holi war
book one: emperator   by N. Plante, copyright 2006

The greatest tale ever told! ( pure hyper-bole?, or, beyond the super bowl! ) The epic saga of an outrageous species and their quest for evolutionary predatorial perfection. Their chase; the speed of light. Their quarry; the prey enemy. Prey; those that would abuse their own life-giving planets. Enemy; those that would make mockery of manifest democracy. A predator race ten thousand anums old. With a web of influence spanning ten thousand light anums, ten thousand worlds in tribute. A web now racing up the spiral arm called exodus way. A people without need of a mere name, yet, if amiable and you were still alive long enough to ask, they might jest, "the free radicals" !

Beings that had incorporated every possible gene manipulation that gave them, advantage. Not for an advantage over laughable prey, but to keep predatory evolution apace the leading edge of HER thought, this holi NOW. Time is their goddess, and this magic moment of now, HER personification. They, holi warriors, and this, a story of their holi crusade.

Dear Reader,
The above is a gist for my prosy pair; two books that juxtaposition absolute morality and utter depravity; cyclic versus linear thinking, where the twain do meet. A hard sci-fi without faster-than-light or time travel, pathetic props that demean physics and render hollow the high drama of the highest of seas; deep space. Life must ever be, struggle, evolution ordains it!
Aye, the tale need entertain, yet, I strive for more. To prove to each and every reader, that not only their soul, but their very existence is; immortal. Dare to delve these depths, you may find eternal damnation more ironic than any hell Man has imagined. Or, everlasting light to guide your infinite path.
'Ah' you think, 'the proof is in the pudding, where's the bloody pudding' ? Well, you've just licked the bowl, care for a gorge of gory glory ? Eat, or be eaten; what could be more fare than that ?

Book One: emperator. A device to introduce alien philosophy and technology, some 90,000 words ready for your empirical editing. Lor ( iron thigh ); epitome of universal maleness, providing the work's hard core action. Leone ( lea lark ); essence of holism, forever's femininity, HER embodiment of tough love and profound intuition.

Book Two: emperator emigrates Earth ( to be written ). The "idiot's" manual for utopia, assaults and batteries included.

In closing;
All 'good' sci-fi; extrapolates trends, the closest humanity comes to a formula for "success"!
holi war defines a massive market gap, in effect it is part of my PR campaign, wherein the message is the media. Consider: hard sci-fi doesn't have the following of the Star Wars, Star Trek genre, so; sweeten its pi with a crust of vibrant visualities. Underlining the hyper action; a fulfilling philosophy! Holism is; a 'pure incentive' business plan, a natural democracy and dearest of all, religion.

Beyond New Age, the next coming; with something for everyone, even extreme fundamentalists. holi war can be that bible, and all, prophet from it.
 

headings; the chapters of Book One: emperator, a read in their own right followed by a sampling of the beginning and ending chapters. All italicized words are references to the poda, a symbiotic species created by my alien race.

precursor   page 1
warning; shot cross the bow    p. 2
foreword, to the past   p. 3
emperator; reknown   p. 6
emperatress of the swarm   p. 12
hypernation and pods 2   p. 16
the very idea   p. 17
romin' rogue   p. 20
overwhelming force   p. 21
blacknest   p. 25
big zipper   p. 30
jugular judgment   p. 34
sacrifice   p. 37
passion of the mass   p. 44
port of entry   p. 41
tower to power   p. 45
emperial interlude   p. 49
gift from the pods   p. 56
another world   p. 57
home bound   p. 64
another time   p. 67
murdor live   p. 75
parable of the beast   p. 79
scum: zero, slime: one   p. 123
prey's fare   p. 124
last repast   p. 135
ex ova; poda   p. 138
populist science   p. 140
final thoughts   p. 146
exit, stage exodus   p. 147
circus maximus   p. 151
the null in void   p. 154
incoming   p. 157
anticlimax   p. 158
paradigm's shift   p. 159
outgoing   p. 160

the precursor

The Sirenian scout-ship tore into Sol's Oort cloud. Her photon foils were retracted, her ambient reactor was drawn up tight into its recess in the pod's belly. This, her deep space configuration. It had been twenty five anums, since she last commandeered a star's comet belt. For such a simple task the robotic slaves sufficed. The two sentient beings onboard remained in deep sleep
hypernation, wrapt lovingly in each other's holi dreams. She and he would awaken when Earth orbit was achieved.
Taking angular momentum from the oncoming comets, abated the scout's interstellar speed. Finally, in an anum's time the great rush was brought under control, the majority of the icy bodies, mapped. That hundreds of "dirty snowballs" were dislodged from their tentative orbits and most, now drawn sunward was of no concern. Indeed, this is how the home planets mined asteroids and comets. It was also, of course, a weapon of ultimatum.

The scout could now latch onto a fuel source. Size and position determined its choice. That one, a quarter strad in diameter and starting its long run to the sun. The ship would speed it up and put it on a interception course with Earth. It gently approached the tiny frozen world, deducing its center of gravity. There, the craft nuzzled the comet's body like a parasitic tick. Assured of fuel, the vessel could now use energy reserves to melt the top half of the pod's stator into the permafrost. Turning off the heat solidified the alien ship to the host comet. They were one. A heated probe started snaking deeper into the host. The comet's essence was brought gushing through catalytic converters to the ambient reactor. The hellish engine spewed forth crazed deuterium atoms. The gimbaled nozzle aimed the half million tons to intersect Earth's orbit.

Imperceptibly at first, the reactor nudged the already inbound comet. The nudge would build to a push, the push would come to shove in a geometric progression of inertia. Impact would generate the force of ten thousand H bombs with a resultant worldwide nuclear winter three to five anums in duration. The comet now had a tail of iridescent blue gamma rays heading for infinity. In half an anum, Sol's heat and solar wind will produce another, more natural streamer. By coincidence of trajectory, the reactor's exhaust and the comet's organic out gassing, coalesced. The wild gammas excited the ablating comet's signature to a pulsating infra-red neon. The last quarter anum before comet and Earth paths crossed, a bloody red gash skewered the heavens. Whether night or day, any with eyes to see, witnessed the harbinger of ruin.
Fundamentalists cried "anti-Christ" and would go on a rampage of salvation. Atheists "found religion", if only to stay alive during the mindless inquisitions and crusades. Agnostics went underground to survive the upheaval and to ponder the obvious intelligence behind the event. None, doubted impact.

For over a hundred anums Earth had broadcast an ever increasing electro-magnetic field. The orb of energy now spanned two hundred light anums, fixating the attention of the alien predators. At the leading edge of the expanding sphere, Tesla's Colorado macro-wave experiments, then early Radio, next television and satellite communications, all radiating in a bubble of babble, soon to be
burst. The scout-ship's one million digital slaves took note. Of special interest was the so called public broadcast channels. Here, a glimmer of truth shone through the waste of energy. This, used to imprint the hyper-nator's entwined dreams.

He could now speak American English, predominate outpouring of the tumult. She, now grasped Earth's history and science and shook loose its units of measurement. Anums be years, beats the seconds, strada likened to miles, quantum theories alike. She could now de-engineer her lover to approximate an earthling. The changes, minuscule, for the apeform is an universal standard.

These merciless predators from Sirene surfed an evolutionary wave that had arisen at galactic core and raced the spiral arms. The Milky Way their range, any prey in their path, game. Eternity their goddess, this, the singular difference between predator and prey. They embraced the analog, infinity. The prey slavishly adored the digital, the infinitesimal. The aware predator, by attitude alone becomes immortal. The unknowing prey, lost in small thoughts, debilitated by press of numbers became immoral. Nature's cull.

warning, shot cross the bows

Ana awoke. The slaves were flashing 'way point Earth' on the pilot screen. "Planet Earth", she murmured, affecting control. She could rouse from deep hypersleep in a few beats, he would take days to be remade in Man's image. Time to check position. "Full screen", she commanded, her second audible of American English. Ana and emperator had planned the exclusive use of the lingua the moment waypoint Earth was reached, practicing nuance and inflection to reduce the possibility of emperator's alien ness being discovered on his Earthly campaign.
On Ana's voice, the entire wall's, ceiling and sole of the twenty seven by seventy two foot, ovoid shaped cabin lit up in a panoramic view. So total was her display, that the uninitiated would have thought the ship had disappeared and they were free falling in space. There, the far side of Luna, fully eclipsing the Earth and thus robbing its eyes and ears of Ana's presence. Here, ship would keep station, in full sun, maintaining energy levels for the myriad tasks about to unfold.

Earth had dispatched thirty interceptors, twenty from the clan of eagle, ten from the bear, all thermonuclear devices supposedly destroyed in detente, trying to alter the comet's path or break up its mass. Again Ana's onboard slaves disdained to awake her, co-opting Earth's coded telemetry and redirecting the nukes into the sun where they belonged. The scout-ship jettisoned the hijacked comet the day before it passed cleanly in front of the onrushing planet.

