Farthest Reach
Page 28
The Nackthra ship could also restore their race to glory, like Shon’tar, but they needed the correct materials in sufficient abundance. Only by destroying Shon’tar and his warstar could the Nackthra stop to gather the materials necessary to rebuild their people.
Like mindless automatons, the last representatives of their species hurtled through the darkness. Homeless, forgotten ghosts waiting for entropy to decide their fate. The galaxy would not weep for them, nor would it care about the outcome.
Shon’tar screamed at the empty bridge as the visions again pressed on his consciousness. His voice echoed through the chamber. The visions came more frequently now, and he considered surrendering to them, but he always refused to surrender to anything, even fate.
***
“Enemy formation detected emerging from the nebula,” Soth’ar reported. “Whispering loss formation.”
“Life,” Shon’tar replied. “Order the ships into the sweeping flower formation. Have the Sad Widow take the stem position. All others assume petals.”
The decimated fleets approached each other, seeking some advantage. Convinced the extinction of the Gena was the only chance for peace, the warrior clans of the Nackthra programmed the genocide of the Gena into their genetic structure. No Nackthra—male, female, or eggling—would miss this final battle, and no Gena would miss the battle for fear their absence could help in the outcome.
The formations clashed as warstars launched barrages of mindblazers. Some escaped the defensive fire of Shon’tar’s thousands of defenses. A wave of death and despair rolled over him as his crew and passengers died by the thousands. Only the strongest of psychics survived a near hit by a mindblazer. Shon’tar’s vision blurred as he withdrew his psychic shield from others to protect himself. Around him, over a hundred of his bridge crew died, succumbing to the mindblazers or overloading systems that erupted, sending lethal shards of plastic and metal into their operators. The sting of glass and metal ripped at his armor and skin. Minor injuries compared to the assault on his psyche.
Now he heard the screams in his ears and mind. Horrible shrieks as their life force burned to emptiness, and numbness filled his mind as their last thoughts, magnified because of their proximity, clawed his soul.
But the survivors did not yield to despair. As the battle continued, Shon’tar ordered the survivors to return fire with their own mindblazers and psychic energy weapons. An enemy warstar reeled, spewing air and fire into space, shattering beneath the onslaught. Still it fought on, launching more mindblazers, the dying crew fighting to their last breath. There would be no mercy asked for, nor any given. It was past time for that.
Shon’tar watched helplessly as the last of the Gena died in light and fire, locked together in death with their enemy. One soulslayer missile struck his ship; Teleta’s console overloaded and shattered. Shon’tar looked just in time to see his daughter spin, her eyes already empty of life, and slump to the floor.
***
Shon’tar swam up from his memories. His head ached as he turned to answer Trellna, but he wasn’t there. The empty seats and blasted consoles reminded him Trellna had died. Gun Commander Trellna, one of his best officers. Trellna planned to marry Renate after the battle, but now there would be no marriages. Shon’tar turned his concentration back to his task, but his mind only replaced the ghostly memory of Trellna with another.
***
Finally. Though mentally exhausted, Shon’tar gained full control of his prey, the Nackthra navigator. Two hundred and forty years of work for a single order. Commanded by the navigator, the Nackthra ship changed course, turning toward Shon’tar’s warstar. Such a simple thing. The Weeping Heart no longer had the ability to attack; the weapons, like the gunners, were long dead and the warstar’s armor was shattered. Despite the damage, the armor was enough to protect it against the few weapons possessed by the Nackthra cruiser. He must move quickly. The Nackthra ship lacked size and mass. Shon’tar’s ship did not. A million Nackthra strike cruisers could fit inside the hull of his warstar. His plan was simple; he would ram their ship against his. They would die, but his ship would survive without major damage. The shakes were coming, but that was all right. Shon’tar could still do what was needed as he guided the Nackthra navigator to program the new course. The Nackthra commander, a psychic, still did not realize the danger, and soon it would be too late.
***
Shon’tar twisted violently, wishing the visions would leave him alone, but they came, regardless.
Fabrala’s sky was a beautiful glowing orange, the clouds wreathed in silver as his children scrambled in and out of the lispering plants. Still blue and harmless, the elegant, vibrant plants wouldn’t blossom and become dangerous for another four months. Shon’tar leaned against the marble doorway. They seemed so innocent, so joyful. He watched them to find out what kind of game they were playing, and when he realized what they were playing, he lost his smile. It was a simple game, ancient. He had played the same game when he was young, many centuries before. Teleta was a Gena commando, and Nos’ Rith was a Nackthra warrior. Shon’tar did not approve of their game because they were at peace with the Nackthra, and he didn’t want the new generation to grow up with war on their minds.
“Let’s go to the Synorium!” Shon’tar shouted. Teleta and Nos’ Rith squealed with joy and ran to hug him, their game of war forgotten. He scooped them up to carry them toward the garage as he called for Ne’sea. Let them forget their game of war in a place of happiness and pleasure, a place dedicated to peace.
One month later, the Nackthra invaded a Gena planet and Shon’tar was recalled to active duty as the fighting began anew.
***
“The academy . . .” Shon’tar stopped since there was nobody present to hear him. He knew it was because of the mindblazer attack he had survived so long ago. The microscopic robots could repair the physical damage, but they couldn’t heal the mental wounds.
Briefly, he wondered if there still places onboard the warstar where bodies still lay waiting for the mindless robotic crew to find them. Shon’tar refrained from asking the computer; he didn’t need to know, and he didn’t want to know. It meant nothing to him now. He was the supreme commander and ruler of the Gena race, a race that comprised only a single member.
