Starstrider - An (unfinished) Space Opera story I wrote when I was thirteen

[Omniarch]

Salutations, dear reader! What you see before you is a hastily-edited transcription of an old, old story of mine, my second in fact, primarily written in the latter half of 2014. Starstrider is, in essence, an incredibly cheesy space opera, heavily inspired by the likes of Star Wars and Avatar: The Last Airbender, as well as whatever 4x space strategy game I was playing at the time. The story comes complete with evil space robots, elven psychics, dark lords, furries and a plenty of superfluous world-building. While decidedly questionable in execution, I feel that it is just competent enough to be entertaining, mostly thanks to over a year's worth of rewrites, carried out primarily in 2015.

 

Writing this story was a formative experience for me, and it is still my longest manuscript to date, clocking in at around 66,000 words of narmy melodramatic science-fantasy. Rather than let it rot on my hard-drive, I've decided to upload the story here, chapter by chapter, on a daily schedule, for all my fellow Doomers to see.

 

To kick things off, I will post both the first chapter and the prologue here, spoilered for convenience. Without further ado...

 

Prologue

Spoiler

Deep in the starry sky, far above the Galactic plane, an enormous monastery floated, adrift in the cold void. Within this great, black structure, in its grand meeting chamber, four beings sat upon grim thrones, facing each other, deep in contemplation. They had been in meditation for some time before one of their number spoke:

 

“Hatred, Fear, Darkness. These mental states and emotions reign over our Galaxy, plague our homes, infest our cities and rule our lives. The people waver under the stress these emotions exert. If nothing can be changed, then they, I, all things that live, think and love shall wither away. But what is to be done? The worlds of the once-great powers lie in ruins, their fleets, devastated. Collective Purification Fleets watch over the surviving colonies from afar, striking mercilessly and without reason. What can be done?” these were the words of Grand Master Telessar as he sat upon his cold throne.

 

His companions, three other ancient beings, gazed mournfully upward, looking through the great dome windows of the chamber to look upon their home. The majestic spiral structure of Arkus looked peaceful and quiet from so far. It concealed the ugly truth; a Galaxy where organic life faced total extinction at the hands of the ruthless Collective. For a thousand years, these machines, forged in the fires of eternal war, had subjugated the Galaxy. Their control zone stretched from the former Supersector Zarkhus in the Galactic west to the inner edge of the Vulfuri Wastes in the east, and from the isolated worlds of the Periphery in the north, to the chaotic Southern Fringes.

 

Under the direction of the OVERMIND, the Purification Fleets continue to sweep the last unconquered regions of the Galaxy, hunting for any world or power that could oppose their might. Those that survived were left to their own devices, as they were considered beneath the contempt of their robotic tyrants. Organics and synthetics alike suffered under the tyranny of the Collective. All were subject to the same brutal treatment by their Mechanoid overlords.

 

“Once, upon a time long past, I may have offered a word of encouragement, but even I can now clearly see the hopelessness of our situation,” said a tall, gaunt, skeletal being sitting to Telessar’s left. “There is nothing we can do.”

 

There was a long silence.

 

“We must not lose hope, Zantragar,” said the Master to Telessar’s right, a short, almost chubby being with a large beard. “If we were to lose hope, then all is lost.”

 

“I will not continue to put false hope into the hearts of the people, Asairan” snapped Zantragar. “I have already made plans for my followers’ escape. We shall flee into the intergalactic void, and there, we will be safe.”

 

“Zantragar, you can’t leave! That would destroy what little unity we have left!” pleaded Asairan. “You must stay!”

“And perish along with you and your followers? No thank you!”

 

“Telessar, tell him he cannot leave, tell him we cannot give up!” implored Asairan desperately. His kind features were wracked with stress and fear.

“I don’t know, Asairan. Perhaps Zantragar is right,” he said glumly.

 

“No,” said a fourth voice, that of Masdarian. Masdarian was ancient even by Telessar’s standards and had great influence over the others, and his voice possessed a deep, resonating quality. He was a large, wizened, almost tree-like being.

 

“No?” questioned Zantragar.

