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Massimo studied the crat, fascinated by the part machine, partwhatever-the-fokk-they-brewedin the evolutionary stew of the Omega-verse.
The figure was humanoid-shaped with limbs and a head, but that was as close as it got to being human. Its body was hardshell, with a striking gold pattern running through the middle of its see-through armoured carapace. The head was transparent too, ovular, wide with the long end sitting on the shoulders. The same gold patterning formed its eyes and mobile mouth. It wore a gold cloak over its carapace that billowed behind it.
Massimo braced himself, smiling uneasily. ‘Eminence 478Q1, if I had known -.’
‘That Dunia would awake? Even after assuring us this would never be the case because the Prime was dead, and with it, his ability to summon the planet’s consciousness?’
‘I swear, I did not know. If I had, I would have -’.
Massimo’s words cut off when as one, his present company, a unit of guard crats on one of the blockade ships, swivelled their glassy skulls away from him and onto the large holo screens that wrapped most of the bulkhead.
‘Let us review the damage we sustained so we can make an informed decision.’
The vision on-screen, captured days earlier when Dunia had risen from its slumber, was one of hellish wonder. The crat force, too large to land at the foot of any biodome, had set down in the open valleys. That lay at the centre of the Zaalalum forests, a few hours from the megacity of New Malindi. Then they’d marched through what Massimo had promised was a dormant ecology.
He’d been incredibly confident, seeing as the One Dunia Coalition he led had enacted its power grab and successfully unseated the Prime. He’d shot the Prime after ambushing him in his office. He’d even fired plenty of rounds to ensure Kei’Lano Munene III was well and truly dead and would no longer summon Dunia to life.
Until the impotent planet had awoken and unleashed the fury of its forests, flora and fauna with zero fokks to give.
On-screen, a clade of 100-metre-tall phytaphylia trees tore apart the remains of armed flyers; They picked off the enemy fighters and crats with their long gametangia sprouting from along their trunks. In the distance, elephantine Dracula bees picked off the limbs of the invading army. While rainforest brachyphia ferns rose in waves above ground, wrapping their fifty-meter fronds around escaping crats, coating each one within a slimy viscera and stuffing them head first into their innards. Above, the maelstrom raged on unceasingly.
‘Status?’ the lucent admiral demanded, breaking the dead air.
‘Due to the planetary attack, we lost the 208456 battalion. Neither 209458 nor 3907626 are in communication, Eminence. At this time, only two of our squadrons made it to the city of New Malindi and one each to Paris Minor and Rambasa. We subsequently lost Rambasa as well to the defenders.’
The crat’s Eminence turned back towards the hyperventilating man and glared at him through the strangely glowing orbs.
‘Massimo Makori. The Technocracy only goes to battle if it has a reasonable chance of winning. We withdrew our armada because this invasion, while noble it may be, seems to be a hopeless cause. We left behind three capital ships, one of which you’re now on, to patrol the planet and await the outcome of this meeting. So the question to you is, should we retreat entirely?’
‘I’m unworthy to make such an estimation. I’ll leave it to your Eminence’s wisdom to make the right choice’, Massimo replied, licking dry lips.
‘Our wisdom, Massimo Makori, for The Technocracy is one.’ The mechanical voice somehow, against all odds, sounded weary. ‘I will consult with the other Eminences. Your survival depends on what we decide.’
The air on the bridge chilled even further. Massimo waited for what seemed a long moment as unseen consultations took place.
He knew he’d made a deal with the devil a few standard years ago. When The Proxima Leadership had sent an intermediary to request Massimo for a small amount of xentium. For research purposes only, of course.
The intermediary, Lahita Togas, was a Rhesian underworld figure and owner of a brothel Massimo frequented on the pleasure planet of Zanyria. She’d been quite persuasive. She’d assured him he’d be well paid for his troubles.
He’d agreed, but only because his comm tab was ringing off the hook with frantic calls from his lenders scattered throughout the Pegasi system.
At the exchange a few weeks later, Massimo had been pleasantly surprised by the generous payment of jewels and gold. They amounted to four times the value of the lump of xentium he’d provided. Lahita had assured him the significant price was a sign of his sponsor’s deep gratitude.
It had been more than enough to pay off all his debts. He’d used the excess to celebrate, throwing a lavish banquet for his friends.
Lahita Togas had been the party’s VIP guest. But she’d never shown.
However, she’d called weeks later. Weeping. Pleading for her life. Begging for the return of the overpayment of jewels and gold. Beseeching him to meet with her now enraged sponsors to find a way to remedy the situation.
He’d hung up on her and ignored her frantic calls afterwards. Blocked her. Wished against all hope that she’d go away.
She hadn’t. Instead, she’d appeared, her body stiff with rigour mortis, on the steps of Massimo’s holiday home on the coast of Rambasa. With a comm tab resting on her battered chest that contained clear instructions on where to meet his new benevolent sponsors.
He’d hastened to the secret meeting in The Badlands, deeply afraid for his life.
He’d docked his ship with a Technocracy cruiser in the shadow of a darkened moonlet.
Inside, he’d met with Eminence 478Q1, also known as the admiral, who’d demanded he facilitate untapped access to xentium. To help build more extensive, more lethal and long-range battleships that could traverse their galaxy and help them win the war against The Alpha Imperium, their bitter enemies in the Omega-verse.
