Loss, Part One
May. 1st, 2007 04:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalBecause if I'm going to post this, I may as well do it with a cliffhanger. :)
If the expansive, armoured windows at the top of the Tower of the Gods had not been polarized, then the Gene Mage would have been instantly blinded when the weapon detonated over the domes, some ten kilometers away. As it was, he was left blinking, his eyes tearing for several seconds, before he was able to see the full horror of what had just happened.
“They bombed the domes,” he said softly, disbelieving. Where there had been a half-dozen habitat domes, housing well over ten thousand of his beloved Ferin, there was now only smoke and fire. “They bombed the domes,” he repeated. It was not true, it was some horrible nightmare and he merely had to convince himself to wake up. What sane race would bomb the habitat domes of his beloved, innocent Ferin?
Beside him, Samaneus, the eldest of his servants, one of the few that had remained true and loyal to the Dominion, viewed the scene with equal shock. “They bombed them,” the grey-muzzled Vulpine said, seeming to not believe it himself. “They actually bombed the domes.”
“Defense,” the Gene Mage muttered, gathering his thoughts together, “we must organize the defense, Samaneus. If the rebels have penetrated the orbital defense network sufficiently to drop bombs, they will be landing ground troops soon.”
“Defense?” Samaneus repeated, shaking himself out of his fog. “My lord, if they were able to get a nuclear through, there is no ground defense! All they have to do is bomb the cities until they are dust. We must be away!”
“No, no, there must be…” He paused, his thoughts confused, grieving. My beautiful, perfect Ferin, murdered… He had not felt so out of sorts since he’d been young child, then was forced to pause again as millennia old memories of long dead crèche mates filled his mind.
“Milord?” Samaneus asked hesitantly, as the Gene Mage swam through a sea of memories, trying not to drown.
I must be strong, I must be in control, for him, for all of our servitors who have stayed loyal in the face of this Human madness. He drew in a breath, banishing doubt. “Yes, you are right, wise Samaneus, we must be away. Retreat, for a time, to heal our wounds and then return.”
“Of course, Milord,” Samaneus agreed. “This way to the flyer, Wise Master.”
He followed his oldest Vulpine servitor out to the open air landing platform, where a small, sleek flyer had remained in its cradle, having escaped the blast wave by virtue of being on the opposite side of the building. He took the back seat as Samaneus set himself in the pilot’s position. Then the little flyer rose in the air flew away, accelerating at such a rate that the g-compensators were momentarily overwhelmed and he was pressed back into his seat.
“Speed is appreciated, but do not take undue risks, Samaneus,” he said, then touched a control on his wrist to open a channel to Dream Stalker. “Sister,” he reported, “we are retreating to the shuttle port. What is your situation?”
We hold a clear launch corridor to the remainder of the fleet, she said, but more of the traitors’ ships have entered the system and are attempting to reinforce their forces already in orbit. Our fleet will have to break orbit in less than an hour if we are to have any hope to flee.
“I understand. We should be at the shuttle port in less than five minutes.” The Gene Mage looked out the front windscreen, alarmed to see that they had dropped altitude and were skimming perilously low to the ground, the buildings passing by on either side so quickly they were barely more than a blur. “Samaneus, you are driving much too fast! Slow down!”
“Just avoiding any potential fire, Milord,” Samaneus answered, sounding bizarrely cheerful. The flyer tilted to one side, barely missing the top of Form Shaper’s famous statue of the Five Servitor Races, gathered together at the feet of a tall, gentle Varn Lord.
“Where are we going?” the Gene Mage demanded. “We’re heading away from the shuttle port!” He was shoved back in his seat again as the aged Vulpine yanked the controls back and pushed them into a dizzying climb.
“Oh, just having a bit of fun, Wise Master,” his servitor answered, pulling the flyer into a half-loop and straightening out. “I do so love flying, don’t you? It’s in the Vulpine blood after all. Or at least you made damned sure to encourage breeding the right traits into us whenever you got the chance.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses, Samaneus?” he demanded, regaining his breath. “Turn back towards the shuttle port!”