 

“I did not call you, the Masters of the Old Orders here so that I may listen to an argument I have heard a thousand times. No, I called you here so that I may reveal what I have seen, and the plan I have subsequently formulated.” Masdarian said.

 

“What is this plan?” asked Telessar. “Is it the key to our salvation?”

 

“Perhaps, but this is not some miraculous change of events. It is but a chance,” Masdarian replied.

 

“A chance?” Asairan inquired.

 

“An alignment of circumstances, more precisely, that gives us and all sentient beings a fighting chance.” said Masdarian. “Let me explain; have any of you noticed a change in the behaviour of the Collective fleets?”

 

They all shook their heads.

 

“It is hard to notice now, but as the changes run their course, it will become more obvious. What is this shift? It appears the Collective is focusing its attention inwards, as if the OVERMIND is preparing for something.”

 

“But what force could possibly challenge the Collective?” asked Zantragar incredulously.

 

“That I do not yet know. But what I do know is that the Collective is focusing less attention on the rim and therefore, us. I have discovered that through this lack of attention, and a series of possible events, a course of action that could lead to the salvation of the Galaxy.”

 

“Salvation? You mean, we can actually liberate the Galaxy?” Telessar asked, shocked.

 

“Possibly, yes. But for this plan to work, I will need all of your cooperation. I have already met with all the other major Resistance factions, and they have all pledged their support to me. What say you?”

 

The other three looked at one another. Telessar thought long and hard. He evaluated the possibilities, and, judging by the other two’s expressions, they were as well.

 

After a long while, Zantragar spoke: “Yes, I shall aid you, so that all may be free,” said Zantragar, and as he said it, some of the fire of old returned to his eyes. “I shall call off my escape.”

 

“It is a great risk, but the rewards…liberty and peace for the entire Galaxy, are worth it,” sighed Asairan. “I’m with you.”

“And you, Telessar?” asked Masdarian.

 

After a long silence, Telessar finally said: “I’m in. If there is even a remote chance that this endeavour will save the Galaxy, then by the Forces of Unity I’ll stand by you.”

 

“Good, I am glad you are all ready and willing to follow me,” said Masdarian. “Now, let me explain my plan. It shall take roughly two years to put all our pieces in place. But, first of all, we need a Starship and a crew, and I think I’ve located a candidate…”

 

Chapter 1: The Chase

Spoiler

Lassan cursed as a bullet whizzed past his head. Other assorted projectiles followed suit as he dashed round a corner.

“Come back ‘ere you rat!” roared one of his assailants.

 

Lassan took a sharp turn and tore up a flight of stairs and saw to his horror that his current route led him along a twenty-metre stretch of open corridor. He had no choice but to sprint along it and hope that none of the shots would find their mark. As he ran along, he noticed, unsurprisingly, that all the apartment doors were shut and locked.

 

“I guess the locals don’t like the idea of being shot full of holes or beaten senseless any more than me,” thought Lassan.

 

He took another turn and saw a lift. It was his lucky day; the lift could take him to the top floor. The tell-tale sound of his assailants came into hearing and he frantically pressed the up button. It took a few agonizing seconds for the door mechanism to work. He squeezed through the slowly opening door and hurriedly pressed the close button.

 

Finally, the doors began to slowly drift together and just as they were about to close, his assailants rounded a corner and, for a split second, the lead assailant’s eyes and Lassan’s met. Before anyone could act, the doors shut and the lift rocketed skywards. As it neared the top floor, Lassan began to think. His pursuers had caught him in the lobby, and his first instinct had told him to ascend. Only now was he seeing a problem; he was now two hundred metres above ground level.

 

He would have to jump to the nearest building, but it was at least twenty metres away and ten below. The lift info-pad showed how close he was to the top. Floor 30. Floor 31. Floor 32. Floor 33. It just kept going up. Then a thought struck him; he could use his crowbar to slide down the clothing lines strewn between the slum-blocks. 

 

The lift info pad finally stopped at Floor 40. The lift had reached the top of the shaft and as the doors opened Lassan ran out, searching for the final staircase. He could now hear the Akkada thugs charging through the building, shouting and cursing as they went.

 

He located the ladder which led to the roof and began climbing it. When he reached the top, he rushed to the edge and swung himself down to a perch precariously upon a windowsill. He took out his crowbar and swung it over the line, but as he did so, the Akkada thugs rushed out onto the roof-top. He could hear their surprise.

