Wrath of an Angry God: A Military Space Opera

by Michaels, Gibson

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Camridge

  December, 3865

  Diet’s mother lived in what on Old Earth would have been called a brownstone, located in the city of Camridge on Massa, and had ever since she’d first bought the place a year after accepting a full professorship at the prestigious Massa Institute of Technology in 3858. Diet hadn’t seen his mother in over nine years, when he walked up and rang her front doorbell. He really wasn’t all that keen on subjecting himself to her judgmental nature again, but she was his mother, and as he was on Massa, he thought it would be unforgivable if he didn’t see her at least once, while he was on-planet. Diet was again wearing jump boots and another pair of those ragged jeans Noreen admired so much. No sleeveless T-shirt this time, but a flannel long-sleeve and a black leather jacket rounded out his attire.

  When the butler answered the door, Diet asked him to inform the lady of the house that her son was here and would like to see her. Some few minutes later, the butler returned and escorted him to the library, where his mother sat reading an indecipherable science text, looking as regal as a queen, just as she always did.

  “Hello, Mother,” Diet said, as he entered the room and stood by the door.

  Diet’s mother looked up over her reading glasses at him and answered, “You’ve grown a beard… I can’t say that I necessarily approve, but then, it probably doesn’t matter to you, whether I approve or not.”

  “I’ve missed you too, Mother.”

  “I see that you’ve certainly dressed appropriately for a visit to your mother. I swear, I don’t know what the neighbors are going to think!”

  “Just tell them I was a plumber who couldn’t find the servant’s entrance. Isn’t that what you told them the last time I visited you?”

  “Needing money again, are you? I don’t know why else you’d be paying me a visit again, after all these years of neglecting your mother.”

  Diet sighed. It’s starting already. “Mother, I don’t remember having asked you for money since I got my first job, when I was 16. Believe it or not, my bills are paid and I still have a couple of nickels to rub together afterwards.”

  And then, Diet’s visit with his mother went downhill from there… just like they always did.

  * * * *

  The Rak Planet Peran

  December, 3865

  “Region-Master Drix, welcome to Region-2,” said Region-Master Harf, displaying significantly less enthusiasm than Glan had displayed on his visit to Region-3, even before Glan became aware that Drix had been his fosterling.

  “Thank you, Region-Master. I greatly appreciate your hospitality on such rudely short notice,” Drix replied.

  Harf, region-master of the reds of Region-2, had inherited his position and unfortunately, he was a vain, weak master with delusions of grandeur. Harf was a political animal, whose opinions shifted with the current political winds. Drix sometimes doubted whether Harf actually had any real convictions of his own, as he always seemed to be in complete agreement with whatever opinions the High-Rak around him were expressing on any given day. While Harf generally avoided taking any kind of substantive position on any issues, which might bring him into conflict with majority opinion, he also gave the appearance of talking out both sides of his muzzle. Through his voiced agreements, Harf often appeared to be lending support to an issue, only to regularly fail to follow up with that implied support, when expected. Drix wasn’t sure whether this inclination was because of a deliberate desire to confound any who might be foolish enough to depend on him, or if he was actually that disjointed in his own thinking. There were three things that Drix was sure of, about Harf though…

  The one thing Harf did take a hard stance on, was a strange idea of his that prestige amongst the various region-masters should be attributed in chronological order — and because Region-2 was the second region to come into existence after Imperial Region-1, he was somehow deserving to be afforded an extra measure of respect, second only to that of the supreme-master himself. This made him vain in his belief that, because his region was second-eldest, that historical fact somehow made him superior to all of the other region-masters, and therefore left him vulnerable to flattery that stroked his ego by seeming to support that peculiar fantasy.

  Secondly, Harf’s vanity made him highly sensitive to perceived slights or any seeming lack of respect, causing him to rage while he called the righteous wrath of Dol down upon those who failed to recognize his region’s inherent superiority. He was also known to be petty, often clinging to grudges against any he believed had slighted him.

