Twenty-Three – ‘Planetfall’

“’Sides, ev’rybody knows that nobody came back from STTK. Every last mother’s child of ‘em – all blown ta smithers. Now ask me again if I don’t regret gettin’ booted offit.”

- Quote from a former Koa engineer.

- - -

It was the calm before the storm.

Cravis smoothly piloted his Twyknight as their formation of three Fightercraft glided over the Blue Trove’s bridge. He winced as the blinding glare of Eyeforion descended into his viewport, and briefly shaded his eyes until the lambda filters kicked in, and muted the star’s brilliance.

Down below was Seth. It dominated the area with its gigantic proportions. It hadn’t been too long ago that Cravis had still been in slumber down on the surface, absorbing whatever hours of sleep he could before the morning wake-up call.

It had come earlier then the dark-skinned pilot had expected. Commodore Bandric Golores had seemingly decided that an earlier launch time would remove the feeling of foreboding that hung over the entire operation. And although the start had come before Cravis would have liked, he seemed to be only one of a few that was still feeling effects of a lack of sleep. Many of his squadmates in Team Certys seemed fully rested and alert, especially his squadron commander, a Dotheric named Nasko Tuvit’an.

But they’re veterans, Cravis reminded himself. So I guess I’ll have to get used to this.

There had even been a report that one of the Human engineers, selected to one of the Calimari Raiders’ crews, had been severely inebriated that morning. Drunk out of his mind is more like it, Cravis thought wryly. He could hardly resist smiling though. There had been more then one occasion that he cared to remember when he himself had been thoroughly sick after a bout with the bottle.

There was just a time and place for such things. The engineer had simply taken T.D.R.’s recommendation to enjoy the remainder of the previous day a little too literally. And from what Cravis had heard, the man had consequently and swiftly been dismissed from the force.

Cravis could not have helped being disappointed however, when his Twyknight had reached orbit. The size of Special Task Team Koa was distressingly small. One Mechor, three Shards, and one Osquire – speed’n stealth is one thing, he thought. But if we run into any serious opposition, we’ll be so much space dust.

It was not a cheery thought. He hoped Golores knew what he was doing. From the Grawrest’s speech earlier on, he had sounded gruff, to the point, and realistic. It had been hard to pick out any trace of optimism from his words. Cravis thought that the Commodore must have known what he was getting into when he accepted the assignment of commanding STTK, else Cravis could not imagine why he would have agreed to it in the first place.

Team Certys had been assigned patrol duty for the duration of the trip. This meant that they would be entering the max-drive-corridor as well as the five capital ships. It also meant that they would be the first melee line of defence should they encounter any hostiles. As for the other two squadrons… they had already docked within the Shards, and were to remain aboard throughout max-drive-space.

The group of three Twyknights continued to patrol throughout the capital ships. Now and again, they passed other squads of three. Cutting through the black void of space as easily as slicing bread, it was a task Cravis had done many times before, but in the simulations. All they were doing now was following procedures until the order came.

And then it did.

Cravis’ comm. crackled to life as the piercing voice of Tuvit’an began to speak.

“That’s it, Team. We’re done here. The Commodore has issued all craft to set corridor co-ordinates of 6-T4-G4-768-456.”

Cravis nervously tapped the codes into his navputer as the Dotheric continued.

“From here on in, it’s unknown territory. So stay sharp. ‘Cause when we come out on the other side, well… you all know the planet’s rep. Golores will have further orders for us at that time.” He paused. “Ah… here we go. Initiate max-drive in ten seconds. Good luck to all of you.”

A scant ten seconds later, his Twyknight jerked, the engines’ hum grew to a whine, and space transformed from infinite black to blinding white-purple. A second later, the filters kicked in and the intense light dimmed, leaving Cravis to lean back and relax.

But only for a little while. Because by the time they left the corridor, Keros Baelos would directly before them.

And then things would really get interesting.

- - -

Down… down… down.... Always descending. The blue gloom swam past on the outside of the glass in a milky haze, masking everything.

Bross peered sharply out of the viewport, silently gazing into the cloudbank. Behind him stood a Prime Coraana, T’Cytan. The Pulsarian was one of Bross’ more closely trusted PC’s, and in the dynamic world of the Pulsarian military… one had to keep one’s friends close. Ranks changed hands by more ways then promotion.