 

“Where ‘as he gotten to!” yelled Thug No#1.

 

“I dunno, he must have used the other staircase,” replied Thug No#2.

 

“Well go and look you ‘orrible lot! I’ll stay up here in case he comes back!” bellowed Thug No#1, who, Lassan decided, was the leader.

 

“All right, all right we’re going, no need to yell,” muttered Thug No#2 as he and the other underlings rushed downstairs.

 

Lassan sighed with relief. One thug he could deal with. He poked his head ever so slightly up; Thug No#1 was looking the other way. Lassan slowly lifted his energy pistol. But the gun clinked as it touched the neocrete gutter and Thug No#1 spun round and fired several shots.

 

“Got ya!”

 

Lassan hunched down below the gutter. He had to get rid of this thug, or the others would finish him off, as they were sure to come running after hearing Thug No#1’s gun go off.

 

“Come on out, thief, if you hand over the documents, I might just let you live,” teased Thug No#1.

 

Lassan had found a crack, through which he could see the thug’s movements. Lassan was beginning to lose hope when a large flying creature, a very noisy one, kicked up an awful fuss as it flew past. Thug No#1 spun round, Lassan seized his chance, lifting his pistol and firing an energy burst into the brute’s back.

 

Thug No#1 fell, steaming, to the ground. Lassan felt sick. He had, on occasion, been forced to take lives, but he still felt bad. The other thugs, by now had begun to climb the ladder, so Lassan quickly took out his crowbar, swung it over the line, and pushed. It was hardly the ride-of-a-lifetime some people would no doubt have imagined it would be; rather it was fast and terrifying.

 

Lassan looked back just once; the thugs were too busy milling about the dead body of Thug No#1 to notice until it was too late. Lassan rushed for cover as bullets and other projectiles impacted around him. The roof-top staircase greeted him coldly as he rushed down the dirty stairs.

 

“I’m free! I’d better call B-9 and ask him to pick me up,” thought Lassan.

 

He took out his Omnicom and tried to type in the number, but running and typing isn’t easy. When he finally had B-9 on call he said: “Hello? B-9?”

 

“Lassan! What happened to you! I’ve been calling and calling and you didn’t respond!” answered B-9.

 

“Never mind that, where can you pick me up?” asked Lassan.

 

“At docking bay-7,” replied the robot.

 

“Docking bay-7! But that’s eight kilometres away! I’ve got a gang on my tail for goodness sake!”

 

“I’m sorry, but that’s the nearest pick-up point,”

 

“Fine, I’m on my way, Lassan out,”

 

Lassan was nearing the second-to-last floor of the building when Thug No#2 suddenly appeared atop the main staircase. It was impossible to tell who was more shocked. Lassan fired a shot but it missed and in the subsequent confusion charged down the nearest corridor. The thugs were not far behind. Lassan thought fast.

 

The only way out was through the apartments. Lassan glanced at the nearest door, levelled his pistol and blasted the door-handle. The wooden door didn’t stand a chance against the powerful energy burst released by his gun. He rushed through the smoke and felt sorry for the person whose door he had just blown in.

 

The owner of the room was cowering in a corner. Lassan ignored him as he rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. He quickly began opening the window in the bathroom. He was just small enough to squeeze through, and as he fell out an explosion from behind told him that Thug No#2 had blown down the door. He slid head-first onto the canvas tent of a pushy stall-keeper.

 

 “Thank goodness for pushy stall-keepers!” thought Lassan as he fell through the canvas roof, right onto a rather surprised stall-keeper.

 

“What’d you think you're doing?” said the large Vreshian stall-keeper.

 

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry,” said Lassan. “Here’s some money for your trouble.”

 

Lassan pushed a few credits into the Vreshian’s hands and took off into the street.

 

He had left his rented Hover Bike on the Southern side of the first apartment block, just round the next corner. As he dashed round he saw, to his relief that the bike was still there. He jumped onto the bike and turned it on. A low humming sound filled the air as the EM-Repulsors came online, followed by a low rumbling as the Ion Engine came to life.