Shon’tar’s laugh was forced as it echoed throughout the massive, empty bridge. He commanded only robots and ruled no one. The Nackthra cruiser had changed course to intercept his warstar. It wouldn’t be long now before the war would be over and he could rebuild. Around him, he listened to the incoherent psychic babble of distant alien civilizations. Some would be warlike; some would be peaceful. It was the way of things, but only the strong would survive and the weak would perish. The strong would be challenged. On every world encountered by the Gena, that had been the way of things. It was the way of the universe.
With the extinction of the Nackthra, the Gena would reign supreme. Shon’tar would ensure nobody else could challenge the might of the Gena ever again. He hoped the Nackthra would be the last to be exterminated, but he knew he would not hesitate to give the order if anyone else threatened his children.
***
Teleta looked up at him, her eyes innocent. “Father, why must I go to the academy?”
Shon’tar cupped her face in his hands. “We must survive, my dearest. We must learn to fight because if we do not, we will perish.”
“I don’t want to fight,” she said, looking up at the night’s sky.
Shon’tar’s heart felt heavy. She would go and fight and she would lose her innocence, the youthful purity that made her so very dear to him. No longer would she be his sweet young daughter, his pride and joy.
He could not spare her, keep her out of the military, out of harm’s way. She had the kindheartedness he had lost. He looked at her and knew why he fought. He had not won before, but perhaps someday the Gena would win, and their children could remain uncorrupted by war.
Pacifists always died when faced with a heartless f
oe. The Gena had to fight to survive; there were no other options. It was the rule of the universe. When racial survival was at stake, there was no other foe than a merciless one. The only purpose of life was the fight for survival.
***
The mind of the Nackthra commander whispered across the conscience of the navigator, which was now an extension of Shon’tar’s will. Shon’tar felt the commander’s surprise and horror as the Nackthra officer probed deeper. The commander would know he had lost his slave because the patterns of the navigator’s mind had changed.
In desperation, the Nackthra commander launched a psychic attack, trying to force his will back into the navigator’s mind as he sprinted for the bridge. Shon’tar was strong enough to defend his slave even at this distance, but the navigator was vulnerable to a physical attack. The enemy commander was in his quarters and Shon’tar knew Moktash, the Nackthra commander, would not hesitate to kill his navigator. Bolting through the ship, Moktash burst into the bridge.
Empty like Shon’tar’s, it was smaller but numerous consoles and stations still stood between the two Nackthra. No alarms flashed in the dim light as the Nackthra commander zeroed in on his traitorous navigator. Even the holographic display in the center of the bridge did not show what the navigator had done. Everything appeared as it had for centuries.
The Nackthra were reptilians, with four legs and two arms. They did not have bones so much as strong cartilage, letting them squeeze into crevasses. Their large eyes were forward set like all known predators. While their skin varied in color, generally, the shinier their scales, the higher their rank. The nameless navigator’s scales were dull green, while the commander’s scales glistened in the light.
The navigator slunk in his chair, his reptilian body trying to become one with his seat to avoid being an easy target. Nothing else mattered to the navigator as he tried to make his tampering unalterable. The navigator didn’t even go for his sidearm as Moktash brought his weapon to bear.
Shon’tar shook as the stress and tension climaxed, his will tested as Moktash attempted to regain control of the slave. The Nackthra commander was too close to the navigator and Shon’tar’s shield slipped beneath the hammer blows of Moktash’s will. The navigator began to slip out of Shon’tar’s psychic grasp, and the commander struck with beamer and psi, forcing the life from the navigator’s body. It slumped from the console, its scales sizzled and popped.
Shon’tar’s failure pierced his heart like a knife. They were in weapon range, but he had no weapons, his energy was gone, and the warstar could not go faster. The shaking became uncontrollable as Moktash rushed to reprogram the navigation system.
***
“I don’t want to fight,” Teleta said.
Shon’tar looked at the tears in her eyes. He had seen those tears in the eyes of his sons. He had shed those tears himself.
***
Tears streaked Shon’tar’s face. He would have to find another plan, but there were no other plans. He had pursued the Nackthra vessel for over five hundred years and this was the closest he had ever come. His ship or theirs would eventually fail. The Nackthra would escape and rebuild, and he would do the same. One day, they would meet again, and Gena and Nackthra star fleets would clash, and more innocent children would die.
***
“I don’t want to fight,” she said.
He understood his daughter. They were the same.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said, looking up at his father, who placed a hand on his shoulder. The memories of his father and daughter merged, their differences indistinguishable in his mind’s eye. Tears came to his eyes as he looked into the eyes of his daughter. She didn’t know the horror, the fear, and the despair. Neither had he.
***
She had learned. Like he had. There had been no choice. Shon’tar looked at the Nackthra ship. So close, so very close. “I don’t want to fight,” her ghost whispered in his ear. It was the voice of all the Gena children that would be born to fight the Nackthra, or if not the Nackthra, then someone else. It was the way of the universe.
Shon’tar didn’t want the children of the Gena to ever cry again, he did not want them to hurt, he didn’t want them to have to grow up to be warriors. The Gena were too like the Nackthra now. “You don’t have to fight ever again,” Shon’tar said, drying his eyes and hardening his resolve. “Computer. Initiate self-destruct.”
The Nackthra were close enough. He would show the Nackthra mercy and vengeance. Let their children remain innocent too. The Nackthra had created their beauty and fought their wars. Now it was time for other races to search for the peace the Gena and Nackthra did not want.
The warstar shattered the darkness in a flash of light, destroying the last of the Gena and Nackthra.
Many years later, the light from the explosion would reach distant alien civilizations. Scholars and commoners alike would see the flash of brightness in the sky. They could only wonder at the mysteries of the universe and ponder what it might mean.
The End
© Copyright 2019 by William S Frisbee