Zero Kelvin [Sci-Fi-ish] (Updated 29 Aug)

[Alwyn]

Engelbert and Pikk are great characters. I'm really enjoying this!

[Yeepeep]

Thanks for reading guys, I'm glad you enjoy this!

Now just so you don't get too comfortable with what's going on so far let me add another element to the story

[Yeepeep]

Eight

"Ngggrgh…", Root croaked feebly, his throat raw, painfully parched.

"Shut it, you fool", someone nearby hissed just before something pushed hard onto the back of his neck, driving his head face-down to the ground.

Forced against his will, he couldn't help but swallow a mouthful of moist earth -- and something suspiciously worse. Suffocating, he tried to spit it out, to cough, tried to twist aside, anything that would take his mouth and nose away from the mud. The pressure did not ease despite his best efforts. Panic thundered through his mind and survival instinct kicked in, pumping fresh blood into his tired limbs. Legs kicking, arms trashing around, he struggled to set himself free. A muted clinking ensued, suddenly interrupted by a loud grinding sound somewhere near the base of his skull. Searing pain surged through his head as a chilling wave rushed down his spine. He froze, nearly stunned by the unexpected agony. Prostrated like a martyr, shivering yet sweating profusely, there was nothing else for him to do but wait for the throbbing torment to ease. And to finally register the clamor surrounding him.

At least whoever was holding his head down had finally let go, just enough so he wouldn't drown in the muck. But his ears were ringing, badly. Whether because of whatever was happening around or inside his head he couldn't tell, but one thing was certain -- it was alarming either way. He braved opening one eye, then the other. The world spun in a blur and he flinched from the newfound vertigo. But did not let go. Instead, he gritted his teeth and started counting, trying to focus on whatever was in front of him. After fifteen the dizziness fell away and he found himself staring at a massive brown-green column right in front of him. Seven more and the column transformed into one armored lobster-ish leg (or claw or something in-between).

Wait. This made no sense whatsoever. Lobsters cannot possibly grow that big, can they? What was happening? What was this place? And most importantly, why did everything felt so…funny?!

"Whaaa….?", coughing and hacking he decided to try again, more out of spite than anything else.

"Shut it, I said. We were hit, ok? And by we I mean mostly you. Miracle you are still in one piece -- no time to explain", the impossible appendage disappeared from his field of view, "There, that should keep you going for a while….", the vertigo cleared a bit -- only to be replaced by a skull-splitting headache, "Now stay put, ok?"

'I'll give you an ok, you $*^%$*^ (*&%^)*' he muttered under his breath, hoping he wasn't heard. Still holding his head in an iron grip, the son of a dog started talking to someone. And so Root listened, murder on his mind.

"We two go first -- once this $*&%$(&^ here recovers, ok? No, he's fine. Just stupid. No, the rest of you keep your useless heads low and wait. Count to 30 -- can you do that? No? Mirials' cursed breaths, why am I punished with such boneheaded subordinates…Here, let me show you. Like this. Makes sense?", drawn out silence, "Ok, good. So count to thirty then follow, mark or no mark. Ok?"

He couldn't make out the other party's reply but guessed it was satisfactory to his tormenter since the latter kicked him hard just below the groin and barked, "Chop chop, pretty face, move your lazy $%^%."

"No time for recovery, eh?", he managed to squeeze in a sarcastic retort before the ok lobster moved away, dragging him behind like a lifeless sack of bones, "So much for niceties. And I though I signed up for the easy work…"

"You didn't sign up for anything, ok? $%*&%$…", a barely-audible hiss from somewhere ahead, "...stop distracting me! And keep your trap shut, or I'll do it for you, ok!? I'm trying to focus here."

Aching body or no, Root knew they had to move. The hounds were close, so close that even his limited senses could make out their presence. Albeit just barely. Still, better not dally too much then. Something must have gone wrong for them to be so hot on their heels. Were the screening squads wiped out? No way to find out. Did Peak mention anything? Probably not. But she never did anyway, unless the situation was worse than hopeless. And even if they were bereft of the comfort of their escort, there was nothing to be done about that -- other than try to stay one step ahead of the cursed bastards.

Deciding not to make the situation any more uncomfortable (for both of them), he swallowed a few chosen curses and rolled over. Then took advantage of the receding pain in his neck to struggle free of Peak's pincer before propping himself on knees and elbows. By the time he got his bearings straight his partner has all but disappeared in the shadows. Despite her portly frame, the channeler had the agility (and, sometimes, manners) of a stray feline - a trait that has time and again exasperated her enemies and baffled her friends. Not to mention her uncanny ability to, when the need arises, somehow make herself both less and more threatening. As the charming not-so-little-actually-pretty-intimidating @$#& just demonstrated. Yes, he knew she was right most of the time, and yes more often than not he was just being silly, but this didn't make the...disciplining any more palatable. A proverbial slap to the face, even when coated in good intentions, is still a slap - and a painful one at that - regardless of whether it was rightfully deserved or not. Oddly enough, she somehow always managed to convince one it was the former. Always.