The aged Vulpine turned his head briefly, looking back on him with teeth bared. “No.”
“What? I order you to!”
“I tender my resignation, effectively immediately.”
“You can’t! You are my servitor!”
“I’ve served you for one thousand bloody years, Milord. I was there the day your ships landed on the outskirts of the capitol. I spent a year in the limbo of your DNA tanks as you restructured my genetics, making me immortal just you wouldn’t have to train a new helper every forty years. I had the unique privilege of outliving my wife, my children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, until the only thing I had left to live for was service to you. Except that I never really was in service to you, oh great and all powerful Varn Gene Mage.”
He gripped the arms of his seat as Samaneus flung the car into a barrel roll. “What do you mean?”
“I serve the Holy Den Mother and the Vulpine people, Lord Gene Mage. Every moment of every day I have served them, passing information back to the Resistance, and then the Galactic Sapients Alliance. I’ve been undermining your rule for centuries.” Samaneus began to laugh, as the flyer plunged down towards the ground again. “And now I’m finally going die, and you with me!”
“Samaneus!” he shouted, as the ground began to draw close with frightening speed.
“Goodbye, Lord Gene Mage! And know that you are no god, but merely mortal as we all are, save for the Holy Den Mother herself!”
His traitorous servitor had aimed the flyer right at the center of the Five Servitor Races statue. In his last moments, the Gene Mage could only think, We’re going to damage it. Form Shaper will be so displeased…
TBC
If the expansive, armoured windows at the top of the Tower of the Gods had not been polarized, then the Gene Mage would have been instantly blinded when the weapon detonated over the domes, some ten kilometers away. As it was, he was left blinking, his eyes tearing for several seconds, before he was able to see the full horror of what had just happened.
“They bombed the domes,” he said softly, disbelieving. Where there had been a half-dozen habitat domes, housing well over ten thousand of his beloved Ferin, there was now only smoke and fire. “They bombed the domes,” he repeated. It was not true, it was some horrible nightmare and he merely had to convince himself to wake up. What sane race would bomb the habitat domes of his beloved, innocent Ferin?
Beside him, Samaneus, the eldest of his servants, one of the few that had remained true and loyal to the Dominion, viewed the scene with equal shock. “They bombed them,” the grey-muzzled Vulpine said, seeming to not believe it himself. “They actually bombed the domes.”
“Defense,” the Gene Mage muttered, gathering his thoughts together, “we must organize the defense, Samaneus. If the rebels have penetrated the orbital defense network sufficiently to drop bombs, they will be landing ground troops soon.”
“Defense?” Samaneus repeated, shaking himself out of his fog. “My lord, if they were able to get a nuclear through, there is no ground defense! All they have to do is bomb the cities until they are dust. We must be away!”
“No, no, there must be…” He paused, his thoughts confused, grieving. My beautiful, perfect Ferin, murdered… He had not felt so out of sorts since he’d been young child, then was forced to pause again as millennia old memories of long dead crèche mates filled his mind.
“Milord?” Samaneus asked hesitantly, as the Gene Mage swam through a sea of memories, trying not to drown.
I must be strong, I must be in control, for him, for all of our servitors who have stayed loyal in the face of this Human madness. He drew in a breath, banishing doubt. “Yes, you are right, wise Samaneus, we must be away. Retreat, for a time, to heal our wounds and then return.”
“Of course, Milord,” Samaneus agreed. “This way to the flyer, Wise Master.”
He followed his oldest Vulpine servitor out to the open air landing platform, where a small, sleek flyer had remained in its cradle, having escaped the blast wave by virtue of being on the opposite side of the building. He took the back seat as Samaneus set himself in the pilot’s position. Then the little flyer rose in the air flew away, accelerating at such a rate that the g-compensators were momentarily overwhelmed and he was pressed back into his seat.