  And thirdly, Harf desperately desired to arrange a high-mating for his eldest daughter. That dream appeared hopeless, as that particular female was notoriously head-strong, disagreeable and chronically petulant. She was renowned throughout the empire for having a temperament so foul, no male of any rank, however lowly, seemed inclined to even stay in the same room with her, much less take her as his primary mate and dam to his future heirs.

  “Quite short notice, actually,” said Harf. “I must say, Supreme-Master Xior has certainly been busy… creating so many new regions lately.”

  “Yes, the rate at which our empire has been expanding recently has been extraordinary,” agreed Drix.

  “I can’t say that I quite know what to think of it all,” opined Harf. “Expansion is always a good thing as a general rule, but so fast? We’ve never seen anything quite like it before, and I fear what effect all this will have on our stability.”

  “It’s certainly an exciting time to be alive,” replied Drix. “The addition of over 60 new virgin planets, in such an incredibly short time, is nothing less than revolutionary.”

  “Quite,’ agreed Harf. “I must say that all these new worlds of yours will certainly help to ease the population pressures in the elder regions. I just wish we had more transports available to move all of our prospective colonists along more quickly.”

  “Yes, the discovery of new prey has complicated the issue, as the Imperial Fleet has proscribed so much of our shipping capacity, to support its logistical efforts.”

  “Mostly all going into your supposed new region, are they not?” asked Harf scornfully. “Raan has hardly had time to organize that mess down in Region-6 into anything remotely resembling a proper region, so how someone as young as you is expected to chase prey and implement a proper regional governmental structure at the same time, is really quite beyond me.”

  “It is a quite a challenge, Region-Master, I’ll admit,” responded Drix. “It was actually quite a shock when Supreme-Master Xior designated the new war zone as a new Raknii region and then decided to elevate me, to assume command of it all.”

  “You actually look quite a bit like Supreme-Master Xior, you know,” mused Harf. “Interesting color that you’ve chosen for your regional colors too,” indicating Drix’ bright, light-orange silks.

  “As Raan played such an important role as my patron, in bringing me to the Supreme-Master’s attention, inclusion of his color yellow to honor him was instinctive,” said Drix. “Selection of a second color that I might add to yellow, in order to create an entirely new color for myself, was easy. As Region-2 is the eldest, most respected and most prosperous of all the expansion regions, what better color might I have possibly have chosen to add to Raan’s yellow, than your red, to represent what I most desire to create for my people in Region-7?”

  Harf’s expression changed abruptly. “Really? You added my red to Raan’s yellow to create your orange colors, out of respect for Region-2? Truly?”

  “What better example might any new Region-Master choose as a template for what he wished to create, than Region-2?” asked Drix incredulously. “The newer regions face vastly different challenges than does the Imperial Region-1. As the very first expansion region, the accomplishments made by Region-2 represent a shining example of what can be achieved through creative thinking and diligent effort… and quite naturally serve as a model that any Rak master would be wise to emulate,
do they not?”

  In spite of himself, Harf felt himself warming to this young upstart. “I see… I must say that I find your attitude quite extraordinary. It is rare to find such humility in one so young, displaying wisdom far beyond his years. Perhaps now, I begin to glimpse what it was that Supreme-Master Xior saw in you, young Drix. Perhaps there truly is a deeper level of wisdom at work here — one that wasn’t readily apparent on the surface. Supreme-Master Xior obviously has a plan. Exactly what all that plan entails is obscure as yet, but it’s there. I can see that now.”

  “I am honored, Region-Master,” said Drix with a slight bow. “The challenges that I face are considerable and so, I would be greatly appreciative of any advice that an experienced region-master, of your wisdom, might see fit to share with me.”

  * * * *

  The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin

  December 25, 3865

  “It’s really a shame that Hal couldn’t take off work long enough to even share Christmas with us, Diet,” said Noreen. “Sometimes I think you work that boy too hard… slave driver!”