Root truly admired his friend and colleague for that - even if he usually pretended it was mostly out of professional jealousy. And feared her as well. Mostly because the direction and severity of her reaction were constantly in flux. And so were the rules of the game they played - she had a keen talent to keep you guessing at each step - but he was usually a good sport. The others, not so much. Good thing though they appreciated the mostly harmless rivalry and occasional bellow-the-belt skirmishes between the two of them (it was something of a collective pride really) and, when in a good mood, affectionately referred to them as 'Peacock and her runt'. He didn't mind and neither did she - quite the contrary. Better to be thought of as a charming, quirky couple than as the powder keg tossed into a burning house they truly were.

Of course this made him less than uncomfortable when they were on the outside. But then again, it didn't matter there, did it? At least not as much as here anyway. And sometimes he couldn't help but wonder -- was the fondness she occasionally expressed for him off-field genuine, or was it just a well executed strategy to keep him at ease when they were in? Knowing her history it was probably a little bit of both. After all, he remembered well the cocky smirk on his predecessor's ghostly face -- her last Root had died happy as a puppy. Grinning at the thought he put his mind at ease and muscles to work. Body close to the ground, he slithered amongst the sparse vegetation with a newfound vigor and caught up with her just as she was about to go under.

. . .

"Goddamit!", he slammed the tankard on the table, spilling some of its content onto the polished stone wood, "Sorry!"

"Don't mention it", the god replied absent-mindedly, his eyes glued to the greasy map spread in front of him, unmindful of the beer besieging the wrinkled papers upper left corner, "but yeah that was a rather poor call on your part. No matter, we try to do better next time."

"I didn't mean that", Root growled at him, half drunk and fully mad, "I meant her!"

"Relax, she'll be back on her feet in a few days. You know that."

"Easy for you to say, you won't be the one facing her when she comes about."

"Oh, right", his companion distractedly giggled, "yeah, that will be rather unpleasant for you. Fun for the rest of to witness though. No?"

His mood fouler than ever, Roots snarled and tried to get up, his shaky legs barely complying, then hobbled towards the bar intent on drinking himself into a catatonic stupor.

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Gods? Giant lobsters? Wut...



Roots and Peak's relationship seems quite humorous. +rep

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Oh, my poor spinning head!

This is fun! Baffling fun, admittedly, but definitely fun.

I'm fascinated - I want to know what the god is doing (or attempting to do, since "we try to do better next time" ).

[Yeepeep]

Eight

Campaign Leash

The squad was predominantly humans, thus the alien designation Olympus Mons, with no more than a quarter of its strength (at any time) being medez or invorte, and a single tanuuj -- the chaneller herself. A lousy lot really, at least in terms of discipline, but the best they could get on such a short notice. Both easy and hard to break, or lead for that matter, depending on the circumstance. Unruly, too, highly opinionated and -- credit must be given where credit is due -- pretty self-reliant when the need arises. True, plenty of potential if the rumors were any indication, and their ratings were more than satisfactory. They had yet to live up to those, especially given the latest episode, otherwise it will be back to the drawing board.

What a lousy decision from their Root though. Almost cost them the entire round. Never a good idea to use the one-time-reset so early on, but it was either that or call the whole thing off. Interesting that Peak was the one pissed off the most -- she nearly shred him to pieces the moment she recovered. Took three of them to overpower her before calming her down (she still managed to break one's arm and shatter another's shoulder), yet once she was done with him the poor sod just laughed it all off, charmingly apologetic. Couldn't have been anything personal now, could it? Or perhaps simply a nervous over-reaction. Might be worth looking into this at some point.

Funny folks, these humans. Sure, burdened with a boatload of bad habits (hey, who isn't?!) and one rather bloated sense of self-importance but otherwise decent people. Pretty ambitious, no doubt about that, but this could be a good thing on the long term -- if carefully steered. Er, fine, mentored. A cherubic smile spread across the god's face. Curious background too, and despite the plethora of outrageous episodes plaguing their history they were pretty proud of it (again, who isn't…). Civilizational progress, they usually referred to it, then quickly change the subject.

And, oh such an odd habit, they sure liked to put a label on everything. As if to stake their claim on everything and everyone. Not only on irrelevant things such as squads and whatnot, but even things beyond their immediate jurisdiction -- mountains, oceans, hell they spared neither planets nor the stars themselves. Apparently they also have weird names for not just the darn Galaxy itself, but for the entire local group too...Could have something to do with said self importance? Rather obnoxious, borderline rude actually, yet apparently contagious. After the delinquent tanuuj decided it's a great idea, now it seems that the medez (of all people!) have picked it up as well. Preposterous!