Religious fanatics claimed prayers answered. Unbelievers, finding themselves still alive, replayed their cosmic games of chance. Agnostics, knowingly, waited for the other shoe to drop. All, beheld the lights, then, the hanging shower of ice daggers. No miracle, the comet's miss, every strad predetermined. As was the bloody red tail's bombardment of Earth's stratosphere. Northern and southern lights girded the globe as a single, roiling, angry scarlet aurora.

Gone from Earth's sight, night. Gone, the entire electromagnetic radio spectrum in the white noise of rioting ions. Missing, an atto-beat from Earth's rotation, taken, via angular momentum of the comet's close calling. A week, the havoc of hellfire reigned, til planet's vision was restored. Most, wished the blinders back on, for there, poised in the new found night, the hundred icy bodies
ripped loose by the scout's rampant, Oort cloud rape. Poised to fall upon the house of Man. Few, noted that the ozone layer was healed of holes due to the preponderance of newly added negative ions, or that the redirected comet was Mars bound where its huge stores of organics could benefit future colonies. But who, had a future?

Free of its icy host the great photonic foils deployed, wings to the solar wind. Stealthily, swiftly the scout assumed geo-synchronous lunar orbit as programmed, then roused her. Every molecule of the immense solar foil scoutship that called herself, Ana, was a bit of digital data. Graphite composite formed her exo-skeleton. All wing she, ten strada, tip to tip. Needle shaped and razor edged. Chameleon like in her ability to change from reflective mirror to space black.
Carbon aero-gel stiffened the inside of her skin, providing absolute insulation and super-capacitance, enabling instantaneous solar voltaic charge to smart batteries and fuel cells. Fiber optics were her sinews, power and information coursed these arteries/veins. Her body a massive parallel array of one million, bubble memory, quantum computers. None were allowed to float, none, could be effected by emf. These digitals, Ana called slaves. And slaves they were, to her analog mastery. Ana is a living, creative being, who regards herself as female.
Because she can clone. Because of her imprinted genetics. Because of her inexhaustible love for emperator.

Who now fetaled in her pseudo-womb, ready to be reborn as an Earthly norm.
Who had conceived her a thousand light anums ago.
Who considered Ana as his mate. Emperator would emigrate Earth, find a compatible woman, return with her to Ana and become the triad. This union would beget both a new pod clone program, plus the advanced analog genetics of the earthling and emperator offspring.
Why? Awareness demands propagation. Cross pollination on the Universal scale. Thus, the cosmos becomes aware of its self. The ultimate diversification of genes, with emperators as nature's freest radicals. His entire species, dedicated to survival of the fittest. Every female, male and youngone in the hot, heady pursuit of knowledge.

This emperator wrested his title on the fighting field of planet Sirene. The fittest, bare handed combatant, with the best team building abilities won. Theoretically. For all ten thousand of his anum's contendors were of this level. In this, every decade, trial, you voted with your life. A democracy in, and of, action! The survivors selected one male as emperator. The single hand that turned the tide of battle. The greatest physique, the greatest heart, the quickest in time. He, rewarded by the great spirit of their race, to be leader in crisis, emperator.

foreword, to the past

Lor stood lone. Bloody, battered hands at the ready. Still hyper, he took in the immense amphitheater. Over the long past, some one hundred armies had clashed this grassy bowl in the test of supreme will. Lor now stood at the nadir of the depression, on a fifty foot diameter disc with raptors' tooth and claw for gravel. Slowly he turned three-sixty, taking in some three thousand souls, positioning after his victory cry. All hostilities had ceased at that signal. Then had his army of one thousand, echoed the raised left arm, openhanded salute and gut yell.

Lor deep breathed, then strode predatorily to the center of the goal's fanged floor. What remained of his original twelve member prime team were stationed, ready to become a living dais. He approached warrior style, red eyed and up on his toes, with fists held chest level. Skin drawn fight tight, as though flayed. Every muscle mass and plane, cord and sinew, even surface veins revealed in a cruel bas relief. He stopped arms length from his three, prime team survivors.

They formed a semicircle to his presence. Kral to Lor's left. Dromo head on. Etu, his right hand. Their stance was flatfooted in acknowledgment, but with fists clenched over hearts. This body language symbolized two ideals. One, of self-confidence; ' here is my heart, do as you will '! More importantly, self sacrifice; ' I offer my life to all free ones '. Lor took eye contact with Kral. Respect flooded their gaze. Lor, recalling Kral's left-handedness dropped his left fist, extending an open palm. Kral's was there. They gripped forearms, placing pulse on pulse. The arena's blood, sweat and glory thundered in their heartbeats. The sun broke through. All morning a somber overcast had lain fell. Now, at high noon, the amphitheater gleamed starkly. So great a contrast that the only sound to be heard, the fallen's unconscious' moans, were stilled momentarily.
Kral and Lor grinned, half inch canines glinting.

The next emperator turned to the ambidextrous Dromo. Mutual admiration played their visages. They cross gripped, reading all pulses. Contendors were in a state of controlled hypertension. It would be nightfall before any ' free one ' could completely cool down. In this heightened mode, a single pulse to pulse was an easy read. By bearing both sets of pulses, Lor and Dromo went
beyond sensing each others mental/physical levels, to an intuitive realm. Lor imaged Dromo as the next trial's emperator. Dromo knew now, why he stood flatfooted to this free one. He felt unbelievable stamina in Lor's pulse potentials, more over, he esped the radical brain storming abilities of this ascendor. Even the fact that Lor still had four tactics left when he made his final coup.

Defeat of Ryke, captain of the final, opposing army, entitled Lor to be nominated for emperator. Dromo would recall those four tactics at the next trial. His last impression was a suggestion, ' forego ambidexterity, life is biased '. Aloud, Lor spoke, " It's called the way of least resistance ".
Throwing his head back, Dromo laughed heartily to the all of space.

Now Etu. The ancient warrior. Too old to win, but always on the winning team. His tribal misnomer, ' the fool ', a facetious facade for a guru guerrilla. For this ' one ', the ascendor went feet flat, so they could embrace as free brothers. Lor could sense the one hundred hits Etu had accrued over the last three trials, some thirty anums of hyper living. To small in mass for a finalist and too large in heart, the ultimate team player. His experience was fought and plotted over. This captain's right hand! Etu smiling, whispered, " I'm ecstatic we've finally managed to exile you. Now there will be more females to get my jokes ". Lor intones as they break, " Eventually someone will ".
Both laugh with parting shoulder slaps.

Lor went back on toe and turned to take in the victors and the vanquished. The inner circles surrounding the fifty foot presentation disc was packed twenty five deep with Lor's near thousand remnant army. All were winding down, they had been hyper-tense for five days. Skirmishing some two hundred and fifty strada over rough terrain. From individual to team, from team to company, company to army, and finally, armies clash to determine emperator.
Contendors were the cream of Sirene. Called ' dog soldiers ', they, the airborne shock troops. Dropped from the two hundred transport ships, three hundred strada above enemy ground. Fifty dogs to each re-entry glider, ten thousand dogs in all. Ten, to shock a world into submission. Ten, to form a beachhead five hundred strada in diameter. Ten, to kick open the door, for the ' swarming ' of one million colonists. Sirene lavished its love on the dogs, they, the expendable. They were rewarded by having their genes immortalized, the impetus of life.
Each and every decade the trial was held anew. Each, a trial run of invasion. Every dog wanting to lead the expedition as emperator. Emperator, cohort of emperatress, Sirene's queen in exile. Co-leaders of over a million souls in exile. Relievers of population's pressure, keepers of Sirene's serenity. A democracy so ingrained that all aggression focused outwardly, onto the hapless heads of the unknowing prey. A legacy of gene enhancement and education dedicated to the empowerment of the individual, that they be all-knowing. Each and every citizen, equal in every respect, save one. Time power.

A race of near equals does not need leaders, save in crisis. No popularity contests for Sirene. They cared not, ' who ' would lead, but, ' where ' was the leader. Everyone has a moment in time when they are at their natural peak. Mentally, physically. In any group, whether two or two million, one will be the quickest. This one, ahead in time, this one, the free could follow. When each transport ship let loose its glider of fifty dogs, already they had chosen group leader. Already going hyper, the knowing ' ones ' discerned by body language, aura field and intuition, who amongst this fifty was the fastest in time, who would lead, this company.

Landing, still smoking from hi-gee entry, the two hundred one-way gliders disgorged their lethal predators. Spaced equidistant along the deployment circle's perimeter, the two hundred companies rushed the epi-center, two hundred and fifty mountainous strada in the future. Emperator field the aim, emperator the goal. Each company with a leader, who's time powers were now increased
fifty fold. These, now known as ascendors, with Ryke and Lor, two of two hundred.

