick pipe rose out of the hole.
“Danny Cole is suffering.”
He pulled his gaze away from the deck and saw his doppelgänger was now sitting up.
“Friends help friends. Are you his friend?”
The screen split into two images. The one on the left still showed himself stroking his chin while the new image displayed what looked like some ancient battle. Hundreds of Imperial Mechs strode across some unfamiliar battle-damaged urban landscape. The Prime Chaplain frowned. That the landscape was not as unfamiliar as he first believed. Amongst the blasted ruins, Philip could make out the familiar sigil of the Terran Empire carved into a couple of the larger buildings in the distance.
He saw seven armoured soldiers run out from behind a collapsed wall. They all dropped on one knee and started to fire their weapons at the closest machine. “This cannot be real,” he said. “It has to be fiction!”
The Empire had taken all of the mech battalions out of active service hundreds of years ago when a couple of the lesser races had begun to acquire more powerful energy weapons. Within several years, the new technology to the other races despite the Empire’s attempt to punish any species who dared to defy them. The mechs were formidable weapons. The sight of a full complement of these huge metal monsters striding across the land was enough to destroy the moral of most alien species who refused to bow down to the God-Emperor. If the streak of stubbornness still flowed through their unclean bodies, then those mobile weapon platforms simply turned everything within sight into molten slag.
The balance of power changed when the alien races started to fight back using their stolen technology. The energy weapons sliced through mech armour like a hot knife through butter. With enough mobile units, the aliens were easily able to wipe out dozens of the advancing mechs before the pilots were even able to fire off a single shot.
The Empire used shield generators for their ships and larger models to protect their worlds, but the mechs were simply too small to warrant the use of such power hungry devices. It was far simpler to retire them all and to go back to using planetary bombardment followed by shock troops launched from orbit.
Those soldiers were using energy weapons against the advancing mechs. It didn’t take the Prime Chaplain long to realise that those were Imperial energy weapons, light years more advanced than anything those blasphemous deviant aliens had used against these ancient walkers all those centuries ago.
They might as well have been throwing Trooper Cole’s rock for all the effect they were having. The blasts slammed into an invisible dome around each advancing walker and dissipated across the barrier. Still, the soldiers continued to fire, standing their ground even though the mechs selected one marine at a time and vaporised them.
“Please tell me this isn’t happening right now?” His other self just shrugged before going back to playing with his chin. Philip watched in horror as the mechs now moved closer to the largest ruined building before stopping. At this distance, he now noticed some distinct ambiguities on the surface of each machine. They were old Imperial mechs, he had no doubt of that. Unlike the ones he remembered from watching the history reels, these displayed distinctive embellishments across every machine. Someone or something had modified them. The Prime Chaplain then saw the ultimate irony in this lopsided battle.
The Empire was the blasphemous deviant alien, desperately defending their territory against a civilisation with a technology that was light years ahead of anything they possessed. All the mechs raised their primary weapons. The view shifted, panning across the blasted landscape, only stopping when the largest structure on the land came into view. “Oh no, how can this be happening?”
He stared in horror at the damaged Imperial Palace. That squadron of mechs had come here to rip out the Empire’s beating heart and from what he had already observed, there was nothing anyone could do to stop this.
His other self tapped his finger on the other side of the monitor before pointing at the deck. The Prime Chaplain saw the two pipes beside his feet. He took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine, go ahead, do what you have to do.”
He gently lowered his body, trying not to allow his fear consume him. The Chaplain did not want to do this, but what other choice did he have? He sat down then raised both legs. Swallowing hard when the two pipes lunged forward, their openings enlarging before sliding over his feet. The Prime Chaplain winched when the needles were pushed into his ankles. Philip’s vision greyed out. He heard gunfire and shouting. He then heard somebody screaming, not realising that terrible sound was coming from him.
Chapter Eight
A burly trader twice his age pushed passed him, his face crunching up in annoyance when Walish Din failed to move out of the trader’s path fast enough. Just days ago, an incident like this would have played upon the shepherd’s mind for hours.
He turned around and watched him make his way over to a stall selling local fruit. The trader hadn’t stopped muttering under his breath. Walish Din broke into a grin. So many of his kind and none of them cared about the invasion happening on the other side of the valley. Such is the mentality of his species.
Walish Din moved out of the way of a woman carrying a basket laden with decorations carved from spinner tree wood before walking towards the fruit stall. He had never seen so many varieties of fruit in one place before.
“How your species has thrived is beyond me.”