The two of them were on their way down to the surface for the first time. Bross had sent Rhale down ahead of time to oversee the establishment of the Tyrranis encampment. Since then, the Majorica and the bulk of the Tyrranis force had been there for nearly thirty hours.

“My Greater?” T’Cytan inquired softly. “Shall I continue?”

Bross blinked, his mind returning to reality. Ah. T’Cytan had been briefing him on the base’s progress report.

He nodded to the Prime Coraana. “By all means, T’Cytan.”

Over the next few minutes, T’Cytan continued to explain the various difficulties that the landing teams had encountered. There were some initial malfunctions with decompilation – this was expected by Bross. There were also routine power failures of the main power core – this was also typical of adjusting to the conditions of a new planet. But what irked Bross particularly was the unanticipated news that the Sprite propellation systems were failing in the extreme. It was odd enough that the affliction lay only with the lightest class of the AMWs, but irritating that Bross needed the things for scouting. And he had wanted to send Sprites out as soon as possible.

He massaged his temples with one hand, and sighed. He had not slept since the Majorica had landed, and he knew it did not do much for his temperament.

He scowled irritably. “How long until we have semi-normal status for them?”

“Could be several days, my Greater. The Majorica said that there’s some unknown gas that’s causing the interference.”

“Never mind then. As soon as we land, start prepping several Sprites in the Utreys – isolated, you understand. I want those Sprites running at full capacity before we retest them in this planet’s conditions. Co-ordinate your efforts with the Majorica, if necessary.”

“As you command, my Greater. In the meantime, your personal study has been decompiled successfully. They are-”

“Wait…” Bross said, holding a hand up silencing the Pulsarian. For all around the Nevlon, the blue was beginning to fade. Until suddenly… there was complete evanescence.

Bross peered curiously out of the viewport, scanning the now revealed mountainous horizons. The indigo gases, which only seconds ago had been omnipresent, had been replaced, it seemed, with varying levels of green mists, an almost poisonous colour. Far distant, the peaks of a mountain range were visible.

The Nevlon-Class shuttle continued to descend, bringing into the High Priorim’s view the domes and pit-like wells that the Terran scout had mentioned. They dotted the landscape, in no visible pattern. Where neither existed, coarse greenish gravel resided.

It was not the sort of green Bross tended to associate with growth either. Neither the mist nor soil. It was rather a dry, listless green. Pale, foreboding. Lifeless.

He shook off the morbid thoughts. You fool, he thought irritably. Such thoughts are for the weak-minded. Whatever is down there, if sentient at all, will definitely consider their actions before attacking me.

The thought warmed him, for it reminded him that his odds of survival on the surface were about a million times better then the scout’s.

After all… he had only brought more then a million Tidal Soldiers with him.

Down below, he could just begin to see the outskirts of the massive Tyrranis encampment. Metallic structure with violet overtones rose up throughout the base, many still shimmering with the energy residues of the decompilation procedures. Barracks, N-centers, AMW hangars, even the perimeter proteshield – all were present, more or less. From the size of the area, the headquarters for the Tyrranis operation on Keros Baelos could have easily been mistaken for a small city.

It could not be more obvious that the Pulsarians had made planetfall on Keros Baelos.

- - -

The Nevlon touched down in the center of an enclosed hangar, passing through the hangar’s roofside entrance, and smoothly coming to a halt. Bross and T’Cytan, accompanied by a Squad of ten Tidal Soldiers, made their way down the landing plank onto the metallic landing platform.

Rhale was waiting for him.

He bowed to each in turn. “My Greater, Prime Coraana T’Cytan. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Keros Baelos.”

T’Cytan smiled slightly before returning the nod. “My Greater.”

Bross, however, was not as accommodating. “Yes…” he began dryly. “And now, Rhale, you will explain to me why our Sprites are not active.”

Rhale bowed stiffly to the High Priorim. “Of course, my Greater. As the Prime Coraana has assuredly informed you-”

“Let’s assume he hasn’t, Majorica.”

Rhale’s mouth gaped for a second before he regained himself. “Ah…yes, my Greater. Well, we’ve been having… troubles adapting the Sprite propellation systems with Keros Baelos’ atmospheric conditions. There is a compound that we have no record of in our scientific registries, my Greater, and we believe it is the cause of our present predicament. Until we can adapt and realign the initiator frequencies of the Sprites, they have zero mobility.”