No wonder that they were subjected to the same regimented categorization the moment the humans came on board. Took literally zero time to be christened as one of the aliens' ancient deities. 'Mighty' Zeus, they called them, or sometimes Jupiter and, perhaps mockingly, often saluted them with unfathomable hand gestures. Turned out it was some sort of a lightning god of theirs or something. Silly name and even sillier concept yet it somehow grew on them, especially after seeing how it created a bond with their immediate charges. Might as well, it was surely refreshing to indulge into the peculiarities of these newcomers.

"Heave, you %(&^$% morons!", the god's voice thundered and fifteen pairs of appendages launched the massive ram forward, slamming its iron-coated tip into the gate, "Heave or ill rip your (*&@%$ balls off before feeding them to the warthogs!"

They did, the stubborn rascals, and with a satisfying crunch the gate folded inwards then crumbled off its hinges in a cloud of debris. Exalted from their success, shrieking like a horde of hoary barbarians (where did that image come from?!) the squad rushed through the breach, jeering at the lined-up defenders. Steel rang on steel and in a few heartbeats individual faces dissolved into the ensuing melee. Zeus/Jupiter let out a relieved sigh and squinted at Peak, "Ready?".

Without sparing him a glance, the channeler brushed him aside and sprung into action, gathering her auxiliaries and moving into position -- Root close on their heels. The god closed his eyes and braced himself, chanting. Not a moment too soon -- babbling incoherently, Peak thrust one probing thought into his mind, peeling off a sliver of his soul to taste its essence. The $%$# took her sweet sweet time to savor it -- fully aware of the discomfort she caused -- then, satisfied, plunged within, drinking deep, deep from his power. Gods below, the transfer was never pleasant. It wasn't painful, not in the physical sense, but it left one empty of…self. Once satisfied, the channeler pulled back, discarding him like a useless, broken thing and the god crumbled to the ground, shaking, his conscious nearly slipping away. Her attention snapped towards the nearest tower.

"Uh oh" the god chuckled, "Placing him so close to us?! Tsk tsk, what a lousy decision."

Losing little time Peak beelined for the structure -- a bloodhound hot on the trail of its quarry -- stopping just short of the defenders' reach. His eyes still shut tight, mouth foaming, Zeus groaned as a surge of energy swept through him. The next instant the air cracked and a blinding ball of light erupted from him ("*&%$*&$, you're gonna kill us all?!!" screamed someone nearby) then slowly arched high over the killing field separating them from the fortifications. The enemy was not unprepared -- a hail of blue-stained, burning tears shot up from the battlements.

Despite the splitting headache the god cursed then burst into laughter. And to think that this would be yet another boring campaign…ha!

[Yeepeep]

Gods? Giant lobsters? Wut...



Roots and Peak's relationship seems quite humorous. +rep

Oh, my poor spinning head!

This is fun! Baffling fun, admittedly, but definitely fun.

I'm fascinated - I want to know what the god is doing (or attempting to do, since "we try to do better next time" ).

Good, you seem to be as confused as I am!

This is really the part where the "ish" in "sci-fi-ish" comes into play, and I'll do my best to make it, well, make sense. Promise! As it is, I'm adding some fantasy elements into the mix and take it from there. I have a decent idea of what the gods are and what they are up to, now just need to put it into some sort of coherent narrative.

Thanks for reading, folks!

[Alwyn]

Wow! Like other readers, I am feeling confused, but enjoying your story nevertheless

[Yeepeep]

Wow! Like other readers, I am feeling confused, but enjoying your story nevertheless

Thanks for reading. Hopefully things will get a little less confusing as we go along.

I must admit this was probably the main reason I went with something like this. Such a mix allows me to basically put down whatever I fancy while still claiming it's within the narrative "bounds" of the story

[Yeepeep]

Eight

Campaign Leash

None of this made any sense.

One moment everything was going according to plan, the next his ears popped at a detonation nearby and he found himself flung up in the air, arms and legs flapping. Sky and earth switched places once, twice then the ground came at him, hard and unyielding, determined to drive his bones out of their sockets. Head over heels he tumbled over one too many times before halting at an awkward position. Then a wave of terror and hopelessness emanated from her, painful to the extreme to his keenly attuned senses.

Something snapped when he tried moving and he froze, expecting the inevitable pain to drown him into oblivion.

"Goddamit you moron, look at what you've done now", he cussed at himself and rolled over ignoring the monumental weight pulling on his left side.

One arm broken just below the elbow, shoulder dislocated, bruised and beaten, by this point Root wanted nothing more than to just give up and wait this one out. If it wasn't for Peak and her heartbreaking failure to deliver he might as well have done just so. Instead he picked himself up and scrambled towards her, head still spinning. His injuries would have to wait -- time was of the essence now. She was losing control, and quickly.

