by C. Gockel
The Founder continued attacking Delson's unconscious form until one of the Fist pulled him away. By this time, however, his rage and lust for blood had been sated. He looked down at the dying man, a feeling of serenity beginning to emerge in his turbulent mind. He wasn't remorseful, only regretting that Delson had caused so much chaos with his lack of discretion. Cleaning up this negative publicity would take quite an effort, but now that he had vented some of his emotions, he would be better able to handle the work ahead.
He strode down the aisle, the Fist clearing a way through the crowd. The Founder exited the building and climbed into his personal transport. After a few selections on the console, the ship rose into the night sky. The Founder gazed down onto the city-world of Ashamine-2, letting out a deep sigh.
His predecessors had worked far too hard on this empire for him to let it fail. His heir was vital to the Ashamine’s future, but the Founder would hold the government and the people together until the LGP could create a new one. There is no other option. He was old, but with careful planning and optimization, everything could be set right again. And perhaps the Traynos discovery could prolong—No, it's too early to speculate. I cannot permit false hopes.
Once he arrived back at his residence, the Founder read the full reports about Haak-ah-tar. Such bad timing, he thought, wishing he had moved Lothis sooner. Based on the intel, the Founder guessed there was a chance the boy was still alive, that perhaps the ASN Founder's Hammer could outrun the shock wave. It will take time to know for sure. Communication with the system was down, so he had no way to signal the ship. Until it turned up somewhere, he would have to assume the worst and begin working on a new successor.
The Founder still didn't want to give up on Crasor, but he needed a Facilitator. Right now. He had waited long enough and the lack of a highly qualified operative was decreasing his effectiveness. I need someone to be my hands, to do the things I cannot. Pulling up a file on his terminal screen, he began viewing candidates. Time passed and the Founder only grew more frustrated. “None of these FCs is even half as good as Crasor!” he yelled.
The memory of all the help Crasor Tah Ahn provided caused another spike of anger through the Founder. Where has he gone and why hasn’t he contacted me? This lack of communication was atypical of Crasor. He is either rogue or dead. The Founder preferred to think the latter, not believing someone so loyal to be capable of treason. Anything is possible , he allowed, but I won't believe he deserted until I’m proven wrong. He closed the candidate file, sighed heavily, and looked out over the city-world stretching below him.
Where are you Crasor? the Founder part lamented, part raged. I need you now, more than ever...
29 - Crasor
Crasor climbed out of the crevasse, relishing his strength. I’m like a spider. He still used the wall’s hand and foot holds, but he possessed boundless power and endurance. A sadistic grin curled his lip as he saw what awaited on the surface.
A vast sea of humanity covered this remote area of Noor-5. They lined both sides of the crevasse leading down to the Breakers’ temple. They’d been drawn by the spore, the same thing that had drawn Crasor, burning his mind with a desire to come to this very spot.
As the crowd caught sight of him, they roared. The sound was nearly identical to when Bloodsport combatants scored a brutal kill. Crasor could see into the minds of everyone gathered. They wanted him, needed him, but none understood why.
Anticipation bubbled in Crasor as he strode into the crowd. Feeling triumphant, he stabbed his newly elongated and sharped fingers into the abdomen of a tall, dark skinned man. The seed of the Breakers flowed through his fingers, injecting the man with nano-machines that would modify his DNA. His first convert writhed in an ecstasy of agony. Crasor realized this was what he’d looked like when he received the seed. But my transformation will be greater, more powerful. I will transcend flesh!
The nearby crowd shrank from the writhing man, looking horrified. Crasor broadcast a mental command and the mass lined up, nervous, yet eager for the chance to receive the seed. Several hours passed as Crasor worked. He enjoyed every second of it.
After he’d injected the last person, Crasor looked out across the crowd of what had once been humans, but were now something else. They were clumsy and ungainly at the moment, unintelligent. Their only desire was to kill and feed. Soon, they will evolve into the Breakers I see in the million memories swirling in my mind.