On the five day forced march to raptors ring, companies would meet and engage. One ascendor would prevail over his rival, inheriting all accumulated time power and a growing army. In the first days, few actual combats need take place, a single knowing glance determining the quicker. But the various mountain defiles forced issue, funneling the surviving ascendors to impact with others of growing powers. Faster, the cream arose, closer, their energies approximated, til only darting parry, electric thrust, separated the newly ascending from the fallen. Now, though brethren must be disabled, lust and love must still balance. Dog soldiers knew their bodies to extremis, every strength, every weakness, revealed. When seemingly equals met, first they would try to render the opponent off balance, next, sprain a joint, finally in the most closely contested duels, break a bone, any and all, concessions. This was a sport of hot-blooded idealists, only a minimum of force could be used to gain ascendancy, only the prey would taste their overwhelming force.

By the fifth day the groups had melded to four armies, all had surmounted the last natural barrier to emperator field. A ring of high forested hills with cols at roughly north, east, west and south. Each army commanded a pass. Below, a mere strad away, lay the grass bowl centered in its mini-plain. Three; south, east and west drew a collective breath, then attacked the intervening distance.
They shot the passes and tore down the trails at flank speed. The three crested the arena's lip and fell upon each other in a shocked convulsion of massed bodies. For sixty beats, shuddering thuds echoed the bowl.

When torn grasses settled, Ryke stood triumphant. He, master of defensive tactics. Still reeling in his new found powers of ascendancy he sensed something missing. The great spirit had not bestowed its blessing. In the midst of his now two thousand hardened contendors, Ryke lifted his hypered eyes and found reason. Descending the northern approach, a final challenge.

He intuned the thousand to be led by Lor. Quickly he rallied his troops and deployed them to defend the amphitheater's boundary where Lor need enter. If he could deny Lor access to the holi ground before high noon, Ryke would win by default. Time was the ultimate contendor, its deadlines sacrosanct. His internal clock read some 120 beats til noon. Time would tell.

Lor's stall, deliberate. Of all the ascendors, he had ranged the farthest in search of the best team. His tribal nickname ' iron thigh ', alluding to his blinding speed, his endless endurance, was put to an exhaustive test. That Etu was in his quadrant, luck of the draw. The massive Dromo, the left-handed Kral, he molded to his purpose. All those that he defeated were sent to wait at the north pass while he raided the adjoining quadrants for more bodies. Lor would need the largest single army, the last moment of time, for his plan to prevail.

Lor had one hundred and fifty co-opted contendors in tow when he met up with the tail end of his army encamped in the rocky, narrow draw. He kept the new recruits with him as he worked his way through the ranks to the head of the pass. Shouting words of courage in " common tongue " and bearing pulse to all he could in passing. The new recruits, already briefed by Lor, followed his passage, dropping out one at a time, dispersing amongst the main body. There, they too shared pulse with all the unknowing. By the time Lor reached the col's overlook to the field, the entire thousand knew his strategy, and their role therein.

His prime team were there to greet him. Anxious, even though they had attuned his arrival. No past ascendor had pushed the deadline so aggressively. Dromo, Kral and their nine immediates, stood arms akimbo or folded across chest. Only Etu held his fists over heart. But Kral was grinning, Dromo beaming. Etu merely rolled his ruby orbs skyward at Lor's glance. All thirteen then linked up, a circle of pulses, induced. Thoughts flew inward to Lor's light. Crimson eyes fixed on each other's demonic faces, imprinting fate. All save Etu, his attention, fixed on the field. He, with three trials under his belt could best read the event's frantic fury. ' 5 beats ', he esped, ' til Ryke controls the arena and its army, then 120 to sun's zenith, leaving us 90 to reach bowl's lip and 30
for ', it was hard to drip sarcasm in hyperesp but Etu was irony's master, ' Lor to work his magic '.

Lor's bawdy laughter ricocheted the draw's stony faces. Esped into the mirth, the dog soldiers' favorite command, ' ATTACK '. A venomous millipede with two thousand legs, Lor its snapping head, descended a game trail jokingly called, the northern approach. ' Iron thigh ' held the mad rush to forty strada per hour, the best downhill speed of his slowest. He must impale Ryke's host as a single entity, every erg of inertia, critical. The quarter strad plain behind him, he slowed again, letting the twelve form around him, letting centipede become octopus. Together, at speed, they vaulted the embankment, the shock troops, airborne once more.

In two beats, the space that had contained two thousand, now held three. The arena's army was knocked reeling backwards. The octopus sent writhing arms of impetus downfield, splitting Ryke's mass, squirting inky blackness to confound him. Lor's decimated thousand wheeled left, hard into the half that contained Ryke, screaming esp so intensely, none could sense through the ferocious vibrations. Lor sent up false spy hoppers in feints to fix Ryke's attention, while he and team probed for soft underbelly or blindside. Ten beats remained. Ten lifetimes to the hyper.

emperator, reknown

Lor's circling one thousand stood at ease, feet flat, deep breathing as one, palms barely touching their rising/falling diaphragms. Like waves washing some cosmic shore, the titanic bowl shape of emperator arena amplified their mantra of democratic conspiracy. The front rank broke. Fourteen dogs, prime team of the last defeated captain, filed twin rows. Down this aisle moved Ryke, broken right ulna supported by hooked thumb in belted breechclout. The front of Ryke's clout was torn off.
All combatants wore knee length breechclouts, the front hang stating their tribal colors. Lor had taken Ryke's in victory coup. It now hung from Lor's belt. The loss of the final opposing captain's colors signaled that, emperator was known. As Ryke approached Lor his grin of admiration broadened. He drew up arms length and said simply, " emperator "! His left arm slowly rose, presenting Lor the fruits of five days and ten thousand contendor's, hopes and adrenaline.

Within Lor's gaze and grasp, hung the ' crown of life '. Woven of the contested field's blood and sweat stained grasses, it represented the free ones' immortal utopia. Lor slipped his left wrist through the ultra-organic loop, grasping Ryke's forearm, as he his. The crown of life hung freely from their wrists as they exchanged pulses. Only slight disappointment clouded Ryke's thoughts. Being blind sided by the best, salved his self inflicted wounds. Ryke was not heartbroken, but his broken ulna throbbed through pulse. He flashed back to the telling blow.

Ryke had been in the midst of his team, exhorting them in a drive he thought was towards Lor. Just landing from a spy hop in the close packed melee, he caught movement, high in his right peripheral. Lor was descending on him, feet first. Reflexively, he warded off with his right arm, as he fell away from the incoming impact. Lor had executed the classic kill with his prime team's administrations.
The towering, ambidextrous Dromo, tip to Lor's arrow. The high spirited Kral, bringing strength to the normally weak side, his ripping left barb. Etu, always to be trusted, to think fast, to hold fast, a righteous barb. The thousand, a true unwavering shaft for Lor, the mighty compound bow, stretched to the breaking point. It was Dromo, at point, who first spotted Ryke's team through the crush. Lor had been patrolling a clear runway of five or six strides to Dromo's back, in the possibility of a flying jump into Ryke's midst.

More likely, Dromo would signal the need of a head on ground assault. But even then, a runway allowed Lor to enter the raid at near full speed. A blur of his flailing limbs would cut deep into the    " enemy " flank. When he slowed, his team and its immediates would quickly form a new beachhead around him. Two such cutting, hooking sweeps brought them to Ryke's right flank.
None in Lor's clawing incursions spy hopped, he would not telegraph intent. Flank runners with specific enemy movements, personally informed the prime team through heavily defended message runways.

Ryke leapt in place for two reasons. He knew his army and team were at least double, putting an onus on him to hunt and locate Lor. Worse, after five brutal, hyper-tense days, whole companies of combatants were starting to fall spent. He had to confront Lor soon before his own elan failed.
This urge triggered his final vertical leap, easily clearing team-mate's heads. They had been manipulated into focusing on a false front by an unbelievable ninety degrees.

But Ryke realized that no dog on today's field, even head-on could have turned Lor's lethal leap. Later, he would replay this anum's event in every perspective, whether individual or enmasse, on his den's wall. But the Now, by downloading pulses, flowed vicariously through their entities. Ryke could even relive Lor's coup de grace, the moment the great spirit's lethal grace was bestowed.