  “Unfortunately, the project requires his constant attention. Better him than me, don’t you think?”

  Noreen snuggled closer. “Oh, yes,” she giggled. “If I had to choose between the two of you, I’d much rather have you here beside me. Sorry. Hal!”

  No worries, Noreen. While I truly look forward to actually meeting you in the flesh, this project is actually one of the most exciting things I’ve ever worked on. I’m really quite content.

  Noreen had decorated the huge master suite on the baron’s massive spaceliner that Diet was using, so everywhere you looked, everything just screamed CHRISTMAS! Garlands and ribbons and ornaments, and stockings with holly and wreaths, and Christmas bric-a-brac of all kinds adorned almost every surface. Noreen had really gone all-out, and although she wasn’t back home with her family on Sylvania as she usually was every Christmas, being here with Diet just felt so right, somehow.

  They had already had Christmas dinner catered in and had exchanged gifts beneath the full-sized, 8-foot Christmas tree that she and Diet had put up together in the large living area. That was fun! Diet had even managed to somehow find bubble lights for the tree… odd candle-shaped glass tubes filled with colored liquids of some kind, which lit from the bottom and caused a continuous stream of bubbles to rise up the tubes as they heated. They gave the tree an odd sense of motion and were really very attractive. Noreen had never seen them before, but Diet said that his family had an ancient set that they’d used for so long as to become a literal family tradition, every Christmas.

  “You know, having this disembodied voice coming out of the woodwork is really a bit spooky, sometimes,” said Noreen.

  You can just think of me as one of the Christmas ghosts.

  “Christmas ghosts?” asked a puzzled Noreen. “What do ghosts have to do with Christmas?”

  Do you have a few hours?

  “Let’s see, I’m snuggled up under an afghan… all cozy — tucked up here right next to Diet with a cup of steaming hot cocoa in my hand,” Noreen cooed. “Yea, I could definitely stay just like this for a few hours. What’cha got in mind, Hal?”

  With that, Hal began reciting a lengthy Christmas story that neither Noreen, nor Diet had ever heard before… a complete rendition of Admiral Kalis’ favorite ancient book: A Christmas Carol, written by Charles Dickens some 2,000 years ago.

  * * * *

  Kitty Litter System

  December 25, 3865

  “Oh Ben, I’ve never known such happiness.”

  Captain Dorothy Fletcher-Stillman snuggled closer to her new husband in the admiral’s stateroom, which the crew of Defiant had taken to calling the Honeymoon Suite. In an effort to make the place more homey, they’d “decorated” for the Christmas holidays as best they could, with whatever was at hand. The engineering department donated a reasonable facsimile of a two-foot Christmas tree to them, which they’d somehow fabricated out of God knows what, complete with decorations and lights. The stewards from the officer’s mess had outdone themselves, delivering a virtual feast of rare delicacies to their stateroom for their Christmas dinner, and life was good. It was almost like the entire crew had adopted them, and went out of their way to do anything they possibly could to make life more enjoyable for the newlyweds.

  Admiral Ben Stillman leaned down and kissed his new bride on the top of her nearly white head and said, “Me too, sweetheart. This is definitely the best Christmas I’ve ever had, because I’ve certainly never received a present like you before!”

  Dorothy laughed and slapped at his chest. “Oh poo… you’re just trying to get on my good side because you want some more poontang, you randy old goat.”

  Ben smiled down at her and said, “With you? Always. Guilty as charged.”

  “I never really understood what it was that seemed to make everyone around me so preoccupied with sex all the time. God, I never dreamed that anything could possibly feel that damned good! I really appreciate your filling me in on the big secret, Mr. Stillman.”

  “The pleasure was all mine, Mrs. Stillman.”

  “Well, the pleasure certainly wasn’t ALL yours. You’ve had me purring like a well-stroked cat, ever since our wedding night.”