 

Lassan’s bike streaked round the corner and headed for the Star Docks. The streets of Valimaar’s largest city, Krongore, were dilapidated and filled with every sort of scum. Stall-keepers screamed and ran as Lassan raced through the crowded streets, hovering just above the heads of the fleeing pedestrians.

 

“I think I’ve lost them,” thought Lassan with relief.

 

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a group of Akkada Combat Bikes roared onto the street from inconspicuous garages and alleys right behind him. A salvo of machine gun fire flew past him as he took a sharp turn to evade their bullets.

 

“I’ll get my head blown off if this carries on,” thought Lassan grimly. “I’ll have to find another way.”

 

Less than a minute later, a way presented itself; a crude ramp had been constructed by locals so they could wheel building supplies to build new houses on top of the single-story slum sprawl. Lassan changed course and rocketed up the ramp. He heard the sound of bikes crashing into each other as the thugs tried to follow him.

 

A few members of the rear guard managed to make it up the ramp and began to shoot at Lassan; however, he had already put nearly one hundred metres between the thugs and himself, so most of the shots went astray with only a few pinging off his bike’s carbonex bumper.

 

Lassan was, by now, more than half-way to Docking Bay-7, with only around four thousand metres to go. However, Lassan noticed that a few hundred metres ahead of him, another ramp was leading higher, up into the largest of the slum houses.

 

“Oh no, if I carry on climbing, I’ll end up in the Water Slums,” thought Lassan in dismay.

 

The Water Slums were slums built on stilts, sitting in the former estuary of Krongore River. If he fell off the building in the water slums, he would be easy prey because the stilts were too close together for bike travel and getting off his bike and into the water would be suicide as the water was full of carnivorous fish and amphibians.

 

He glanced behind; many more thugs had found their way onto the roof-tops. If they caught up, he would surely be killed. He had no choice but to carry on, as he was no longer bordering the street and driving off would mean near certain death. He saw the dirty water below him on either side as he climbed the ramp and continued across a series of bridges, decreasing speed as he did so.

 

The thugs appeared as they came to the top of the ramp, many of them forgetting to decrease in speed and falling off the walkways into the water with a splash, shortly followed by screams of agony as the vicious predators tore them to shreds. Lassan increased speed again as the remaining thugs opened fire. Suddenly he came onto a wide bridge, about forty metres long and at the end, was a sheer drop into the water below.

 

Lassan, in a split second, leaped off the bike in the nick of time and crashed down through a weak board to a lower walkway. A few moments later there was a splash as the bike landed in the water.

 

“Well, that’s the end of my bike,” thought Lassan glumly.

 

He heard the sound of the thug’s bikes’ directional thrusters bring them screeching to a halt.

 

“Oi where’d ‘e go!” bellowed a thug.

 

“’e must’ve fallen of the edge,” speculated another thug.

 

“’e’s a slippery one, no mistake. ‘E’d never be dumb enough to fall off,” interjected a third thug.

 

“Look ‘ere! An ‘ole! Looks like someone fell through ‘ere,” said yet another thug.

 

Lassan drew his gun, ready for a fight. The first thug peeped his head through only to have it blown off by Lassan.

 

“’e’s fried boss!” yelled third thug.

 

“Get ‘im!” yelled second thug.

 

Lassan had already dashed away, feeling ill, seeing someone get their head blown off is not a pretty sight. He saw that he was only a short way from an abandoned warehouse, near to Docking Bay-7. He decided to make for the warehouse. One of the slum towers, he knew it to be called The Drunken Groatian, was in jumping distance of the dike on which the warehouses were built.

 

There was one more slum tower between him and the Groatian. It was a particularly large and sinister structure, no doubt filled to the brim with scum and villains. He was reminded of his predicament by the sound of the thugs smashing their way through the rotting woodwork. Lassan darted across the plank leading to the building and found to his surprise that it was empty.

 

“Unusual for sure,” thought Lassan. ”I should tread carefully.”

 

He crept further into the dark building, getting more and more unnerved by the eerie silence. He was almost relieved when he heard the thugs climbing the ramp, one at a time by the sound of it, to prevent all of them being killed if their quarry was in a fighting mood. Lassan began to quicken his pace, but still treading carefully. He could see the light at the other end of the building when a lightning burst flew through the air and impacted a metre or two behind him.