He wondered how long it would be before she turned up again. The human girl had saved his life, but that didn’t mean he should talk back to her. Walish Din stood a little too close to a Diannin female, finding his feeling of belonging increase when she brushed past him. Unlike the trader, she didn’t say anything. Not that this bothered him, he just wanted to feel her soft down against his. It had been a few hours since he had rolled out of his hiding place and rubbed his front and back across the dry leaves in a desperate attempt to banish the vile itch left from all those tendrils.
Some of that fruit sure did look tasty. He had forgotten when he last ate. The prices were reasonable too. Walish Din smiled at the burly trader who scowled back at him. The trader’s expression soon altered when the shepherd pulled out a couple of coins.
“It’s like that, is it? You’re going to ignore me like you’re ignoring the advancement of those soldiers? I’m not going away, and you can be sure as hell that those soldiers aren’t suddenly going to turn around and go somewhere else.”
&n
bsp; As he had walked through the bustling market, he had done everything to avoid the crimson glow bursting across the horizon. Walish Din hadn’t been the only one to avoid looking at the approaching storm. They were all very aware that it was likely their comfortable little lives were about to come crashing around them.
He bought two klinder globes and retired to a collection of swinger chairs on the edge of the market so he could devour his purchases. Disquiet and unease rippled from every Diannin in this market. His Touch amplified their emotions to a point where it was difficult to focus. Yet, their self-belief that those distant fires, explosions, and weapons fire would never reach them almost cancelled out their shared discomfort.
As he bit into the succulent fruit, he could hear the human girl still rattling on about how sentient being plant-eaters were all the same: more content with sticking their heads in the sand whenever anything threatened their existence. Walish Din couldn’t argue with that. He had lived through the horror that was about to fall upon his kind and here he was, eating klinder globes, and enjoying in the general atmosphere of this market, basically acting as though he did not have a single care in the world.
“I have heard of some toxic plants which a selection of humans use to displace their notion of reality.”
The girl chuckled. “Oh, so you’ve decided that I exist again. That’s nice. I hope you realise just how much you hurt my feelings by ignoring me, Walish Din.”
Her face distorted into a look which he translated as a pout; either that or she was about to have a fit. “Are you aware of what I speak?”
“Of course I am, I’m not a complete idiot. You’re talking about drugs. Yeah, there’s a few who defy Imperial doctrine and get wasted on occasion. What of it?”
“That is how I feel right now,” he replied. “The proximity of so many of my kind is intoxicating, my pretend human companion. All the others here draw from the energy given out by so many Diannin in one spot. I understand your derisive comments about our mentality and it is true.” He took another bite of the fruit while watching that crimson horizon draw closer. “I am not sure why I am explaining this to you. If you are part of me, then you should already understand.” Walish Din dropped the core into a bin and stood up.
“Because not all of me is from you, that’s why, silly. Now, if you’ve finished stuffing your face, shall we continue on our journey? Time is pressing, and I really don’t want you to get caught up in the stampede when those adapted Gizanti warriors get to the market.”
“They’re all going to die.” Walish Din felt a brief moment of sadness spear through the haze of contentment. There was not a single thing he could do to prevent their slaughter. He had already tried the running around and gesticulating in front of his own tribe. All that succeeded in was from every one of them laughing at him. If he tried the same approach here, it is likely they would pelt him with rotten fruit. It did not matter about the terror on the horizon; he was not an elder, therefore, he did not have a voice. Walish Din looked around the market, taking in the sights and the smells. It felt right to remember this scene. What made this even more tragic was that the locals believed this area was sacred and protected by the Gods as this was the spot where they came down from the Plains of Gopin to change the ones destroying their subjects.
“Some of them will die,” she replied, keeping her voice quiet. “The ones which do live through the next few hours will be in trauma for the rest of their short lives and that’s a good thing.” She took his arm and led the shepherd towards the wide gate which opened out into the main town.
The explosions were getting very close now. Some of the locals were now starting to glower at him, as if all this was all his fault. “How can it possibly be a good thing?” Walish Din reached the market gate. A particularly loud explosion emanating from inside the forest caused even the burly trader to jump.
“Because it will,” she snapped. “Look, you really need to get a move on, Walish Din. This is where the soldiers are heading for?”
“The market?”
“No, the spaceport!” The human girl climbed onto the gate. “What will this lot do when they see your orange dragons? I bet they won’t continue haggling over the price of those stupid klinder globes.”
He hadn’t thought about that. At the first sight of those monsters, they would all group up, to form a protective bunch, with the tribal elders in the centre. “We need to get out of here!” The outcasts, beggars, and strangers would be the last ones to join the group. It was them who would first feel the monster’s blue fire engulf their bodies and that list included him. He would not be able to withstand the call of so many voices.