Bross sighed. “Aptly put, Rhale. Never mind then. What of the emergency Sprites that we brought down pre-prepped?”

Rhale paled slightly before responding. “Ah... I do not believe that they will function, my Greater. Pre-prepped or not, they are still entering the same Keros Baelos air in all our other Sprites are not operating normally in.”

“Understandable hypothesis, Majorica. However, mightn’t it be best if you had investigated this matter on your own before making an assumption?” Rhale paled further as Bross turned to T’Cytan. “This is your detail now. Attempt to bring the pre-prepped Sprites out, and if they are successful, assign them immediate scouting patterns. See to it personally.”

The Prime Coraana bowed. “As you command, my Greater.” He left.

Bross turned back to Rhale. “Such memory lapses do not come naturally for you.”

“No… my Greater. I can only offer my mos-”

Bross shook his head, waving him off. “Nevertheless, you have performed sufficiently in running this camp. It is to be our base of operations: I hope not to be forced to move it.”

“It is quite mobile all the same, my Greater.”

“Naturally. Nothing eventful while I was in orbit?”

“Not that I have already told you, my Greater.”

“Mmhmm…” Bross pursed his lips. “Where are the closest batch of Sprites currently stationed?”

“In a Utrey I, my Greater. Not far from here.”

“Show me them.”

- - -

They left the hangar, and stepped out onto the black pseudoflat. A lift was waiting for them. Still accompanied by the Squad of ten, the lift effortlessly departed the hangar, and glided down the pseudoflat. The military structures of the base rose up all around them, shrouded in the green mists. Details of Pulsarian troopers were everywhere, commanded by Tidal Elites or Scorporals. Cargo haulers, burdened by innumerable crates clad in corrugeel, passed the High Priorim’s craft. The air hummed with the buzzing noise of decompilation, with the roaring whine of distance shuttles approaching their landing space, with the pulsating drone of power supplies. Were it not for one piece missing, it would have felt to Bross like any other central military camp.

There were no Sprites roaming the streets.

The Sprites were a class of Armoured Mechanised Weapon. These tank-like vehicles were the fist of the Pulsarian military. The hammer. When it came to brute offensives, outright force, indomitable advancement of the line, the AMWs did the work. As for the Sprite-Class, they were the vanguard of any military operation. Being light, fast vehicles, they were heavily used for reconnaissance as well. But for some inexplicable reason, Rhale had been unable to bring their main propellation systems online. Their weapons were certainly functional, but they had no hovering ability.

Yet another problem I don’t need.

They came within sight of the Utrey I-class AMW. A massive transport, it was covered in indigo chromasteel. Resembling a half-circle (the storage area) with one stud sticking out from the center of the even side (the cockpit), it carried out many of the armoured transport duties of the Pulsarian military. There was also the Utrey II, a heavier, larger class reserved only for major operations.

All along the curved end of the ship were open compartments, revealing two Sprite-Class AMWs. The small scout vehicles were piloted by one, and had a rough, elliptical shape to them. On either side of the machines, there protruded a wing, but they were not much more then an exaggeration of the side’s natural curve, which added a wider look to the vehicle’s elongated shape. Nestled beneath both wings were the twin antigrav generators that made the Sprite go. And in the front, just ahead of the transparent cockpit hatch, there extended twin pulsematic laser cannons.

But at present, both AMWs were on the black pseudoflat, and not hovering as they were designed. Each had a Pulsarian engineer working its innards from beneath the craft. Beside them, various electronic terminals stood upright, connected through thick, swarthy wires.

A nearby Corporal, upon noticing the High Priorim’s presence, immediately stood at attention. He was obviously supervising the ongoing tests.

“I salute, High Priorim Bross.”

“As do I, Corporal.” Bross nodded. “Now… what can you tell me of your progress?”

“Little as of late, my Greater. The engineers have been focused on correctly the antigravatational problems for the last seventeen hours. Would my Greater care to hear the specifics?”

“No need, Corporal. I am aware of your difficulties.” He paused, glancing at the Sprites. “However… seventeen hours is quite a spell, is it not?”

“Yes, my Greater.”