“I am the Breaker of the Dawn,” he proclaimed, mouth silent. “You were chosen to serve and conquer. Go now and do so. Bring me those who can become like you. All others, do as you will.” With the mental order complete, the horde set off in a thousand different directions, each heading to convert or kill. Many will die, Crasor reflected, but we have established an anchor in the Akked. The thought gave him a savage pleasure he had experienced occasionally when in the Founder’s employ. This time, the sensation was exponentially stronger.
Days passed and much of Noor-5 fell to Crasor. Early on, he hashed the planet's main terminal, shutting down all communications. We can't let anyone off-world know, he thought, smiling crookedly. They will hear of us soon enough...
Crasor stood on the primary street of the once bustling capital city, its boulevards empty except for the handful of Breakers he’d selected to help. The five of them stood before the Ashamine Planetary Governor's house, a lavish residence embodying the wealth and opulence typical of the Ashamine. Seeing it made Crasor rage with envy and lust. Why had the Ashamine never acknowledged him? Why had the Founder never promoted or rewarded him for all his sacrifice and devotion? Hate burned within Crasor like the fires of the dark star. He wished for something to kill.
Be calm. Focus! He needed to give all his attention to this situation. Compared to a fully ascended Breaker, I am still weak and frail. My followers even more so. Going into this dangerous place and getting out alive would require all his burgeoning powers: mental, physical, and spiritual. He desperately wanted to use them, wanted to bring them to bear on the nearest manifestation of the Founder’s power. Since he couldn't destroy the supreme leader, the man's authority on this planet would have to suffice for the moment. Crasor would fight through the soldiers and bodyguards to reach the Governor. I will kill or convert him, he thought. There is no other option.
When the Breakers had begun overrunning the planet, Crasor's growing intelligence force discovered the Governor and his family were hiding in their estate. Apparently they thought it a safe location to survive the outbreak. Now, the storm has come for them. There was no one left to defend the family except for those on the grounds. No more Families, no more military, no more government. Still, the force they retained was strong and well-trained. Crasor knew what he was up against from his Ashamine days, and he wouldn't let his newfound power make him reckless. I just hope there are no Founder's Commandos inside.
Crasor stepped forward, approaching the massive gate leading into the estate grounds. His acolyte Breakers followed, their gait lurching and ugly. When they reached the barrier, Crasor drew back his arm and struck, flat palm hitting the gate on its middle seam. The heavy panels flew inward as if blasted by a charge, sturdy metal screaming in agony. The two halves burst off their hinges and tumbled across the estate grounds. His acolytes said nothing, but he saw their eyes widen. I even surprise myself a little, Crasor thought, the side of his mouth twisting up in a vicious grin.
With the way cleared, Crasor strode onto the Governor's estate, four acolytes following. The grounds were large, containing several buildings that might harbor the Governor. Crasor would search every one if he had to, but his guess was that the man would be in his house. They headed across well manicured lawns, eschewing the immaculate pathways headed in every direction. Abusing the pristine grass added a touch of disdain Crasor liked.
Soon, they were within firing range of the soldiers in the buildings. Crasor reached out with his mind, touching the air around the group. Without fully understanding what he did or how, Cr
asor bent the fabric of space-time. Nothing happened visibly, but he sensed a strangeness in the surrounding atoms.
In the next instant, projectiles flew towards them, ion trails blazing brilliantly even in the daylight. They passed right through Crasor's bubble, emerging on the other side without harming anyone. Crasor let out a whoop of exultation and started to jog. His followers had a hard time keeping up, their shambling gait not suited to the faster pace. Crasor slowed, but still maintained a brisk walk. If any of them slip out of the bubble...
Crasor was amazed by the lack of defenses for the highest official on Noor-5, but he supposed there had been no real threat previously. Soon, the Ashamine would learn how ill prepared they had been. Of course, Crasor thought derisively, how could they have been ready for something like us?