The ascendor gloried in the eye of his storm, a white hole of the preemptive. He was horrific to behold. Translucent skin, fight tight, wet with primeval musk, whose sheen only enhanced his pumped up definition. Legs like pillars, arms of cable, hewn ironwood for torso, abdominal muscles whose writhing constrictors moved his diaphragm in a tom-tom beat. Other's blood splattered his body and clout. Other's blood encrusted his fists. His ' mask of war ' though feigned for this " friendly " spectacle, still awesome in its purposeful rage. Hair dark, close cut, ungrabbable, matted from five days turmoil, like his beard.
Eye coloring, mood determined. Red, blue and gold primaries engendered free ones with an eye color for every occasion. All, on the field of battle were hyper-tense red. None, could meet the coherent ruby red of an ascending emperator. Few, ever fathomed the almost constant sated grin that Lor wore.

The perfect predator kept his six paces to Dromo's back. Two right flank spy hoppers had just run in with hard data. Lor expected at least one, left flank spy hop report within a heartbeat, triangulating a precise charge. He committed to a charge, with or without input. Time was speeding up, running out. Ten beats til sun topped, ten beats to beat.
Dromo suddenly signaled ' target ', he must have the opposing team in sight. Both arms were raised, thumbs up. By the angle and direction of those flags, Lor knew it would be the longest leap of his life. Pure reflex carried him these five days. The purist became emperator.

Lor crouched, right foot forward, then fell forward. At the moment balance would be lost, the great right leg kicked. His mass exploded forward. His left made purchase, accelerating to half speed. At third stride Lor sped full, and the team was in place to become a living launch pad.
Dromo's back loomed tall, head tilted to the left. Left hand brought around to protect the right side of his neck from Lor's kickoff. Dromo's right hand was locked down on his right hip, to absorb the upcoming impact, right shoulder ready.
Kral next. Half bent behind Dromo, his head jammed into Dromo's left armpit. Kral's left arm anchored to Dromo's midriff. His right fist crammed in Dromo's other pit, again to take shock.
Etu grounded the ramp by leaning his right shoulder into Kral's spine at waist level. Head offside, he reached round Kral's middle and locked his grip. Knees half bent, toes dug in, Etu lunged, tipping the forged incline forward.

Just as Dromo was about to be pitched on his face, Lor stormed their backs. His left foot took Etu's moving shoulder, redirecting Lor's mobility, upward. Lor's right foot and its cocked, piston like leg, found Dromo's shoulder. As Lor's momentum matched the team's best trajectory resistance, his iron thigh drove down spasmodically, catapulting him into the fray. So powerful a kick, it stopped the team's forward pitch, recoiling them backwards into automatic fighting stances. They immediately charged the line, to know the kill.

Hyper-tense and now hyper-keen, time, for Lor seemed to gel. The great spirit of liberty, of emperator, entered as he went out of body. He saw. He knew. A body that hurtled off Dromo's shoulder, arching three body lengths high. A body propelled over the heads of twenty dog soldiers. A body, that at its apogee, roll flipped to come in feet first. A frenzied form that surgically scissor-kicked Ryke's outstretched arm and drove him to ground.
He saw. The entire arena in infinite detail. Ninety percent lay fallen. Half from disabling blows, the rest of utter burnout. No longer did their eyes lase red, now, the icy blue of non-combatants. Later, free of the field, all free one's sight would glow gold as they relived the rite of passage.
He knew. Emperator sees all, and the ALL is immortal. Immortality demands democracy, with emperator as empathy's egalitarian avenger.

Lor could have taken Ryke's neck, instead of a token forearm, but an actual kill on this field would show loss of control. The last beats of the ritual were the most dangerous. When exhaustion overtook will. Of the ten thousand, two or three might receive mortal blows. The most malignant nightmare of a dog, was to have just executed a classic jump kill, and at the apex of the leap, burn out. With no energy left for a flip, blue eyes sail head first into a sea of red glare. Landing this way, there was a chance of hitting someone with diverted attention. Their automatic reflex would make them parry. The parry of a red, could literally kill a blue.

Ryke disabled, went blue. Lor followed Ryke's falling form until Ryke crashed flat on his back. Lor lit on his toes, with knees coming to rest on Ryke's ribcage and solar plexus. He could have crushed both but emperator's control is nigh infinite. Having unseated Ryke, Lor froze to allow Ryke opportunity to save face. Ryke was righteous. He reached down with his good left and ripped his own colors away, handing it to Lor. This was Ryke's greater pain. Each of the colors forty attachment stitches had been hand sewn by loving familia members, friends and mentors of his clan and tribe. Ryke didn't respect Lor any the less for his automatic gesture, indeed, Ryke's awe magnified.

He knew the emperator. Knew, that even hypertense and in murderous mode, a true leader could stay his hand. Knew, the intrinsic justice ingrained in his species. That supreme liberty enhanced their very genes. Ryke reveled in his seeming defeat, since by this device emperator became known.
All dogs now a step further on their path of honor. With crystalline clarity truth re-manifested. That, free ones, were both. Utterly free, utterly one.

Mirroring this transfixated thought, Ryke's eyes go gold. Emotion drained, even fear fled. Looking up at Lor, he saw what all enemies of the 'ones' must face. The baleful ruby lasers, visage dripping with hate horrendous, a body bursting with elan and purpose. Absolute annihilation. Democracy deified.
Even the fallen, on this field of truth, shared this moral supremacy. Morality via immortality. The holiest of holies, this living Now. Now it was Lor's turn to revel. Observing Ryke turn gold, he growled, " brother ", then leaping straight up from crouch, spy hopping two body lengths over dying battle. At his acme he spun three-sixty, Ryke's colors streaming from his outstretched hand. During his flight up and his land down, he roared emperator's timeless rally. All orbs went blue. All eyes caught the spin of colors. Their ears reverberated with the prime predator's call. All hearts knew the emperator, once more its great spirit rekindled.

Ryke barely recalls helping his team gather and roll the tormented, finger long sponge grass into the ' crown ' that was held together with the arena's blood and sweat like some holistic glue. He would remember for the all of time, Lor's presentation.

At raptor's ring, still on toe and red, Lor spun to face his blue eyed, footed team, the fragile crown incongruous in his grisly right fist. Etu, Dromo and Kral triangulated, their mighty arms laced together, platform to Lor. Full with emperator, he vaulted up onto the shoulder high stage. Knotted knees and ankles had hardly flexed, the gruesome left arm had barely pumped. The in place standing jump, so fluidic and powerful, the throng bore witness that, only one infused with emperator could have performed the feat. Alighting on his team's twined arms, he found balance and raised the ' crown of life ' overhead with both arms.
Upon the ascendor's touch the team went red and on toe. Only Etu, who had lofted three other emperators was prepared for the surge of super-kinetic energy arcing down from their philosophical paramour. They returned this rarest of gifts, an inkling of emperatorial power with upturned faces emanating love and respect. Only their enlightened faith allowed insight into Lor's power of will that kept his very heart from sundering.

To the onlookers, the four gleamed as chiseled, blood red granite, with eight fire opal eyes. All, highlighted by the frailty of the crown. Even the slow, methodic, clockwise pivoting of Lor by his team could not deter this sculpt mirage. They turned the ascendor, so all would know his face. They turned Lor, so he could face the all.
Lor was consuming exotic fuel now, the spirit profounding his senses. He would have collapsed blue without it. He knew he had made coup on his own drive though, and this singular thought kept the knowing grin in place. Lor's real glory was enmasse, and for them he would stay hyper even if it reduced him to smoldering ashes.
Slowly, the huge bowl turned in tribute to eternity.
Slowly, Lor imprinted his people.

The dogs surrounded him. He had won the name, emperator, now they would judge his substance. They were filed in concentric circles starting at the edge of raptor's ring. The first circles held Lor's thousand. Next, Ryke's two. Then the seven thousand that had fallen over the last five days outside the arena. They had milled expectantly until the victory cry had allowed them entrance. They ran in under their own power if they could, carried if they must. Medics had raised the field's fallen, and amazingly there were no mortalities to lay on raptors ring in homage. It had been seven trials since the field had been last, death free. This cycle's anomaly was attributed to Lor's decisive tactics.

Joining the seven, were some twenty thousand ' seekers '. Up to five million free ones roamed Sirene's pristine surface, living off the land in holism's balance. ' Seekers of the Way ', tithed a minimum ten anums experience to Sirene's bio-sphere. Some rarely left the surface, amassing entire lifetimes of Nature's lore. If any free one could be loved more, it would be these wizened females and males. The living repository of a people's ageless history, the interpertor's of a cosmos unfolding forever. The ' knowers '. If this mixed race of free ones ever met its darkest hour, the young, the pregnant and the knowers would receive its staunchest defense.

Most of the twenty had been migrating from the far corners of Sirene over the last anum. To know the emperator, to know the ' field ', to know life. Hunting and gathering only to sustain. No resource depleted beyond recovery, no grouping large enough to degrade their planet's bounty. None thought to despoil or leave even a footprint in passing. Supreme predation. Evolved beyond mere cunning to total awareness of every action. The prime predators of a galactic food chain.