“Quite a lot of time with no progress made.”

“My Greater, respectively speaking, we have made some progress, and-”

“Correction, Corporal,” Bross said frostily, his gaze stiffening all the while on the Pulsarian. It was clear that either engineer had frozen as they detected the change in Bross’ tone. “You will not have made any progress until my Sprites are fully functional. I want them running, Corporal. The scouts were to have a full progress report waiting for me when I landed twenty minutes ago.”

“Uh, wel-”

“They do not have a report for me because their Sprites are not working. Their Sprites are not working because you have not fixed them. In fact, Corporal, I would consider the past seventeen hours to have been fully wasted by you and your engineers.”

“But, my-”

“If my time is wasted, I grow impatient. Understand very clearly, Corporal, that the time is fast approaching when I will wait no longer for you to perform as expected. And that is a time which you will not wish to experience, and when it does arrive… you will wish you had had my Sprites ready a very long time ago…. Do I make myself clear?

The Corporal gulped. “Yes, my Greater.”

Bross smiled coldly, and turned to Rhale. “You see? It does not take much to motivate one’s men. Only a mere whisper, and they snap to attentiveness.”

“Yes, my Greater.” Rhale responded.

“Take me to the command center. His Lordship Corridane will desire a contact sooner or later.”

“At once, my Greater.”

- - -

The cool green mist permeated everywhere. A constant fog which entwined itself around every structure, every being within the camp. Rhale had told him that, when the first of the Tyrranis ships had made planetfall, scarcely a sound could be heard. Not even the whistling of a dry wind had been audible. And that was strange. Rhale had also said that their sensors had picked up signs of intense atmospherical turbulence elsewhere on the barren gravely plains.

But none here.

It was almost as if the planet itself was keeping a safe distance from its newfound life-forms. Leery of them. Waiting to test them.

Bross scowled fiercely at the insistent thoughts. Focus, he thought bitterly. There is work to be done.

It was not long before the transport ground to a halt in front of a huge, domed building. Roughly staggered on all levels with a tiered structure, Bross knew that his personal study lay somewhere within. And secretly, he ached to retire to it.

But first there was Corridane.

After giving Rhale a few last orders, he left the Majorica and entered the structure. Inside, he bade his Tidal Soldiers to report to their assigned barracks, following which he passed into the upshaft.

Eventually, he reached his study. Replicated down to the last window view of the exterior.

His eyebrows rose tiredly at the constant flicker of a red light on his desk terminal. A message already?

It turned out to be a transmission from his Prime Coraana, T’Cytan, reporting on the attempted usage of the pre-prepped Sprites. And true to the Majorica’s word… all four had immediately lost hover-conversion abilities as soon as they were exposed to Baelosian air.

Damn it! Bross slammed his fist down on the desk in exasperation. T’Cytan continued on to say that the four were being moved in with the rest of the examined Sprites, and were currently undergoing tests.

Bross swore again, as he ran a hand through his white hair. Damn this planet… he thought. And then he swore again.

He had almost forgotten about the atmospheric trap.

All the more reason to contact Corridane.

With an irritated sigh, he transponded the signal to where Corridane’s flagship, the Inferno’s Infliktor, was predicted to be currently orbiting. For as long as Corridane’s fleet remained trapped in orbit, there was no way of detecting their presence, due to the ever present sensor-nullifying atmosphere.

Corridane’s overt countenance soon filled the viewscreen.

“About time you contacted me, Bross.”

“Good morning to you too,” Bross muttered, noting the time. “Everything is, more or less, running as planned down here.”

“Good. I would hate to think that your efforts in deciphering our present snare would be hampered by anything. Do you have any new knowledge in regards to it?”

Bross’ brow furrowed. “As a matter of fact, Corridane – no. I don’t.”

“Nothing at all?”

“You know, I only just made planetfall a few hours ago. And if it slipped your mind, my fleet just happens to be trapped in orbit as well. Thus, logic might suggest that this is just as much a priority to me as it is to you.”

Corridane was unfazed. “Of course, Bross. I might have realised that,” he answered in a dry, half-mocking tone. “Nevertheless, you will be happy to note that things are quite alright up here. In fact… dare I say quite satisfactory?”

“Quite satisfactory?” Bross asked tiredly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you’ve just had breakfast.”