  “I think the crew is now taking bets on how long it’ll take me to finally get this shit-eating grin off my face,” Ben laughed.

  “Forever, if I have anything to say about it,” Dorothy laughed in mock indignity.

  “Umm… I wonder if the dispensary carries anything that works on facial cramps… I think I might need some of that.”

  Dorothy grinned up at him and said, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

  “Merry Christmas, my love.”

  With that, they embraced and Ben kissed her, deeply and tenderly. Somewhere during the kiss, Ben stiffened suddenly, as he felt her fingers slip beneath the waistband of his shorts. Dorothy shot him a wicked grin and asked, “You ready for another present, Admiral?”

  “You’re insatiable, wench!”

  “I’m afraid you’ve created a monster, Ben… one with a lot of making up for lost time, to do.”

  * * * *

  The Rak Planet Peran

  December, 3865

  “Region-Master Drix, I’d like for you to meet my daughter, N’raal. N’raal, this is Drix… newly elevated to Region-Master of the new Region-7, by Supreme-Master Xior, himself.”

  Drix found himself very surprised at how stunning Harf’s infamous daughter actually was to look at in person. Despite her young age, N’raal’s temper and cantankerous nature was legend throughout the empire and the subject of no few barracks tales — many of which bawdily suggested that Harf must have been guilty of mating with some particularly vile and vicious beast at some point in his life, to have fathered such an abrasive and churlish creature as N’raal. From all the stories he’d heard told about her, he’d half-expected a bent old crone that drooled green acid from her muzzle. Instead, she was literally one of the most physically attractive females he’d ever laid eyes upon. So alluring was N’raal to behold, Drix found himself shocked that Harf had encountered such extreme difficulties in arranging a mating for her. One would have thought that someone would have literally leaped at the chance to mate with a female of such exquisite beauty, especially one having such lofty political connections as a region-master’s daughter.

  N’raal didn’t even glance at Drix, but instead rounded on her father and wailed, “Father please, must you always parade me around in front of every unmated male that comes into the house, like I’m some prized heifer that you’re wanting to sell?”

  “And must you always be so querulous and truculent, N’raal?” her father yelled back at her in obvious exasperation. “Is it too much to ask, that you behave civilly and inoffensively towards a guest in our home?”

  “I’ve said nothing untoward to this guest of yours, father. In fact, I’ve said nothing to him at all,” said N’raal. “It’
s your incredible presumption that I find intolerable, and I will not let it pass unchallenged.”

  “And you couldn’t find a more appropriate time and place to discuss your objections to my behavior, rather than to initiate a screaming match, right here in front of our guest?”

  “It was your choice of time and place, father. I wasn’t consulted about my thoughts concerning all that preening and perfuming that you had the servants put me through, now was I?”

  “I am your father and master of this house. I don’t have to consult you first. You’re my daughter and you’ll do as I require, whenever I require it!” Harf thundered.

  “You think you can just give orders and then expect me to jump through hoops on command, like one of your pets? I am NOT one of your pets, father and I will not be treated as one!” N’raal screamed at him.

  The shouting match between father and daughter continued, as both had quite forgotten about Drix entirely, as they remained locked in high-volume, verbal combat.

  Odd how we always seem to expect inner and outer beauty to coincide, don’t we? Harf has been entirely too lenient with this one, by far. She has no discipline and abides by no rules, but her own.

  Drix slowly circled the shouting pair, keeping all his attention focused squarely on the incredibly beautiful N’raal.

  “I am sick and tired of all your tedious efforts to mate me off to some male beneath my station, just to get rid of me, Father,” N’raal screamed.

  “Drix is NOT beneath your station, you imbecile,” Harf shouted. “He’s a region-master in his own right and every bit my equal in rank!”

  N’raal snorted. “Well, that’s certainly a new one. You’ve never believed anyone was truly your equal, except possibly for Supreme-Master Xior, himself!”