Small wonder that. The enemy's channeler, his position now apparent to everyone, has batted Peak's onslaught aside as if it was nothing more than a trifle inconvenience, and was now bearing down on her with a fury Root has not seen in ages. The flak fire from the tower has now consolidated into a contorted stream of foaming water hovering just above her (though no water could defy gravity in such a preposterous fashion), coiling like a snake ready to bite. He decided not to think what would happen to those around her when that thing decides to descend.

Eight-nine paces. Better make this quick.

The air surrounding Peak was shimmering, vaguely tracing the contours of an invisible dome centered on her. Wards of some sort, he surmised, but clearly failing ones - the protective barrier was buckling, its top caving inwards. She was still standing though, albeit bent over and shaking, her massive tail drumming on the ground in frenzy.

"You show them, girl!", he smiled through clenched teeth, "Go out with a bang..."

Five.

She screamed just as Root reached with his good hand for the dagger and a miasma of pain washed over him. It was now his turn to bend over as his stomach collapsed into itself and his bowels went loose. Disoriented by the unexpected turn of events he tripped and nearly fell over, narrowly avoiding a disgraceful landing by sheer luck.

Pain and such was nothing new. But today something was wrong, very wrong. It felt as if their link was, impossibly...weakening. Worse still, she was losing consciousness.

"&$^$/$%÷ you, you =$^$/#^&$& son of a ^$^%×^", he bellowed in the general direction of the nearby tower, "This is against the rules! Once we are done here I'll track you down and teach you some restraint, you ^$^$&% /÷%$^. I swear!"

Two paces away he stopped dead in his tracks, staring in disbelief as she convulsed and her abdominal carapace cracked open, intestines spilling forth. This time the scream was his. Ignoring the incadescent sorcery rushing down on both of them he dropped the weapon and sprinted forward, forgetting everything and everyone. His duties, this stupid battle, the thrice-damned gods and their infernal games, everything. The only thing that mattered now was to be with her, to cradle her in his arms and tell her that everything will be ok, that he is and always will be there for her. And silently pray that she'll do the same for him.

One pincer shot out from underneath her crumbled form, grabbing him by the waist faster than he could react, lifting him clean off the ground then throwing him away like a sack of turds.

"Keep your filthy appendages off me, you ^%$wit! Can't you see I'm busy!", she roared then reared on her hind legs, directly facing the attack.

Whatever she did, it was glorious. Guts spilled in the dirt, bleeding profusely, Peak pounced up and the falling column of death...froze midair at the moment of contact. Blindingly fast, the disturbance then propagated back to its origin near the top of the battlements petrifying everything on its way, and for a brief moment Root could feel -- with an immense satisfaction -- the shock of the enemy's channeler before the cur was instantly turned into a solid block of ice, along with the entire tower and its surroundings. Eyes stinging, joints aching, he stared in disbelief at her masterpiece, her sculpture of pure genius, as it hung in mid-air with neither support nor explanation.

"Now. Where is that &$/@/& of a god? I am of a mind of giving him an rather unpleasant piece of my mind", she barked and thundered away, leaving him lying in the dust, shocked and awed.

# # #

"Would you care to join the victory ceremony?", the god chirped, "It might prove...illuminating. This species is not too far ahead of your people."

"I stopped caring about my people long ago."

"Oh but you didn't, did you?"

"Mind your own business."

"Oh but I do, don't I, wonderful human?"

"Go ^^$#/&# yourself, smart#$/^. And stop calling me that. My name is Root."

[Yeepeep]

Zero

The Universe, they taught me in school, has three options to choose from regarding its curvature, namely minus one, zero, and one. And three corresponding choices for its fate -- either to accelerate, decelerate or just coast unto eternity. What a beautifully postulated conjecture, symmetric and simple yet satisfactory for the inquisitive mind.

Back then it was our very own lives that were the epitome of simplicity really, naive and self-contained as we were in our little corner of said Universe.

Turns out that just as the Universe so are those that inhabit it -- having three paths forward. Growth, death, or stagnation. The first two I can understand, the third not so much. But it seems that regardless of the initial conditions or subsequent circumstances, species can either progress at an ever accelerating rate, until they reach a critical point where they undergo a phase transition of some sort, i.e. the so called ascension, outgrowing the world as we know it to reach a state of godlike existence. Alternatively, peoples can, to put it mildly, blast themselves into smithereens once their trigger fingers outgrow their brains. Something we humans have, somehow, so far managed to narrowly avoid. And then there is the option to do...nothing when a peculiar threshold is reached. To settle down into neutral, where you still kind of care about the world in general and your particular place in it in particular, but just not enough to do something about it. Some call it steady-state, I prefer to think of it as lazy-state. Interestingly, if the oolat are to be believed, one species chose neither. Instead, they kind of plagiarized both the accelerating path and the stagnant path. By becoming immortal in essence but in the physical world. Have yet to see that to believe that and even then -- who cares...