As they neared the buildings, the defenders began firing wildly. Shooting at things defying physics might cause such fear, Crasor supposed. No matter. Whether they shoot true or shoot wild, they can’t harm us.
The group finally arrived at the grand entrance of the Governor's mansion, its black columns supporting a dome roof. The whole building was a large oval, three stories tall, black facade gleaming in the mid-day light. The oval front door was large enough for several humans to pass through at once. Crasor hit it the same way he had struck the gates, only not quite as hard. The doors boomed open. Crasor strode inside.
The first person he encountered was a young male Initiate, fatigues fresh and newly issued. They placed an inexperienced soldier at this critical point? Before the Initiate could act, Crasor reached out with what he thought of as his soul and touched the man. He caressed his essence, as if he were a lover touching his dearly beloved. When the man's soul writhed in revulsion, Crasor had his answer. He leapt forward, bringing a flying forearm into the Initiate's face. He heard bones break and knew instinctively the blow had killed him. Without looking back, Crasor continued his hunt for the Founder's puppet. His acolytes wanted to feed on the Initiate—he could feel it—but he didn’t allow it. More important things to do. Feeding will come later.
He ascended a grand set of stairs and walked down several halls without seeing anyone. Strange... He opened a door to a large antechamber and found the ambush. There were at least fifteen soldiers in the room, poised for action. They fired, simultaneously, and the roar of projectiles breaking the speed of sound deafened Crasor. Thankfully, he had not reversed the effects of the space-time warp. Crasor felt the protection strain as the rail rounds encountered it, shuddering under the massive force.
The fact he’d wandered into the ambush infuriated Crasor, but he knew he could only blame himself. Instead of self-incrimination, Crasor focused his rage externally. He reached out again, lovingly caressing each foe's life-force in turn. His acolytes performed the same feat, but more slowly. They delved half in the amount of time it took Crasor to do those remaining.
Three of the opponents responded the same as the young Initiate. The rest cherished his touch, lusting for more. Even now he could see they wanted it, needed it. It’s such a beautiful thing, he thought, laughing.
Equipped with the knowledge of who needed seed and who needed blackness, Crasor and his acolytes sprang into action. He directed them to kill those marked for such first and then subdue the others. The odds of succeeding without Breaker causalities wasn't good, but it was too late to turn back.
Crasor released the warp and focused his mind on a different task. He reached out to those who needed the seed, splitting his soul into a hand with many fingers. He caressed and stroked the group, pacifying them with blissful tranquility. As Crasor did this, his acolytes battled the remaining soldiers. After a short struggle, three human corpses lay on the floor, blood pooling from torn throats.
Carefully approaching each of the remaining solders in turn, Crasor stabbed his elongated fingers into the left side of each one’s chest. Seed flowed through the digits and into their hearts, beginning their conversion. Crasor loved watching the change. He saw the fire enter their eyes, joy and savagery evident in their countenance. It was a sight that warmed his heart more than anything he’d ever done for the Founder.
With the task of seeding complete, Crasor had access to each of the new acolyte's minds. From this he learned the Governor was inside the adjoining apartment. He strode across the large room feeling like conqueror, head high and triumph in his eyes. This world has only one small, flimsy door protecting it from complete conquest.
Crasor's blow caused the privacy door to splinter and fragment. It was wood. Surprise on surprises. They make it so easy. When he entered, he saw a man, a woman, and two small children. He once again performed the delving. Crasor wasn't surprised at the results. The man and the woman for seed and the young for blackness. He had yet to delve any children who were destined to become Breakers.
Crasor intended to savor this moment. He would not caress them into docility. He wanted to enjoy the flavor of their emotions. “Governor,” he said, nodding to the lean man with dark blue eyes and tawny hair. “And lady wife,” he continued, this time nodding towards the short woman with auburn hair and hazel eyes. “How nice to meet you both.”