 

He fell forward but managed to push himself out of sight before a second shot hit him. Another burst exploded nearby, this time setting fire to the dryer wood deeper inside. The air was filled with shouts as the thugs ran from the strange blasts. The flames caused Lassan to panic and flee. He ran through the meandering passages, turning left and right to escape the flames.

 

Eventually, he saw a light below him and, before thinking of the consequences, smashed the creaking wood with his hands, he slid through the hole and fell, landing a few metres below in an island of foul, stinking sand. He scrambled to his feet and drew his pistol, fearing an attack by the ferocious wildlife. After thirty seconds of nothing attacking, Lassan lowered his pistol slightly and began to consider an escape route.

 

He could now see the Groatian was nearby. But there were still about five hundred metres of filthy, carnivore infested water to cross. He could see the thugs scrambling down the walkway to the safety of the other building. By now the sun was approaching its final quarter, and night-time in Krongore was not pleasant. He would have to leave the island eventually, as the building above him was on fire and would sooner or later, come down.

 

He could try and make it to the Groatian, but he would likely be eaten by the savage fish or drown in the disgusting water. There was also the question of who, or what, set fire to the building. He would have to move quietly and slowly. The trader looked around and saw a large log, rotten to the point of falling apart, but still afloat. As much as he hated the idea of standing in this filthy log, it was his only option. He took out his handy crowbar and began pummelling the wood to make two footholds. It took him about five minutes to carve out two footholds, and by then the fire had become a raging inferno.

 

He boarded his log-boat and pushed off. It was hard work just staying aboard let alone driving the boat, and it was more than half an hour before he finally reached one of the Groatian’s ladders and hauled himself up. Lassan’s limbs ached from fatigue, and his neck smarted from sunburn. The trader’s pallid spacer skin was not used to the searing heat of planet-side summer.

 

“I better call B-9, he will be getting worried,” thought Lassan who had deactivated his Omnicom so no one would call him and give his location away.

 

Lassan took his Omnicom out; it was wet and filthy despite his best efforts. Luckily, Omnicoms are tough little things.

 

“B-9, don’t worry I’m fine, I’ll be there soon,” said Lassan over the Omnicom.

 

“Right ho, I’ll be waiting,” was the reply.

 

Lassan by this point was rather hungry. He had a small, water-tight, back-pack in which he kept his necessities, like food and clinical supplies. He chomped a nutrient bar and carried on his way up the network of ladders. Once he reached the outer walkways, Lassan began to move stealthily along the edges of the Groatian. It was dusk by the time he had sneaked onto the city’s dike. The trader was nearing a large warehouse, a tall sinister building which he was happy not to enter.

 

It was then that he realized he was not alone: Lassan stiffened as he saw a dark figure standing on the edge of the dike. A cold, unnatural shiver ran down his spine. Assuming that this was just another thug, Lassan drew his pistol and took cover, shortly before firing several shots. All four of them hit their target, but then something strange happened; the figure didn’t fall. Lassan shot it again, this time he saw a barrier of energy appeared just before it, absorbing the impact.

 

Lassan was now really scared and turned to run, but another figure was standing, blocking his exit. Lassan, now really worried, looked desperately around for another way, seeing the door into the warehouse atop a flight of iron stairs; Lassan rushed up, and blasted the handle of the door several times with his pistol. The dark figures, seeing his escape plan, sent out shock waves of some strange energy.

 

Lassan rushed in just before the first shock wave impacted. Lassan was thrown forward by the force of the wave, the section of the wall it hit disintegrated into bits of rubble. Lassan climbed to his feet and sprinted through the massive warehouse, seeing the other door, the one leading the Docking Bay-7, took his gun out of its holster and fired.

 

The door was blown down, and Lassan rushed out through the smoke. Another shock wave shattered a large section of the building, spraying the ground around Lassan with bits of rubble. He could see Docking Bay-7 now, a large, twisting ramp wound around a central pole and at the top, Starstrider; oh it was nice to see his own ship again.