Sigh. Funny how everything was rather grandiose when I was young, or shall I be so bold to say when we humans were young, despite our limited horizons of understanding. We talked about big plans and big bangs, great wars and greater depressions, but biggest of all were our ambitions. To solve the mysteries of the world we lived in, to master our fate and conquer our fears, to reach for the stars, to grab them and hold them tight in our grubby hands, and why not! Weren't these all our birthright, our destiny?!

Perhaps. That is, if the stars were indeed the empty -- as some valiantly proclaimed -- welcoming patches of soil eagerly expecting the tender touch of a loving gardener.

Me, I didn't care too much about our big plans. No, I wanted something more...real, more specific.

I wanted to build starships.

I wanted to literally reach across the mind-numbing vastness of space, to take a peak at some new and quirky place, maybe stay for an afternoon tea with the locals before saying my farewells and off I go -- new places, new spaces. Have ship, will travel, no?

Some say things were going well. Slow, but at least in the right direction. The thrice-damned base on the Moon, the project scrapped and resurrected countless times depending on which political interests it served, was finally a reality. Mars, that shiny lure teasing us since the dawn of time was finally within reach. The mammoth rocket meant to take us there was still living on paper only, but at least that paper was now being padded with money. True, it was no starship but it was the second best thing I could have ever had hoped for.

And so I labored through mountains of math and physics, dedicating a good third of my conscious life to prepare myself for that epic adventure. It wasn't just me, oh no, I was certainly no solitary martyr. A veritable army of men and women have put their personal lives on hold, have weathered countless broken hearts and bitter divorces, to see this through, to put a damn ape on a damn desert planet.

We would have, it was only a matter of time. We would have...I like to think of it that way. I like to think, to imagine how things would have turned out if the cursed oolat have not decided to crash land right on top of Tsiolkovsky. There went our collective dream, in that smoldering heap of molten aluminum, to do something and be proud of it, to step on the grand stage of the Universe as people who rightfully deserve it so. There went my dream to one day look at a human starship and shout at that same Universe -- see, you $*^% *&%$, these two grubby ape hands built this!

But look at me now -- comfortably lounging in a tanuuj-built starship complaining about what-ifs while sipping drinks brought to us by a happy-go-lucky tanuuj-built social drone.

Might as well put this whole thing in the bottle -- once I'm done with the latter -- and toss it out of the airlock. My very own capsule, nay, a ship, of remembrance!


"More wine, Katenka? You are getting sentimental again, aren't you...", Natasha groaned then without waiting for her reply waived at the hovering machine.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Well, I'm still intrigued by the Root, Peak and 'god' situation. It's fascinating to watch, even though I don't really understand what's going on!

And I like the most recent chapter. I'm hoping we'll get to learn a bit more about the spaceship and the tanuuj.

[Yeepeep]

One

Groombridge 34A (December, 2083)

"I'm not following."

"Y^oo don't, y^oo can't, or you don't want t^oo?"

"Very funny..."

"We know."

"Why do you have to be so infuriating?"

"We don't know..."

"That was a rhetorical question."

And with that the conversation stalled yet again. Might as well. His head hurt from trying to concentrate on what Pikk was trying to explain but it wasn't working -- it wasn't making much sense either. Infuriating? More like bat$*& insane, and the whole thing was driving him crazy.

"Ok, let me try this one last time, from the very beginning. So. We have this oolat ship bearing down on the unsuspecting Solar System..."

"C^oorrect."

"And you are saying it's damaged?"

"Badly."

"So far so good. It's coming in hot, and it's falling apart, shedding off bits and pieces..."

"The what y^oo call a ship is decelerating, yes and it's integrity is increasingly becoming c^oompromised."

"Right. And these...debris are, er, as superluminal as the ship they originate from?"

"What else can they be?"

"Whatever. And when these...pieces slow down to light speed, they...er...punch through the fabric of our Universe?"

"The Yoo^niverse is neither yours, silly ^ooman, nor is it made of fabric."

"Eff youuu", Engies eyebrows bunched up, forming a lovely forehead 'stache.

"L^ook, friend, y^oor understanding of physics is...inc^oomplete, t^oo say the least. No ^ooffense."

"None taken. I still don't get it though. But let's say, for the sake of argument only, that what you are claiming is correct. So they, er, punched through, emerged into the real world, still losing speed -- zip it and let me finish!", he barked, expecting yet another obnoxious remark, "then got drawn towards the nearest source of radiation where they proceeded to obliterate the living bejezus out of it -- and everything else that happened to be in the immediate vicinity".