He intentionally ignored the children, as they were fit for nothing. Mentally, he directed his acolytes to seize them. The governor and his wife tried to resist, but gave up easily. Either they are heartless or very good at hiding their emotions, Crasor observed.
The four acolytes firmly grasped the younger child, a girl, and this broke through the mother's stoicism. The child began crying, and her mother reached out a trembling hand towards her. One of the acolytes took hold of the girl's head and slowly began to twist it. The mother started to gibber, spouting nonsense words. The girl screamed and cried as her head was forced past the point of comfort. There was a loud pop, and the child went limp and silent. Her mother wailed, a long keening noise that was music to Crasor's ears. Again, laughter rose within him. The girl's father did nothing however, face still a mask of disaffection.
Crasor guessed the Governor's weakness and directed his acolytes to do the same to the boy. The male child’s death was enough to provoke him. He strode up to Crasor, producing a rail pistol out of an interior coat pocket. He raised the weapon, but the move was slow and clumsy. He isn't used to wielding death himself. Crasor caught the governor's wrist easily and with a quick twist the man dropped the pistol, wrist broken like a dry twig.
“A pity you are destined for the seed,” Crasor said offhandedly. “You are weak, a failure. Unfortunately, we need everyone we can get, and you will serve like the rest.” Crasor lifted his right hand and plunged his fingers into the Governor's heart. After the seed flowed into the man, he fell to the floor and convulsed for a moment, eyes lolling.
When the fit was over, the Governor awkwardly rose. He shambled towards his wife, moaning. She backed away, fear blazing in her eyes. Before she could escape, Crasor leapt on her, injecting the seed. The woman repeated the same process as her husband, spasming on the floor. Eventually, she got back to her feet.
“Meh tha dahn be bruken,” she said, words guttural and barely recognizable. She saluted Crasor, movements halting.
“May the Dawn be broken,” the assembled acolyte Breakers roared, voices loud even in the large room.
Crasor nodded his head, lop sided grin etched on his face. He had conquered a planet, true, but what was that in perspective of all the Ashamine? And what of the Entho-la-ah-mines? They had an empire too. Perhaps, before too long, both mighty civilizations wouldn't be quite so great. He had taken one planet, why not more? Why not all of them?
30 - Cazz-ak-tak
Cazz-ak-tak felt the star go supernova. The Great Thought sensed it through him. A cascade of sorrow and mourning swept across the hive mind, its intensity staggering. The Entho-la-ah-mine’s had known of their home system’s fragility. The larger star's greed for the matter of its binary companion had been a subject of scientific discussion for quite some time.
To Cazz-ak, the impending
loss of Haak-ah-tar felt like a condemnation to extinction. They had brought forth the new queen, but that only ensured the species' continued existence until she perished. We fought so hard to birth the new Queen. Now it is all for nothing. Our victory has merely staved off the inevitable. The Great Thought’s depression and anxiety deepened as more people realized the situation’s meaning.
With the loss of the crystals and the cave that contained them, there was no way to bring forth a new queen. Perhaps the cave might survive the shock wave, but the scientists weren't optimistic. It was a small consolation that the humans would be driven off the planet.
Even if the cave is destroyed, I will do my best to keep the Queen alive, Cazz-ak thought. We must not give up hope. I will not let the sacrifice of our escort vessels be wasted. The humans had destroyed every single support ship that had come with him to Haak-ah-tar. The other vessels had done everything possible to distract the humans so Cazz-ak's mission could succeed. Now, Cazz-ak's ship was alone, fleeing a dying star. I wish their sacrifice hadn't been required, he thought, mourning.
Cazz-ak mentally sent a course adjustment, and the huge bi-pyramidal ship changed course slightly. He hoped it would bring them to distortion clearance distance a little faster than before. Hundreds of ships, large and small, fled with them, trying to get to escape the shock wave. Cazz-ak wasn't worried about most of them. Many are the type humans use for utility and transport. One of the other evacuees was making him nervous, however.