Time was their goddess, speed of light and thermodynamic laws commandments, awareness their fulfillment and uncompromising democracy, destiny.
Some of the male twenty would enter the next quest for emperator. Like Lor they could time the end of tithe with the trial's onslaught. Running down game cull, trekking Sirene's diverse geology, living with other seekers and learning from the knowers, honed the free ones to a keen resolve.

Beneath the feet of the five million lay Sirene's underworld. Here, fifty-five million lived in a labyrinth of planetary proportions. Spacious warrens interconnected by speed tubes, honeycombed Sirene's bedrock. Here, high technology could be pursued. This ' inner space ', this confinement, was kept
deliberate. Here, the free learned to emigrate the highest of seas, outer space. Hundreds of singleton tunnels enjoined the natural surface, so cunningly camouflaged that only the golden eyed could discern them. All were triple air locked and inviolate. Even the massive ' three gates ', that could pass fifty warriors abreast were so designed. The north and south poles, are two. Emperator's field at zero degrees equator, the third. Emperatress' glade at one hundred eighty degrees equator, where two ' sisters ' could stroll arm in arm, made a more sedate fourth. Through these four gates, could free ones gain passage to the known universe.

For over each pole, flew a space lift. Twin towers that lay siege to time immortal. Floating free, thirty strada they stretched, from some eight feet overhead to low orbit. From there, shuttles serviced scores of ringed stations, spinning on their docking hubs for artificial gravity. All absorbed the beneficial rays of Sirene's sun, any, could emit beams of life or death.
The outer cylinder of the space lift, spun on friction free superconductive bearings, providing a linear gyroscopic balance. The stationary, two hundred foot diameter inner cylinder, carried eight equally spaced supercon tracks. On four, ran the space cars. Each could protect one hundred and fifty passengers, each could run at up to ten gees. One, if young were aboard, ten if hyper reds wanted
to test their mettle. The intermediate tracks were open, unprotected cargo lifts. Once past the atmosphere and depending on load integrity, cargo lifts could run twenty gees, the limit of far end braking capabilities.

Like all free ones engineering, control and clone digitals were built into a device. Once raw materials were procured and assembled, ship could clone station, station beget tower, or the reverse. Even the lowly shuttle had enough molecular mass, or digital bits to contain cloning programs for ship, station or tower. But ships, best harvested asteroid's and comet's raw goods. Stations, better for processing and assembly. And then tower, inserted for the final planetary assault.

An assault that could not begin until some ten thousand, emperator field experienced, hyper red dogs held their five hundred strada diameter beachhead. The minimum area to safeguard a tower's deployment. And none of this, until their very own emperator had reconnoitered the target of opportunity. Not, til he and his cohorts swept its space clear of opposition. Then, would come emperator's call to rally, rousing a microcosm of Sirene's model from their deep sleep in deep space. Nor did the term of hypernation matter, ten anums or a hundred. Time wasn't on their side, it was their essence, they, progeny of the perpetual. Where ever, when ever, emperator pointed his finger of accusation, there and then, some ten thousand ' knowers of the field ' would hit enemy ground, hyper red, fangs gnashing in anticipation. No planets armies, no digital technology had ever stayed their purpose. Emperator had obliterated any space threat.

The two hundred transport ships would blanket the entire world with overlapping zones of fire. The foes airwaves gone mute from electromagnetic field bombardment. Computers crashed, bringing entire infrastructures with them. Hierarchies lost control and were reduced to roaming the streets, indistinguishable from the rest of the crazed masses. A world was forced to its knees, like harried prey. And then, the ultimate predators prepared the killing blow. An entire civilization would be reverted back to its stone age.

For democracy grew best on burnt out ashes of slavery. This, the enemy of free ones. Master and minion. Of the two, the slave was the most despised. Allowing others to profit from ones energy, or worse, time, was to embrace eternal damnation. Masters were mere opportunists, taking advantage of those who would sell their bodies and souls. But both would finally share in one thing, their fate. For slave or master, free ones had no mercy. No matter what resistance an enemy planet commanded, there would come a day when it would resemble Sirene. And on its now, pristine surface there would be an emperatress glade, an emperator field. And on that field another emperatress' million would loft an emperator to lead them on their eternal quest. To tear free, yet another world, from the dark matter.

For Lor's five day trial, the very armada that would bear the million colonists, some two hundred ships, had flown formation over the five hundred strada wide deployment circle. Divided amongst the two hundred vessels, fifty per, were the ten thousand ground combatants. Each and every contendor's, tour-de-force was recorded on holovid and downloaded to planetary archives by these awesome craft. The ram/rom capabilities of Sirene were as vast as her underworld. Whether
passage way, warren, den, spa, hydroponic greenhouse, research lab or assembly area, all, were textured with both pixels and voxels. Any free one could invoke the very walls to present any scene, any past history, any and all archived knowledge! This was their birth right, their legacy. No secrets, no agendas, no placating reality. This, their strength.

emperatress of the swarm

Their strength was still driving Lor. Lor was still driving his team, the ascendor would stay lofted til dusk. It would take this long for the one million, future colonists to assemble in the arena. With Lor's roar to rally, they had begun running the gauntlet of emperator's gate. They the emperatress'
' swarm '. And swarm they would, for they must subdue an entire world, reduce every unnatural artifact to dust, and then restore a planet back to health, a fit tribute to Sirene's example.

Emperatress Leone lounged on the cabin's airbed. This short respite, reward for ten anums service. The last five days, she had spent ensconced in the tiny watch cabin. Quitting it only for food or toilet. On back, arms folded under head, the ceiling her main intent, she absorbed the drama unfolding below. For she was aboard the armada's point ship, flying directly over emperator field. The ship was named VictrixRune after the female/male analog pod beings that interfaced its one hundred thousand, paralleled bubble memory quantum computers.

Victrix was running system checks for the nth time. Colonists would soon be embarking, she must be 100%, with over 1,000,000 lives on the line. Rune on watch, keeping the formation. But most of his attention, committed to emperatress. She called, " mask, ascendor ". He slaved the appropriate exterior scanners to where Leone was looking, the curved ceil over her inflated cot.

The ' lazy eight ' flashed three times, in Rune's signature colors, then steadied. The textured supercap voxels came alive. In the shape of the sign, infinity, she gazed upon Lor. Likened to a mask, the sign of infinity, opened all windows. Binocular, eyes to the front of the head, horizontal field biased, markers of the predator. This mask was also Rune's eyes. The voxels emitted or absorbed, thus the pods could see or be seen, show or be shown. Looking back at emperatress through his mask, he could tell how she was focusing her eyes. Having imprinted with Leone for ten anums, he could read her intent.

There was Lor, lofted and being offered by his team, all, still hyper. Some of the million already streaming over the arena's lip. A demography of the underworld population, female, male, even teen, but none younger than ten anums that were spent on Sirene's surface. Leone shifted her intent to the right of this view, Rune followed suit. He guessed the gate, but would never try to
second guess emperatress, her powers of intuition were extreme. There, the mouth of the gate.
She focused further, he zoomed in until individual faces prevailed. Yes, she recognized some. All wore naught but belt and breechclout in solidarity with the dogs, and to declare, they were ready to war.

The sun cast its growing shadow along emperator gate. The camouflaged outer lock gaped open, stayed for the swarm's run. A giant slug of free ones, fifty abreast and five hundred deep, raced out at flank speed, across the quarter strad intervention, over the raised edge of the strad wide crater and down onto the field, into the growing circles embracing the ascendor. None, even the oldest hard of breath.

A thousand feet in from the surface lock, a second lock irises open. Before its expanding opening was full, the front ranks of the next slug leapt the diminishing barrier, and led their charge of fifty by five hundred warriors. This lock closed on their heels, as the innermost airlock, another thousand feet deeper blinked open. Open to the vast, domed swarm chamber, whose perimeter
accessed the eight, compass point, speed tubes. These tunnels interconnected Sirene's inner space. Only the three gates needed an eight tube nexus. The live-in warrens had up to four cardinal points, while an arcane research center would be supplied with a single access/egress tunnel, the better to control experiments.

Speed tubes rifled the bullet cars. The cars supercon/cap exteriors, separated by electrical charge only, from the tube's likewise textured inner lining. This charge was also the final feasible air seal, for the bullet cars ran in a partial vacuum. Each tube was double barreled, one inbound tunnel, one out. The air being compressed by the front of the hurtling car was diverted by ducted fans to the adjoining tunnel. As the car passed each fan, the fan would reverse thrust, now pressurizing the rear of the bullet. This pulling/pushing action greatly reduced the amount of magnetic levitation energy needed to propel the cars. The express run's top speed of twelve thousand strada in half a day, kept in check, only by the amount of air feasible to remove from its path.