"Primitive description, but essentially c^oorrect. Not any s^oorce though, ^oonly artificial ^oones and mostly long wavelength, e.g. radi^oo"

"So thus New Horizons, Cassini, Tsiolkovsky...?

"Thus. And a few ^oother stray events which your scientists detected the echoes ^oof."

"And why is that?"

"That's a technicality, irrelevant to the present discussion."

"Hmhm. Whatever. And Saturn?"

"Unf^oortunately, when the soo^rce is amplified or distorted by an external perturbation, the consequences can be...unpleasant."

"Right...unpleasant. Eff you, you know! Did I say that already?"

"^Oon multiple ^oocasions."

"Hmhm. And when the oolat ship finally emerged as well..."

"What emerged was not the ship itself."

"But I've seen the images, the videos..."

"What y^oour recording devices ^oobserved was the physical manifestation ^oof the craft's engine in what you call real space"

"Wait, you are saying that whatever that thing was that nearly killed my parents was nothing but a wreck, even before it hit Luna base?"

"Yes."

His lip twitching, Engie glared at the alien for a good minute before bursting into a manic laughter.

"I'm sorry", he wheezed once the fit was gone, "but this is all total bs. And you almost got me into believing all thus crap, you know."

"We don't follow", it was Pikk's turn to be at a loss.

"I'm sure you do. Its very simple really. Tell me, oh wise ones, if the oolat ship was nothing more than a smoldering piece of junk even before it hit, then it would have surely been less than useless for any subsequent investigations. After all, it did turn an entire crater into a jolly pond of lava, remember? And once that had cooled down, what would have been left for us to reverse engineer? Right, jack $^#&, that's what."

The alien patiently weathered this latest outburst before calmly replying.

"Y^oour assessment ^oof the benefits that ^oomanity could have reaped from this unfortunate incident is, again, c^oorrect."

"Is there a but coming? There'd better be a but coming!"

"There is, and it's a big ^oone. What is not correct in your interpretation is that it is based ^oon incomplete information. It is in fact lacking a vital piece of the puzzle, and is the reason we started this discussion altogether."

"??"

"Y^oo see, the oolat ship that caused y^oour people all these troubles was n^oot, in fact, crash landed ^oon your m^oon by an accident."

"No?"

"N^oot even cl^oose, n^oo. The thing is, that vessel was under heavy attack. It was fleeing from its pursuers -- disregarding all safety protocols -- and, unf^oortunately, the crew lost control at the w^oorst possible moment. Your planet just happened to be...at the wr^oong time, at the wr^oong place."

"Wait a minute, what are you talking about?! What about all this stuff they so eagerly told us, about the official delegation sent on a formal mission to Earth to establish a timely contact and offer us a warm, well-deserved welcome to the fold of interspecies federation or whatever the hell that grotesque 'arbitering' political establishment is? Was all this...fabricated? There was no terrifying, yet ultimately innocent navigation error by an overworked helmsman? No yet-unknown to us natural phenomena pertinent to the internal structure of giant planets that could, apparently, spontaneously wreak havoc unto them.

"We are s^oory, ^ooman, we tr^ooly are."

"Well, eff me..."

[Yeepeep]

Well, I'm still intrigued by the Root, Peak and 'god' situation. It's fascinating to watch, even though I don't really understand what's going on!

And I like the most recent chapter. I'm hoping we'll get to learn a bit more about the spaceship and the tanuuj.

Glad to hear you find this amusing. And thanks for reading! Explanations will be (slowly) coming, I promise

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Glad to hear you find this amusing. And thanks for reading!

Oh, I'm definitely still having fun. Thanks for writing!

Explanations will be (slowly) coming, I promise

They seem to have begun...

[Caillagh settles back in seat to await further elucidations. And possibly further confusions of an entertaining nature.]

[Alwyn]

Very enjoyable chapters, Yeepeep! I especially like the comparison between the three states which the Universe could be in with the three states which the Universe's inhabitants can choose between - and (as before) the dialogue between Pikk and Engie.

[Yeepeep]

Eight

Campaign Leash, Round 6

There was no respite from the repulsive stench of burned hair. It lingered inside his mouth regardless of how hard he tried to clean it with whatever was left of the rum in his last flask. It stuck to his clothes. Gods be damned - it even felt as if the cursed smell has permeated his very $$!&@ soul. Half-blind, his eyes stinging, lungs aching, hacking at each breath like a man on his death bed, Root struggled across the slippery planks of the heaving deck, ignoring the urges of his stomach to claw its way through his esophagus. Few more drunken steps through the burning smoke, then up the short ladder and he finally made it to the forward ballista tower -- drained of all willpower but grateful for the temporary blessing of a marginally fresher air.

Zeus was already there, fuming and mouthing profanities, cheeks red as a lobster's tail.

"Row, you spineless bastards!", he found the god screaming at those below, spraying the bulkheads with droplets of hot spit, "Row for your worthless lives!"