The Diannin jumped over the gate and hurried past the two-storey buildings that made up the settlement’s commercial district. The narrow streets were largely empty. Most of the locals would be in the market today. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and wished he hadn’t. The fires from the explosions and the weapons were tearing through the dense forest. He saw movement in there as well. At first, Walish Din thought it were the woodland creatures fleeing from danger, until he saw just how much destruction their progress caused.
The orange dragons were coming! He wasn’t the only one to spot the movement either. A ripple of concern spread faster than the forest fire, causing the Diannin people to drop whatever they were doing and start to converge around the stone pillar in the middle of the market square. He felt the tug as well.
“Turn around, you idiot! Face me. Look into my pink hairless face. Come on, Walish Din, do as you’re told. Fucking look at me!”
It took a great deal of effort not to run back down towards that gate and join his comrades. Their linked calling filled his head, almost drowning out the panicked shouts from his imaginary companion. Walish Din might have even ignored even her if that single orange dragon had not emerged from the edge of the flaming trees and fired his evil-looking weapon straight into the middle of the marketplace.
The blue fire incinerated every Diannin that had ran over to that stone pillar, including that burly trader. The signal just flew apart, freeing the shepherd from his mental bounds. He backed away, watching in utter horror as more orange dragons strode out from the burning forest and preceded to murder his species. None fired their weapons. They did not need to. The panicking Diannin people were running about in every direction. All the monsters had to do was wait until one of them smashed into their pelts before they grabbed the little creatures and pulled them apart.
“Come on, there’s nothing you can do!”
He spun around and ran up the narrow street, feeling like the greatest coward in the universe. It didn’t matter that he knew there had not been a single thing he could have done to alter what he had witnessed. If Walish Din lived past today, which he now doubted, those images of the aliens slaughtering his own kind and enjoying it would never leave him.
He slowed down then stopped and leaned against a stone wall while trying to catch his breath. There was more activity further up the street. It looked like some kind of festival going on. He moaned in horror at the inevitable fact that this mental torture was about to replay. There were almost as much Diannin people crowding the street as there was in the market.
“What am I going to do now?” He looked in both directions, looking for a side street that might take him around them, but he saw nothing that fitted that description. The orange dragons would soon be coming up here once they had killed everybody in that market. Walish Din turned around.
The aliens were already at the gate! Behind them, the shepherd saw that the orange dragons had not killed all of them. A couple of individuals had managed to hide under carts and market stalls. A young woman who looked about his age was pulling the broken body of an old Diannin down some stone steps. She then carefully leaned the body against another cart before she threw her arms around the body’s neck and started to wail.
Two of the orange dragons turned their massive heads but, thankfully, none of them bothered to leave th
e gate in order to dispatch the female. Thanks to his curse, her misery became his misery, and Walish Din received the full brunt of her shattered emotions.
***
Maufain Sil only came down here to make sure her grandfather had taken his medicine. The awkward old glikglik would not accept that he was not a young man anymore; always trying to prove to the other traders that he could keep up with them.
She hugged him tight and cried, not caring if the giant demons came back to kill her like they had with the others. Maufain Sil had just lost her only surviving family member. He had left her lying amongst all this death to join both her spawn donors on the Plains of Gopin. The female held onto her grandfather and quietly sobbed, not knowing what she was going to do now.
***
“Walish Din, you need to move!”
He slowly nodded, while trying to pull The Touch from out of the female’s mind. “She needs to get away from here.”
“The girl is safe. It’s you who needs to get out of here.”
He turned back around and moved closer to that celebrating crowd, still unsure of how he could get past them.
“Life rewards life,” said the human girl. “Isn’t that one of your species favourite sayings?”
“I suppose. What of it?” Walish Din reached the perimeter of the crowd. He saw a narrow gap between two large Diannin men and attempted to push his way through the gap. Not for the first time in his short life, he wished he wasn’t so slight. These two hadn’t even noticed him trying to squeeze his way past their bulky bodies.
“It isn’t enough to just exist, Walish Din. In order for life to reward life, you must embrace your time here, no matter how long that stay will be. None of your species live your lives to the full. You only embrace the comfortable repetition of routine and tradition. This is why most of your kind will not exist once the converted Gizanti have finished here.”
“That’s very comforting,” he replied, still trying to find his way through this moving crowd. “I would be most thankful for a little help here instead of insulting every Diannin left alive.”