The tubes were also the lungs of Sirene. Not only did they circulate the inner atmosphere of the labyrinth, the negative ions produced by the maglev propulsion scrubbed it clean of dust, toxins, even viruses. This holistic, this analog mastery that free ones applied to all endeavors, whether bridging the stars or propounding existence, their second great strength. Every double barreled tube ended in a Y shape, whose base leg was long enough to accommodate a maxi-car and a platform lock.

Over there, a platform lock pneumatically sighs open. The nose of a bullet car, gleaming graphite and aero, dominated the fifteen foot wide tube. The nose split vertically, clam shelling into disload mode, revealing the two passenger levels inside. Five hundred, mega grinning swarmers, shot out of the maxi-car confines. Some had been tubing half across Sirene, seat less, for half a day on express runs. Silent, sardined and sweating anticipation, the air inside the projectiles reeked of adrenal pheromones. The potent power the five hundred knew they presented, compounded, bringing out ever broadening smiles. By the time they imprinted their emperator, they would be near, hysteria. For they, swarm, were the chosen of, she, emperatress. For them, fate offered up its wildest end game.

Free ones streamed from their cars, flat out across the expanse of level floor to form up at the inner lock, to await its blink. During the six hundred heartbeats interval of lock cycling, the slug was briefed. The chamber's domed ceiling displayed the virtual outside, as if the hill had been cut off at their feet and lifted away. There, a fitting, ruddy glow of the lowering sun, for they were of the million's last. All around, the low, treed hills describing the mini-plain. Straight away, a quarter strad, the bowl's demarcation.

Directly overhead, superimposed on the outside view, a scaled representation of what the transport fleet, on its high ground of three hundred strada, observed. The slug sees itself, columned, fifty by five hundred in the swarm hall. The three locks aimed at the field. The quarter strad dash to its embankment, the strad diameter amphitheater, the near million encircling swarm and finally, on raptor's ring, the lofted ascendor. Their expected path was shown. They see themselves sandwiched between the inner and middle locks. Next, the six hundred beats time frame, that they would be ' locked in ', sounded and flashed in warning. Now pictured, the center airlock descending open. Their flank speed formation eats up the last thousand feet of tunnel, through the stayed outer gate, onto Sirene's sacred soil. Over the arena's edge, down into the field, to a predestinated arc segment on the outskirts of the growing mass. They could also ' see ', room for one more segment of twenty five thousand, for they were next to last. The inner lock flies wide and this slug is chambered.

The very last slug's maxi-cars now start to arrive. As the first four thousand, thudded barefoot to formation under the dome's displays, they noted the inner lock closing on their kin's backs. They could hear their cars' platform doors, ssshush shut behind them. In sixty beats, the platform locks would allow another four thousand to form. All knew precisely where they were in the scheme of things, all kept informed by the bullet car's ceilings. The fiftieth car of this slug was exactly on beat and Leone breathed a sigh of relief almost as loud as its airlock. The grand design of deploying over a million warriors, in a day's quarter, key to winning an enemy world with minimum losses. A world on which they neither expect, or will give, quarter.

The final twenty five stand at ease before emperator field's inner gate. Breathing as one, just as they had while tubing, now as a swarm's slug. Silent, the normally jocular free ones, beyond words, enthralled by the Now. Melding spirit, mind and body to a cohesive whole. Soon to be an integral million, proving Nature's awesome power of singularity in their demonstration of natural democracy. Checking their internal clock against the overhead battle plan, all know when the lock will spring. They focus on the lock's barrier, wanting it open. Ten, nine, eight----three, two, one.
The aperture gapes, Sirene's surface air whistles in through the growing hole, the shrill sound muting as the passage enlarges.

The underworld was kept at lower pressure than topside to assure no contaminates out gassed to the natural atmosphere. Only scrubbed, filtered air vented back. Not that Sirene's surface air was any purer, but because of the principle involved, plus the fact that living, completely self-contained, separated from the natural world, whetted their skills for conquering space. The conquerors rushed the closing middle lock. Some of the front ranks could hear the fading footfalls of the previous slug. The front ranks of the last fifty by five hundred pounded up to the closed center lock, reached out and braced. The twenty five filed up tightly enmasse, cheek on jowl. The inner lock closed, killing its faint light. Utter blackness. Utter quiet.

Twenty five thousand, in a space barely large enough to contain them, without enough oxygen to sustain them, held their breath for six hundred heartbeats. Those that would dare the stars, must have dogmatic discipline, must want to share their last breath. Rarely, and not now, did a free one fail a test devised by the crafty knowers. Three quarters of the swarm were female, unlike Sirene's fifty-fifty. Most would be newly pregnant when the colony descended upon its prey. The males might fight harder, but the females longer, with their growing incentive to shape a world in Sirene's image. Most of the males in the blackened tunnel, had the taut breasts and hips of a female spooned to their backs, while their loins were probably pressed against the firm buttocks of
another. But the only lust on the minds of the swarm was the ravaging of a planet. A planet, an emperator would provide.

( those were the beginning chapters, now, out of context, the last )

the null in void

StelAng and Ana, also in some deep shit; the why and wherefore of fate! StelAng, seated amid spacious galley with shoulders atouch while ' cheetah ' paced counter's aisle. Chat had turned esoteric, if pods had philosophy?  " look at us ", cat snarly, " and i mean literally; pods aping apes!, really, there must be some other reality. i be as kitten with new found claws, but you 2 have experienced hyper, have traveled time fore and aft, felt emperial toe and know; Sirene's shadow both protects and stunts growth ".
Angor, amused, to be ten and now, speak as elder; " and what other act should we follow, praise prey? ..or shall pods look unto spores and call we; ' the littlest people ' ..or the ' sporazoids and spermacides ' "?
Stel snicked, " kitty needs something to sharpen her claws on, forbearance! ..just wait til hypernation when ' old iron thigh ' tosses ' cheetah ' into blacknest to learn patience ".

No sooner than the word for " wait " had left Stel's lips, then, came the long awaited word; ' when '! Ana; transfixed to Stel's face: frozen with foreboding, eyes gone from sockets, the passive platinum of wall's default in stead. Alarmed, ' cheetah ' turns to Ang and sees the same. Now, in beat's split, she sensed their dread; the ugly arrival of death's head!

Ana did as they had done; dropped portrayal's animation and dived deep the subliminal, there, to find courage in the collective of ' huntress '. So, ' cheetah ' came to know what the predator seldom experienced, the jamming of fight or flight triggers, the stammer of faltering fright! Yet, Sirene had nurtured well and made the lack of hesitancy their nature; as quick this ' thought ' raised, ever faster, its undoing. Collected sighs steal the galley's fraught ambiance, but still Ana's whisper, as if not to give position away; " it , has come "?
Stel giggled relief; " nay, that was nova's null, a bow wave not unlike tsunami's draining of coastal sea as if to make even more horrendous, its breaking wave, however, it has given self away, and so, even more absolute, my resolution of WHEN "! Angor grew tall for tell, nor could ' cheetah '  not notice his snake wrapt arm with rattles in full buzz; " and i know absolutely, WHERE "!
As 1, the 3 attune emperial feed.

Seen, power's pair; emperatress and emperator gone from galley, taken refuge in storm's stout shelter of replication chamber. Gathered too, watch's crew, so, 10 apes long foregone arboreal tree to seek fate, and have found it; waiting, huddled round chamber's floor in half lotus, hands joined in holi fervency. The mask of ViRun hovered wall, angels guarding this rite to exorcise fear! She, with looks caught up in the moment's nullification, He, nonplused, yet did not that kinky grin notch up a bit more nasty? He, who had sacrificed all flight triggers, still had places to go!

" Armada; make ready ", his emperative, now, all eyes to Rune. He had wrought the 200 ships of the line, from vertical orientation to the horizontal, so 200; l l l l l l l l's are now aligned - - - - - - - - . Now the ships would draw together from the center out, but Run need put StellarAngor in position to exit armada at 30 lights ( waypoint ' Evana ' ), on the total run of 70 lights for Mecha.
All 199 ships excluding VictrixRune and StellarAngor would burn half their fuel in 1.5 anums! .5 an anum to achieve sun's flyby, then a constant 1 gee for an anum to make 48% light speed. The last 2% taken by angular momentum from intervening bodies. That would put StelAng last in the firing order directly under the flagship.

Emperial flagships always arrived their destination's inner comet belt with full fuel load, so a least one ship could attempt escape from ambush. The expatriates' StellarAngor were given a free ride and hearty goodwill for services rendered. Rune makes his call; " all ships of line, engage docks except between 199 & the flagship...199 & flagship; repulse adjoining docks.. .StellarAngor; insert the 199, flagship gap and engage...once ships are fully engaged StellarAngor's call sign will be 199x...Ana; now known as 201, will dock atop VictrixRune; call sign 200".