“Speed is appreciated, but do not take undue risks, Samaneus,” he said, then touched a control on his wrist to open a channel to Dream Stalker. “Sister,” he reported, “we are retreating to the shuttle port. What is your situation?”
We hold a clear launch corridor to the remainder of the fleet, she said, but more of the traitors’ ships have entered the system and are attempting to reinforce their forces already in orbit. Our fleet will have to break orbit in less than an hour if we are to have any hope to flee.
“I understand. We should be at the shuttle port in less than five minutes.” The Gene Mage looked out the front windscreen, alarmed to see that they had dropped altitude and were skimming perilously low to the ground, the buildings passing by on either side so quickly they were barely more than a blur. “Samaneus, you are driving much too fast! Slow down!”
“Just avoiding any potential fire, Milord,” Samaneus answered, sounding bizarrely cheerful. The flyer tilted to one side, barely missing the top of Form Shaper’s famous statue of the Five Servitor Races, gathered together at the feet of a tall, gentle Varn Lord.
“Where are we going?” the Gene Mage demanded. “We’re heading away from the shuttle port!” He was shoved back in his seat again as the aged Vulpine yanked the controls back and pushed them into a dizzying climb.
“Oh, just having a bit of fun, Wise Master,” his servitor answered, pulling the flyer into a half-loop and straightening out. “I do so love flying, don’t you? It’s in the Vulpine blood after all. Or at least you made damned sure to encourage breeding the right traits into us whenever you got the chance.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses, Samaneus?” he demanded, regaining his breath. “Turn back towards the shuttle port!”
The aged Vulpine turned his head briefly, looking back on him with teeth bared. “No.”
“What? I order you to!”
“I tender my resignation, effectively immediately.”
“You can’t! You are my servitor!”
“I’ve served you for one thousand bloody years, Milord. I was there the day your ships landed on the outskirts of the capitol. I spent a year in the limbo of your DNA tanks as you restructured my genetics, making me immortal just you wouldn’t have to train a new helper every forty years. I had the unique privilege of outliving my wife, my children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, until the only thing I had left to live for was service to you. Except that I never really was in service to you, oh great and all powerful Varn Gene Mage.”
He gripped the arms of his seat as Samaneus flung the car into a barrel roll. “What do you mean?”
“I serve the Holy Den Mother and the Vulpine people, Lord Gene Mage. Every moment of every day I have served them, passing information back to the Resistance, and then the Galactic Sapients Alliance. I’ve been undermining your rule for centuries.” Samaneus began to laugh, as the flyer plunged down towards the ground again. “And now I’m finally going die, and you with me!”
“Samaneus!” he shouted, as the ground began to draw close with frightening speed.
“Goodbye, Lord Gene Mage! And know that you are no god, but merely mortal as we all are, save for the Holy Den Mother herself!”
His traitorous servitor had aimed the flyer right at the center of the Five Servitor Races statue. In his last moments, the Gene Mage could only think, We’re going to damage it. Form Shaper will be so displeased…
TBC
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no subject
Date: 2007-05-02 02:02 pm (UTC)I totally agree with Sam on the whole being made immortal - or incredibly long-lived issue. I'd hate to see my family, children and friends all grow old and die ("wither and die" *coughDWcough*) with me staying young. Plus I believe that it's just good for people to die naturally when they've lived for a good while (premature death doesn't fall into this category, of course). People need to grow old and get some rest from the burden of living and find out for themselves exactly what happens after.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-02 02:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-03 08:54 pm (UTC)hehe, I guess you mean: Viva la Revolution ...
Poor Sam though...
mjkj
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 01:19 am (UTC)Hmmm... or a cameo in Flyboys if I ever get back to work on that, come to think of it.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-04 01:24 am (UTC)Yeah, Flyboys sounds good :) I am still waiting for its continuation :)
mjkj