Whoever was left of the auxiliaries down at the sweat-soaked benches was already doing their best. The poor sods were literally breaking their backs over the oars, eyes and muscles bulging from the strain, chests pumping scorching air, panic giving the still-breathing members of Olympus Mons inhuman strength.

Root may have given up the moment that barrel detonated on top of the munitions storage and the entire aft section went up in flames. What a shot, right? But why didn't she deflect it?! In any case, once this was over he may have to track down the lucky sobs who sent it over, beat the living crap of them, then buy them a drink.

Turned out his stubborn bastards of squad mates haven't. Given up, that is. From what his nostrils were telling him some of them have already succumbed to the flames though.

And so, almost impossibly, the crippled bireme, moaning and groaning like an old hag began to turn, painfully slow, as the handful of oars bit into the frothing water over the port side.

"Oh joy ", Zeus mockingly exclaimed as he finally noticed Root's presence then tried a perfunctory bow, "his Rootting highness finally deemed it appropriate to grant us with his grand presence!"

Root retaliated with a sheepish grin then spat at his hands and spread the petty moisture across his sideburns in a futile attempt to prevent them from spontaneously combusting in the unbearable heat of the burning ship.

"What took you so !&#$ long, you %$^$?!?, Zeus hissed, "Can't you see we are already this deep in Neptune's salty shats?!"

They were -- so deep in said unpleasant matter that they were, in fact, completely submerged in it.

And much good would that pointless maneuver do them anyway...The effect of the turn would be minimal -- the enemy was already picking up speed. Short of a miracle (and they were quickly running out of those) a glancing blow was all but impossible. From his vantage point he could now clearly make out the front of the other ship bearing down upon them, its thick, serpent-shaped ram greedily parting the waves just beneath the foaming surface. For a brief moment he marveled at that simple yet effective instrument of destruction, so seemingly eager to sink its iron-tipped muzzle into their hull, to tear the wooden planks apart and feast on the juicy innards of the mortally wounded vessel.

But this was neither the time nor the place to indulge in such morbid philosophy. With no small effort he peeled his eyes off the object of this ill-conceived reverie and quickly scanned his own vessel. The suffocating smoke had quickly spread over most of their sorry ship, mercifully shielding the rest of the crew from witnessing its hopeless state.

A good thing really. For otherwise they may as well just throw the towel and admit defeat. Or, worse still, shred their half-incompetent and by now fully delirious god to pieces then proceed to hand them over to the enemy in very small, individually wrapped gift bags.

"What are you waiting for?!", Zeus' tirade continued, "Get your lazy #$@&* behind the ballista! Then fire, you dumb $$#&@! FAIA!"

Without a glance, Roots reached with one hand for the loading mechanism as the other cocked the trigger. Then his smile disappeared and the weapon swiveled around in a blur.

"Shut the @$#;$@ up, you !@$&! lunatic!", Root barked at his supposed superior, fed up by the latter's stubborn idiocy, "Do you really expect me to stop an entire ship with this?! Do you?! Shut the #$$&@ up, or I swear I'll shove the remaining bolts up your divine arse!"

Took all his effort to restrain himself from delivering on his threat but luckily the potential alone did it -- momentarily stopped the verbal assault. The god gasped at the unexpected backlash, his mouth gaping open, lips twitching, then proceeded to stare stupefied at the alarmingly sharp tip of a bolt aimed at his crotch. Took Zeus a good few moments to recover before he could lash out with a renewed ferocity.

All the while Root was mumbling something to himself, his finger dancing on the trigger.

"Get out of my sight, you useless piece of $!!&@", the god eventually shoved him aside and tried to get behind the ballista, "do I have to do everything around here myself?? Go find something useful to do. Go! Find that stupid &!@$ of a channeler and push her overboard!", he was once more working himself into frenzy, his eyes almost popping out of their orbits, "Better yet, why don't you two #$$!&@turds do it together, hand in hand!"

Trembling from frustration and no small dose of anger, his curiosity of their certain demise now satisfied, Root took a deep breath and clambered back onto the deck, nearly losing his balance as the ship tipped to one side.

"Watch out!", someone -- he couldn't quite put a face behind the voice -- bellowed from somewhere nearby.

He pivoted on one heel just in time to see the smoke parting just a few strides away as something emerged through the breach. A heartbeat later he realized it was Peak herself thundering straight for him, coiled into one massive, armored ball of steaming scales. He yelped like a scared puppy and hurriedly stepped aside, skewering his left shoulder onto something pointy and very painful, but at least narrowly avoiding what would have been a back-breaking collision. Before he could voice his protest she crashed through the opposite railing with a deafening bang and disappeared in the mist beyond.

A moment later a wet plop announced her contact with the water.