 

It’s beautiful, elegant form. It’s perfectly shaped cargo bay… It really was good to be home. By now he was already climbing the ramp, the docks were strangely deserted. Lassan looked behind him, the dark figures were approaching the bottom of the ramp, one of them attempted to strike Lassan with the same strange lightning that had set the slum tower ablaze. Lassan could see the electric lights lining the ramp brighten and explode.

 

He was on the final stretch, now he could see Starstrider preparing for an emergency take-off as he rounded the last corner. He was exhausted, filthy and terrified, but he managed one final dash into the cargo bay of Starstrider and yelled.

 

”Take her up!”

 

Lassan watched as the cargo door closed and, looking from the rear view-port, saw the shadowy figures fade away as Starstrider soared off into the night sky.

 

Chapter 2: Recovery

 

Chapter 3: Meeting the Board

 

Chapter 4: Malabaan

 

Chapter 5: Amarrath

 

Chapter 6: Leaving Vadir

 

Chapter 7: A New Purpose

 

Note: I will be posting author's notes alongside every chapter, discussing not just the work itself but also many other facets of pop-culture, the craft of writing and the meaning of life itself, so be sure to check those out!

 

Thanks to @Final Verdict for suggesting the idea in the first place. If you die from narm overdose, blame him, not me.

 

Enjoy!

Edited July 15, 2021 by Omniarch

[Final Verdict]

I read the prologue in full and I'm genuinely surprised you did this when you were just thirteen Omni. The bases are all covered with a taste of an over-arching story and others are introduced in the prologue who will no doubt add some twists later. 

 

I'm not sure how much traction it will get here on this sub-forum but I found it interesting enough that I read the entire prologue. It's almost 3am here so I was only able to skim over chapter 1. I'll read it in full tomorrow when I'm not tired and have more time.

 

Seriously though, I'm happy you went ahead with this. I'm just worried it might not be too visible here, even if it is the correct place for it. Unfortunately it's the nature of the beast. I appreciate the summons as I wanted to see what world you had crafted when you told me about it. I had no idea you were just thirteen when you created it though, quite impressive.

 

I'm not just saying this to be polite, I genuinely believe that if you could do this at thirteen then only a blind fool would fail to see the untapped potential.

 

I only have about 30minutes a day for Doomworld at the moment (sometimes less as I've been strapped for free time lately), but I assure you a portion of that will be set aside so I can follow this up. Good stuff!

 

In any case, I fully endorse this. Although I accept no responsibility for any harm caused by narm overdose.

 

Edited July 7, 2021 by Final Verdict

[Omniarch]

4 hours ago, Final Verdict said:

I read the prologue in full and I'm genuinely surprised you did this when you were just thirteen Omni. The bases are all covered with a taste of an over-arching story and others are introduced in the prologue who will no doubt add some twists later. 

 

I'm not sure how much traction it will get here on this sub-forum but I found it interesting enough that I read the entire prologue. It's almost 3am here so I was only able to skim over chapter 1. I'll read it in full tomorrow when I'm not tired and have more time.

Thanks for your time, man! As I mentioned in the OP, there were quite a few revisions over the following year(s), so its not exactly a raw manuscript.

 

4 hours ago, Final Verdict said:

Seriously though, I'm happy you went ahead with this. I'm just worried it might not be too visible here, even if it is the correct place for it. Unfortunately it's the nature of the beast. I appreciate the summons as I wanted to see what world you had crafted when you told me about it. I had no idea you were just thirteen when you created it though, quite impressive.

Ach, I knew that from the start. The text is so old that I don't really want to draw too much attention to it anyway. I just wanted to do something with it, so here we are. I have come up with many stories and worlds in the intervening years, each one more complex and grandiose than the last, though my actual writing output has dwindled into non-existence over the same period. Its not the commonly diagnosed affliction known as 'world-builder's disease', but rather a chronic inability (and unwillingness) to bring the complex worlds, characters and narratives I cook up in my head to life.

 

4 hours ago, Final Verdict said:

I'm not just saying this to be polite, I genuinely believe that if you could do this at thirteen then only a blind fool would fail to see the untapped potential.