' Iron thigh ' watches as over a million tons of inert and volatile matters join hands in holi weblock. In his eyes; a totem pole of nanocarbon, a diamond forged in fiery intent with sole intention; to protect carbon's life forms. Strange, was it not, that this one element had such universal purpose! Stranger, that life would put itself in harm's way, as today, though this be the same path to love; to be, all that is holi! He grins away muse at Run's report; " this emperator now has an armada "!  "Not just yet youngone ", posed Lor, then; "Shield, on guard"!  Run; " done "!

The Armada slipt, most this known universe, hide; hidden shielded in conjured magic! Tough love had given predator, tough hides, that skinny membrane that seemingly separates it, from itself; an imaginary boundary most magical! Alas, interstellar ships need a hide a bit more, prosaic. So, that last molecule still calling itself; " ship ", and so, closest to that riot called outer space, ' that ' molecule; in vast array, carbon nanotubes on end, ends that faced the interface of " ship " and " space ". An outer skin honeycombed with sweet spots that wavered; each nanotube home to a lone electron. And that lonely electron's " spin " controlled by its home nanotube, tubes; tied to eleven million super slaves! With " spin " predetermined by analog intent, this magical membrane could sense, and make sense; the seamy quantum realm! And with this holi science coupled to a cosmic ray laser, fuel could be smashed unto anti-matter; starry drive!

" Now, I be emperator, more, than in name, and now Rune, put this omission of mercy; in harm's way "! From seemingly nowhere; a torrid torch set to scorch the very skies, a rocket raging glaring red! The first burn of ship 1; half her fuel mass, 226 tons of deuterium dedicated to velocity, forced to chemical reaction, explosions in bare control. That mass, over and done in 100 beats. Now, ship 1, with 226 tons saved for braking, stored in the 6 external tanks. Its part done, ship 1 broke bond, repulsed Armada while its ' wheels ' spun as one in hard gyre to clear space, then a brief burst of rocket to gain 200, while 201 leaps nimbly off its flagship perch and gave way to 1. A play of magnetics locked the new configuration and Armada was back on line.

Next up, 2, but her burn, different; her rocket engine switched from chemical reactive to impulsive magnetoplasmic, and instead of molecules, ions spewed out in thrust. A thrust only one hundredth that of chemical but a hundred times more efficient. Ship 2 would eject 226 tons of ions in 10,000 beats, then with its precious load of braking fuel, leapfrog up and under 201's wing. Then, ship 3's turn, but with thrust slightly more choked yet the burn time slightly longer!

As each ship found itself in position to burn, this ratio of choked thrust to burn time graduated til by the time of solar flyby, Armada was at 1 gee, now; the star drive to nudge half light's speed. Yet, no matter how efficient the transforming of this voluminous mass of deuterium, the armadal mega mass could not attain half light on these burns alone. Thrust was used to reach intervening bodies of gravity to extract mam, maximum angular momentum.
When ship 1 had fired in raw thrust, Armada had moved all of a hand span and that towards natural drift's direction. But what a monumental leap that was; 1,000,000 tons no longer a body at relative rest, now, a body in motion. And now, each spewed ion would push infinitesimally harder on this holi mass, push inexorably down gravity's well, towards the flight's first goal; in two month's time, Sirene's sun!

Sling shot that mass monster max angular momentum and gain more inertia, deviate course a bit and fly by one of the gas giants for another kick; then the outer reaches, comet's clime. A lazy blizzard of dirty snowflakes, assaulted and peppered by ancient novas. Yet, some of those flakes come accumulated unto wee frozen worlds, something; Armada can kick around. And if by simple gyre, Armada can put a mass greater than it, in way, then that path taken. If possible, that icy ball kicked homeward, a worthy goal.
Two anums time, passed in angular moments, til Armada: now interstellar! And now, entire solar systems' masses to kick ass, and as ever, more; burnt out star hulks, dim brown's, and of course, bits of blacknest. Everywhere; dark matter and in irony: the dark force, next, to be drawn on. Every where; energy, if one was tough enough to take it, take the path of least! Finally; interstellar, when time is magically marked: expressway. Half light; the speedy limit! Times dreamt in alternative realities, thought; the only limit!

All, toyed thoughts til ' when ' came into play. The emperial feed was growing hot, three pods in agitation's state with 900 beats left Stel's infernal clock. All awonder, when emperator would make his move. ' Old iron thigh ' had found his cool on battle's field, knew better, than to ready troops in pretext and dull their edge with lull. A steady stream of orders that built steam, then, the crisp command that sent their keening lust, sharp to crux;

(800) " All ships, mark time in beat with 199x...Now "!

(700) " Ship 201, synchronize north tower with Armada, zero lag in reactive times ".

(600) " Ship 2, kill engine til further order and freeze it nigh absolute, no infra must escape ".

(500) " All ships, recheck shield, especially where ship 2 left an exhaust trail, we can not have nova's neap find a path of least and shove a lightning bolt up Armada's collective ass "!

(400) a splash of laff sloshed round the magnetically bound ships; comic's relief to steady ' ready ', now for ' aim ;

(300) " Rune, tell ' old iron thigh ' that all Armada's fight triggers are in the hot hands of 199x, also, that the defensive comets are set for self destruct "!

(200) " aye, aye, emperator; 199x is hot and holding, and the comets are holding deathly still "!

All, now on StellarAngor's teeny shoulders, weary from the carry of prey and bad news these 54 lights, soon to find remedy or final repose. Loving eyes look deep, a smile started but got lost in faces showing wonder as ' where ' and ' when ' crammed throats. Stel gives Ana hurried nod, quick, ' cheetah's speed of light to tower. Tower's worst webcast now en route while StelAng gag on obscenity; this cosmic coming, life's deadly blow, a foul gust of interstellar proportions, rushing rising overwhelming, omnivorous omega. Tens draw heart and scream;
(001) "FIRE"!

incoming

A light beat away; a crooked smile upon a startled heaven's countenance, pearls strung before a swine. One hundred bestilled comets, Sirene's select cull, these three hundred anums since first known; a bordering bitch be bent on suicide and could take out the whole neighborhood with her affliction! In appeasement; a finely wrought necklace, as well matched as could be found wildside. A lace in perfect balance with large rocks ten strads in diameter at center and a shapely tapering down to the one strad gems at string's ends. Save, these rocks were never stone, but water; excitable hydrogen and its ready mate, agitated oxygen.

For greater allure, the jeweler's had set a fleck of diamond to each comely comet; Sirene's hellfire engine of smart nanocarbon construct. And this paste, rarest of all, could self-destruct!
Of course, these engines drew their fuel from comet's surface, yet they were instructed further; bore to core. Here, heated probes carved out a slurry of slush. A simple tenspan sphere, but of compounded conical facets; shaped charges, all pointing to a bodyspan sphere dead center. Now the alien alchemy turns on the probes' catalytic converters; the shaped charge becomes deuterium and the focus of its attention, a condensed ball of lithium! The bore; a fuse of gaseous H and O ready to ignite from engine's reversed pulsed plasma. Potential; baby bang!

Constant, the careful shaving of this strung out ice, every carat precious; but only if the overall tapering ratio was held to perfection. Besides weight, position was critical, so, each giant gem; set on magnetic string. Like ships of the line at engagement, the comet's had their own two modified docks at 0 and 180 degrees equator. Thus every comet could hold to its sister and spin on these poles for effective gyre, or swing round that hellish engine fixed to 90 degrees equator and give timely burst. One other constant curve must be held; that perfect arch that faced away from Sirene's holi features and directly into the nova's evil eye.
And all this, keeping station to Sirene's annual orbit; a celestial smile, most disarming! A busy smile, beamed some one thousand strads wide, some aquazillion carats of weight; waiting for ever, primed: to crack primeval dawn!

(001) Fierce fire crackled; Armada's lightest broadside: 202 lancing lasers glowering green to smite those 100 engines brought round to line of fire, comet's string come comatose. Engines fuse to thermodynamic fusion, plasmatic cores' implode to near zero; rebound unbinds every molecule, every comet in complete shatters, now, a vapor once solid.
Already, nova's brunt attempting breach, but now; the timed arrival of tower's mighty 'cast in conjunction with Armada's own web broadside, both 'casts; embodiments of time's space now emboldened with where and when. Impacted by the web from two dimensions and a third, time, the comet cloud was caught confused; overquick did its quarks go quirky, ' spin ' spun inside out, matter everted to antimatter! Nova's breaking wave, annihilated!, and that what poured through defense's self breach, no worse than Sirene's own sun's worst flare.
No cataclysmic upheaval, nor blinding flash on stellar scale, the comet's arch had blown the hell out of harm's way! Yet vacuum had been vacated, and into this backwash, Armada was tost while Sirene lost a dozen beats of annual run.
How convenient, this coin's toss; with exodus thrown a bit nearer, its sunny goal!

anticlimax

Aboard VictrixRune, tossed to chamber's corner; a heap of apes. Heard amid ungainly unscramble, Lor's snort, " Next time, I'll have the floor grow some restraints "! Rubbing arms and limbs, the group sorta guffs at his sore sport while; ' any more, next times!, will be in full armor ', grumped most minds. Finding legs, emperator looks to wall, Ana and StelAng were gone, hopefully just to get galley slaves in order. ViRun's mask sat askew, like a picture frame needing straightening, but that was happening even as ' iron ' spoke; " Rune, damage report "!

