Stars Rain Down

The strange events at the end left the humans and Oikeyans equally vulnerable and confused, and retreat was the only option that made any sense. A tense cease-fire followed.

“Who could’ve expected this?” Marcus asked.

“I stopped making predictions about the future,” Rao replied. “Was costing me too much money.”

They pressed on through the crowd, and Marcus marveled at the multiple levels of the city up above, each built on its own web of catwalks. This was his first visit to the Oikeyan city called Amiasha, which had removed the Ark’s self-destructing fusion reactor at the height of the battle, and saved countless lives. Afterward, the ship came crashing back down to the ground a few kilometers away, then took root in order to heal itself.

There was some kind of mutiny aboard the ship, but the details remained a mystery. The Oikeyan legion abandoned it, and beat a hasty retreat back to their colonies in Africa.

Meanwhile, the Ark had been torn to shreds, and a hundred million human refugees were once again homeless. It didn’t take them long to come and investigate the city ship, like children poking a dead animal with a stick. But this animal was still alive. Just barely, but alive.

What they found was simply amazing; the only aliens left aboard the ship were the pacifist Sey Chen, who welcomed the refugees with open arms. The rest, as they say, was history.

Still, there were too many mysteries about that day for Marcus’ liking, and clues were few and far between. Why was the Ark’s self-destruct activated in the middle of the battle? How did the city-ship become aware of the impending explosion? Marcus had come down from orbit to find out.

As they walked down Amiasha’s crowded streets, Marcus and Rao turned and cut through one of the many markets where people were busy selling all kinds of wares. At the far end, where the tents thinned out, they found the man they were looking for.

He wore a set of army fatigues that had obviously been mended a few too many times, and his skin was thoroughly pitted and scarred. It looked like someone had splashed molten lava on him. Still, he was all in one piece, which was better than many soldiers could say, and he’d found work as a guard for one of the new merchant class.

“Excuse me, are you Sgt. Karpov?”

“Commander Donovan?”

Marcus nodded, and Karpov snapped a salute. Marcus returned the gesture clumsily, sure he’d never quite get used to it.

“I wanted to ask some questions about the day of the battle, if that’s alright.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“I understand you were working guard detail in the reactor section. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“It’s all in my report, sir,” the scarred soldier said.

“That’s alright. I’d like to hear it in your own words.”

And Karpov told his story. Unfortunately, it matched the debriefing reports to the last detail. Someone or something had breached the Ark at the height of the battle. Many described it as an invisible monster that ran faster than bullets. Karpov saw only a blinding light that rushed his position and melted a steel barricade with its touch. His was just another of the hundred ghost stories that came out of that day.

When Karpov finished, Marcus thanked him and went on his way. Someone out there had the missing puzzle pieces, and Marcus Donovan wouldn’t rest until he found them.

Sixty-Seven

All beneath the heavens call my Tao great.
Because of its greatness, it seems strange,
But if it weren’t strange, it would’ve faded long ago.

There are but three treasures I cherish and cling to:
The first is mercy, the second economy,
And the third is indifference to winning.
From mercy arises courage; from economy, generosity;
From humility, the power to effect change.

These days, men belittle mercy, yet celebrate courage;
They forget economy while exercising generosity;
They cast aside humility and always strive to be first.
Thus do they court their downfall.

Through mercy, struggles can be surmounted,
And defenses made impenetrable.
This is how the universe preserves and protects.

About the author:

Chris J. Randolph (hey, that’s me!) is a writer, futurist and possible killer robot originally from Redwood City, CA. When not talking about himself in the third person, he’s usually writing about fictional people who pilot spaceships, fight dinosaurs and seduce green women… and somewhat less often about green women who pilot dinosaurs, fight people and seduce spaceships.

His other interests include linguistics, cooking, video games and digital publishing advocacy. He’s the proud recipient of several literary awards he made up himself, and he currently resides in Rocklin, CA, with a family who somehow puts up with his shenanigans. He hopes to someday own his own tropical dictatorship.

Interested in more indie fiction? Come visit our label at oktopods.wordpress.com

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