"What the...", he started angrily but then changed his mind.

About @$$&!$ time she did something! Thus far she had ignored not only his demands and pleas, but have completely avoided the entire skirmish, choosing instead to lock herself in her quarters.

But something wasn't quite right. Why would she be steaming?! Perplexed, he traced her trajectory back across the deck. As he tried to make sense of what has just happened, his eyes followed an azure trail of melting ice (ice??) thinly stretched on top of a path of thoroughly soaked timber.

"What the...", he tried again but then it dawned on him.

Gods below, the heinous &#$@ was ice-aspected. And whatever she had in mind, it would surely be unpleasant -- to all. Unsure how to react to this fresh new hell he stood there stupefied, shoulder still pinned to the remnants of the foremast. His gaze wandered across the deck before halting at the burning munitions storage.

His heart skipped a beat and he froze -- amid the infernal fires.

"#$$/&#", was the only thing that came to his mind, "##$^&* that $%€¥", he reiterated, "This is going to hurt...but it might just work. &/$%₩!!!"

Time slowed as blood rushed into his ears. He scrambled back up the tower, picking up a discarded mace on the way.

"We need to go...", Root stated halfheartedly as he reached the end of the ladder, failing to add any urgency to his tone.

"Whaaa..., the god bawled without looking at him, then turned around, "oh its you. Go ₩£=×&$ yourself, you &$#&!"

"We need to go -- now!", Root tried again but his plea fell on deaf ears.

"Fine", he whispered through clenched teeth, "we are doing this the hard way", then tiptoed behind the gods back, a foreboding grin spreading across his face. Once there he tightened his grip on the weapon, sighed and swung with all his might.

A sickening crunch announced the contact between bone and bronze and his unsuspecting victim collapsed. Root watched as the lifeless form crumble at his feet, savoring the moment, then got to work.

"Gods you are a heavy bastard", he grunted after a good few minutes of struggle to push the unconscious deity over the tower's railing. One final shove did it and the body flew. Caught up in the moment Root jumped right after it -- telling himself it's in the interest of saving precious time -- and almost regretted it. The deck below was pretty slippery and he would have surely broken his neck was it not for the cushioning provided by Zeus' twitching body.

After a short but intense struggle he managed to disentangle himself from the god, then grabbed the latter by one arm and started dragging him towards the burning munitions storage, cussing the entire time.

Once there he began screaming.

The last few steps towards the raging inferno were the hardest he has ever made in a thousand lives, and as his skin melted away he promised himself to never do anything so stupid again.

A split second after he lost consciousness and collapsed inside the storage -- still clutching the god's hand -- Peak pounced at the enemy.

# # #

"Bravo, my lovely channeler -- BRAVO!", Zeus roared as he danced around the podium, skipping and twirling every time he passed in front of the defendant's delegation, "such a masterfully executed plan! To let my dear wife set us on fire, then ram us -- sure of their victory point, only to get encased in a solid tomb of floating ice! Brilliant, simply brilliant! I should have never doubted you two. Bravo!"

A whiff of something burned drifted across Peak and she frowned at him. Paying her no attention, the exalted god attempted a convoluted pirouette right in front of Hera but tripped on her lavish evening dress and ended up on the marble floor amidst the raucous laughter of her attendants. A wave of enthusiastic applause saw him back on his feet.

"That's enough gloating!", Chronos croaked then began banging his hourglass hammer on the mahogany desk in front of him, "Order, please! Order..."

After just a few hits the contraption exploded in a cloud of sand and broken glass. To the amusement of his bored staff, the presiding god kept slamming the remnant of the handle into the worn wood, oblivious to its demise.

"But of course, dear father!", Zeus chirped from next to his wife, ogling her bare shoulders.

"Back off, you turd", she hissed and slapped him, her hand up and out in a blur.

Zeus yelped and backtracked towards the podium where he proceeded to hide behind his father's robe as the room roared in approval once more.

"Tut tut, beloved, why so much anger?" the god giggled from his hiding place, energetically massaging his throbbing cheek, "it won't change a thing, and it sure won't mar our sweet, sweet victory. It is a victory, right? Father?"

"It is...", Chronic cleared his throat and stood up with a theatrical sigh, pushing his son aside, then solemnly rung the bell, "With 4 on 2 for Olympus Mons, I proclaim campaign Leash finished. The defendants have exactly 2 weeks to withdraw from the disputed territories of Sector 17, stellar systems 4, 5 and 8. Now, where's my %@$^% hammer...?!"

[Alwyn]

Great chapter

[Yeepeep]

Great chapter

Thanks Alwyn, I'm glad you liked it. I hit a dry creative spell a few months back but the darn itch came back :-)

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Hey, Yeepeep, good to see Zero Kelvin's back!

I'm pleased to hear the writing itch has returned - it means I can hope for more chapters!