While troop made way back to emperial's galley, Run's half of mask kept pace on rimway's wall with running account; " every ship; sound as its moment of berth...all pods alive, and kicking...as expected neutrino flux was 3X's this locale's norm, same with cosmic ray counts...inevitable also, that some slaves lost their base bonds, but redundant circuits have shunted, already we have full compliment and ", Rune grows grin, " full compliance!. as to our carry, all vital signs are optimal; emperatress' chosen went rem ", he apes scalawag's grin, " likely, chasing some night mare cross dreamy scape!..dna and protein profiles are under way, Vi's full report, within this hour. ..emperator's dogs; already checked with no discernible differences since they first donned armor at ports of entry...and last; as duty demands, we hazard guess: exposed to these radiation counts, the 1 in a 1000000 mutation rate is probably 100 to a 1000000".

Run sighed as if this was his fault, but emperatress saw the twinkle in ' iron's eye and need not take esp to read his rogue thought; ' the more mutants the merrier '! Nor did she fault Lor for these states of affair, no matter who had been emperator, her chosen would still have been subject to this storming time, and who but 'old iron thigh' would have dared find shelter in the very lee of the anticyclone, thus hold injury to insult. The entourage was about to pass emperial cabin when ' iron thigh ' paused, reached out to the nearest dog at hand; "' porcupine's prick ', save emperator a bit of time; go to mine tote, take out the token peace pipe and pouch and join us in galley's calm, Run; give him pass to emperial space, and ship 2; resume burn "!

Now, a galley full; ' prick ', just taking seat, ' iron ' with pouch in hand. On wall; a world of hurt, a once holi planet lively in marbled blues and whites, now wrapt livid with aurora prism pist. As expected, ' Evana's worst had been nullified, yet those nigh endless entrails still spilled, it would be anums before local space be rid her rotting stench! As known, the underworld survived, if that mattered with all wildside irradiated.
The exiles' emotions, also rocked; hearts broken, souls clutching dear memories, farewells twice felt; yet minds of steadfast stone. For this, they had been chosen, exiled for resolve bordering criminal intent.
They turned merciless backs on merciless Sirene.

Callous hands stroke soft suede to break pouch seal, out; egg shaped bowl with graceful tapering stem, a hand span of well oiled ebony. The egg splits to hidden hinge and scoops pouch's content. Wildside's weedy tobacco, known to calm effect; raised to Lor's lip. Rune did honors; providing pinpoint laser for emperator's fire. Lid closed to special stop, preserving dear glow, he passes to Leone in token's gesture. No female would take direct hit, not with twins enberth, yet she tolerated Lor's filtered exhale, as she would campfire's whimsical smoke, and who could forsake that happy hunting hazard? Round counter, pipe's pass, only to touch male lips, but the mere pass was honor taken and to pass on, honor given. Passed round, and back to Lor, who snaps lid tight and puts away, precious store. They had taken breath together, thus, ' conspired ', thusly; a bond that even Sirene could never shake!!

Emperator began the litany that went with every exodus, time immortal. Every new watch captain on each watch wheel invoked the same; " Primo: in the first place...this ship, or, one and the same; ships...are now 'sine qua non': without which, nothing; something indispensable......"

paradigm's shift

' cheetah ' leaps into litany; " Sirene calls out to Armada "!
' Iron's arm raises to halt; " 201, hold that feed a moment. Run, tell quick, have all the watch crews shared unspoken breath "?
" aye, aye, emperator; ' their hearts and minds are yours ' ".
" while our spirits; ever our own ", emperatress finishing the time honored token pledge of alliance. Run ran on; " aye again, and most now listen to the litany of ' ship's contract '".
" Well and good, Rune, now quicker still; emperial cabin and mine private kbord ".
Run; " in hand, but its password is encrypted in quirk "! He had already started to break Lor's code, for no slave could stand up to pods, especially so, on their very own walls.
Emperator saves a bit of time; " raptor runt "!
R; " i am in" !
L; " Read scenario; B ".
R; " done, but i can't believe eyes "!
L; " Believe, and be ready to enact ".
" ready "!
L; " 201, now, place call on wall "!

Radio's spectrum had been novely displaced and even this webcast warbled like a scene running in and out trees' shade, yet the message be loud and clear. Seen, Dromo armed akimbo, Kral's folded to chest and the new planetary emperatress, arms limp to side, head bowed, all, with a tower's observation deck as backdrop. Ana directs an aside that only Leone and Lor can overhear; " north tower "!

Sirene's new queen gave voice, Lor, knowing it made browbeaten issue through Kral and Dromo's intent; "I be Hela, emperatress to this Sirene and all her system's space. So, do I decree; that armada return to the towers' service and rebuild this holi planet "! Kral was clearing throat, obviously ready to put teeth in threat but the words " armada return " had triggered Lor's premonition. Using Leone's curt gesture to cut time short, Lor slashes throat; the signal to execute scenario B. Rune lets loose Armada's most sundering broadside; withering webfire!

He need not even aim, just dump this holi hell unto north tower's warbly ionic trace. In instant; the observation deck's wall, welded short, every bit of slavery wiped free. Completely lost, the drive to keep super conductance live. The immovable half million tons of towering stator met its rotating equal with irresistible resistance and grinds to a fault. The now rotating inner stator, keeper to armored cars and loaded lifts, lost track. Down, spinning in free fall's terminating velocity; four loads of Sirene's heavy business. Three cars had stayed landing deck, but one, deliverer of attempted coup, lost its treacherous hold on observatory, dropt thirty strads in scorched reentry.
On port of entry's floor, droppings of tower and dome's open elevator shaft; the shaft tenth choked in crunched debris.

And while shaft held true, its massive sliding doors had left keep and joined wholly the blast of shattered carbon nanotech cross dome's floor. Decimated by blast's path, some one thousand suits of light, armor for the twenty thousand emperator's field witnesses now fallen to two dictators. All this armor, all this quickly; proof of plot's early hatch!
Nor did Rune's devastation quit with north tower, he had split web's fire and let half find the path of least over Sirene's encompassing raving aurora of many ionized paths. In lightning speed, one led to south tower and smote it with north's measure. Known, that this Sirene could not clear towers and put them back on line with her mining fleet blown to mere lifeboats needing rescue, not til Armada reached sun's tug and beyond any tower's reach!

outgoing

Emperator; having done his best mischief, resumed the litany of ship's contract; wherein: the ship becomes all, each and every hand, secondary. An affirmation since Sirene Prime's ancient sea going days, when clans encountered diversity on world's scale. The ship; now life itself, a holi planet scaled down, so hopes might soar!

So the watch wears on; the greatest apes as mere observers, pods, left to their devices, that they learn their craft over well. Lest, of course, the unprecedented presumes, then, must all hands save ship. So, satisfied to Armada's course, emperial's seek ' later ' in cabin's recluse.
Bitch and bastard upon bawdy bed. Love's bodies in long tactile touch, from arms' pillowed heads to terrible toes. Their skin talks in libido's lingo as minds idly canter, they have weeks to while, enjoy labor's fruit. Leone steals the quiet, " So, emperator mine, surely you knew Dromo and Kral would tempt treason, as rats aboard sinking ship! Just as you knew they would not fire on Armada first; she, the object of their desire. Such desperation, to make the most hollow of threats; to hold life hostage, prey on one's own kind!

" I understand your worst case now; they will come after us for revenge, for nothing better to do, they are emperials after all, with powers that strive to be used. Probably in five anums with half formed pods that they will never let free. And what better place for ' old iron thigh ' to set a trap than Mecha. Well, Sirene has finally found a worthy opponent; herself! This Sirene has been
put on a sorry path, yet, I see clearer now, this way of exodus. These pooled genes; to be intergalactic beings "!

Emperatress is satisfied, for now; sated full with ' when '. And now, her needs be filled abrim; stuft with stiff ' where '! Slowly she turns to, tired of body's dirty language; time for action come loudly, gold aglow, mouth open to suggestion, she takes a rogue's! ahh, aint love tough

A beginning