Corridane smiled frostily back. “Hilarious as always, Bross. But you are, surprisingly to say the least, not far off the mark. Instead, you might say that Me’Manthka had a meal a short time ago. Or rather – his fleet did.”

“I won’t pretend to have any idea of what you’re talking about.”

“Oh come, Bross,” Corridane exclaimed jovially. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Corridane…,” Bross muttered, half to himself. “I am tired. I do not care to listen to any more of your attempts at verbal games or intellectual prowess. Pray explain what you were previously pathetically trying to, else I shalll stop wasting my time with this conversation, and retire.”

Corridane slowly stopped grinning. His sharp, lavender face resumed its natural scowl. “Very well, Bross…. As it turns out, Me’Manthka was under attack by Terran forces a mere two hours ago.”

“Really,” Bross responded sarcastically. “Was under attack, Corridane?”

“Was. According to his reports, a Terran fleet of small size broke out of max-drive-space approximately one hundred fifty standard minutes ago. Their actions, as soon as they broke out, suggested surprise and indecision, as they most certainly did not assume a standard Terran battle formation. Me’Manthka told me that he wasted no time in his attack…”

Bross could not help but forget his exhaustion at the startling news. “Did they put up a good fight?”

“Me’Manthka boasts that his Vistaguarde Fleet did away with them within twenty minutes. But from the records he transmitted to me, it looks more like Lethalvos’ time.”

“Thirty minutes?”

“Indeed. As usual, Me’Manthka brought his two Immolators into play quite early. But the Terrans got smart after two of their three Shard-Class warships were destroyed, and started focusing their attack on the Immolators. But they were sorely outmatched… even without the Immolators, Bross, Me’Manthka could not botched this one easily. The Terrans only had one Mechor, Bross. And only one Osquire! Even from them, I would have expected more careful preparation.”

Bross sighed. “It’s really all too simple, Corridane,” he stated flatly. “You have forgotten that the Terrans did not expect anyone to be here already. They have no idea that we know everything that they do about this planet! And if Me’Manthka did his work thoroughly… they will still not know for sometime. And they are destroyed, yes?”

Corridane paused pensively. “Yes… Me’Manthka says that he destroyed them utterly. Not one ship left.”

“The Immolators preformed as advertised then…”

“Yes,” Corridane said, a small grin materialising.

“One wonders if we need even bother with Keros Baelos… with the Immolation Device, we seem unstoppable.”

Corridane frowned. “The Directive demands it. The Domineer has foreseen it. Immolator or no, Bross, we require the Organic Targeter before this war can be finished.”

Bross bit off an urge to sarcastically reply to the Pulsarian’s advocation of the Ascendence Destiny. “Yes… as the Domineer has foreseen. You are of course correct, Corridane…. Me’Manthka is sure that no transmissions escaped to Terran contacts?”

“His Triloniki intercepted several, Bross. He is confident that both our presence and the Immolation Device remain secret.”

“Good. But the Terrans are not fools. They will know eventually, after sufficient time passes without any reports that something has gone wrong with their little fleet. They will come again, and likely in force.”

“The Immolators are force incarnate, Bross. Me’Manthka’s Vistaguarde Fleet will be waiting for them.”

“Assuredly. I will contact you again in twelve hours time. Bross out.”

Bross leaned back in his padded chair, and closed his eyes. It was long past the time for rest.

Suddenly, the red message beacon began to flicker again. What is it now? Bross muttered to himself.

It was Rhale.

“My apologies, my Greater, but I thought you would appreciate knowing that the two Sprites you inspected earlier are now fully functional.”

Bross grinned. “I see. Our corporal and his team seemed to have found new insight into the hover-conversion problem.”

“Yes, my Greater. I have taken the liberty of assigning both Sprites a pilot and scouting patterns. They will be debarking following the final tests.”

“Excellent, Majorica. Good work. In the meantime, know that I am indisposed. You will kindly redirect any attentions to my person upon yourself.”

“Understood, my Greater. Rhale out.”

Finally some good news, Bross thought. He would anticipate the scouting reports later.

After rest.

Well there you go. It was actually alright. I had a hard time getting started - it was almost like learning to ride a bike again, but it got easier as it went on. I hope I remembered to cover everything I wanted to.