I do have a way of squandering my 'talents', it must be said. Purely a personal choice on my part, I've had plenty of spare time to take my craft to a professional level, but continuously balked at the brutal, years-long commitment required to reach genuine competence. Still, I enjoy writing, even if I no longer practice the craft in a narrative capacity, as one may be able to guess by my periodic gigaposts on here ;)

 

4 hours ago, Final Verdict said:

I only have about 30minutes a day for Doomworld at the moment (sometimes less as I've been strapped for free time lately), but I assure you a portion of that will be set aside so I can follow this up. Good stuff!

 

In any case, I fully endorse this. Although I accept no responsibility for any harm caused by narm overdose.

Thanks again for your time and compliments! Sad to say, but you made my day. I shan't pry, but I wish you the best in your own life struggles :) Take care!

[Final Verdict]

4 hours ago, Omniarch said:

As I mentioned in the OP, there were quite a few revisions over the following year(s), so its not exactly a raw manuscript.

 

Ah I know, but the draft was created then. I still find it noteworthy.

 

4 hours ago, Omniarch said:

 

Ach, I knew that from the start. The text is so old that I don't really want to draw too much attention to it anyway. I just wanted to do something with it, so here we are. I have come up with many stories and worlds in the intervening years, each one more complex and grandiose than the last, though my actual writing output has dwindled into non-existence over the same period. Its not the commonly diagnosed affliction known as 'world-builder's disease', but rather a chronic inability (and unwillingness) to bring the complex worlds, characters and narratives I cook up in my head to life.

 

 

It's better than it sitting there collecting dust, as I said I'm happy that you published it here and fully intend to follow it. Although I won't be making gigantic posts like this every time I pop in (edit: not so huge after some serious trimming, I really need to reign in my wandering mind). Probably a good thing, but I will read it in full as time allows.

 

5 hours ago, Omniarch said:

 

I do have a way of squandering my 'talents', it must be said. Purely a personal choice on my part, I've had plenty of spare time to take my craft to a professional level, but continuously balked at the brutal, years-long commitment required to reach genuine competence. Still, I enjoy writing, even if I no longer practice the craft in a narrative capacity, as one may be able to guess by my periodic gigaposts on here ;)

 

 

I see no waste here, it's a great way to keep your imagination active and your mind sharp. It's better than letting your imagination go dull and blunt, that's how I see it. But you're right about talking it to a professional level, it can be a long hard road. Still, I encourage you to at least dabble in it. For example I create music from time-to-time but I have no intention of ever releasing it. I do it simply because I enjoy it and it keeps my imagination ticking over.

 

I try to take the long view on stuff like this. Who knows what other area's you might apply the skill too? For example if you ever got into mapping, it might help with inspiration, themes and so on.

 

Like I said, I see no squandering of talent here as long you don't abandon it completely. Assuming of course you really have a passion for it then where is the harm? You're not investing money into it so there is very little risk and like I said you stand to gain much from simply dabbling in it now and then.

 

The mind benefits from exercise just as much as the body.

 

5 hours ago, Omniarch said:

 

Thanks again for your time and compliments! Sad to say, but you made my day. I shan't pry, but I wish you the best in your own life struggles :) Take care!

 

 

It's fine, I consider it time well spent since I enjoy reading and being transported into someone else's world, it's one reason I hang out here on Doomworld. Wads and maps are no different in this regard. I just wish I had more time. I had plenty of free time up until a few weeks ago, but things have been a little chaotic over the last 2-3 weeks for me.

 

In any case, I've rambled on long enough. I'll drop in and follow up on chapters when I have time to do so.

 

Best of luck in your endeavours Omniarch!

 

[Omniarch]

Just now, Final Verdict said:

I see no waste here, it's a great way to keep your imagination active and your mind sharp. It's better than letting your imagination go dull and blunt, that's how I see it. But you're right about talking it to a professional level, it can be a long hard road. Still, I encourage you to at least dabble in it. For example I create music from time-to-time but I have no intention of ever releasing it. I do it simply because I enjoy it and it keeps my imagination ticking over.

 

I try to take the long view on stuff like this. Who knows what other area's you might apply the skill too? For example if you ever got into mapping, it might help with inspiration, themes and so on.

 

Like I said, I see no squandering of talent here as long you don't abandon it completely. Assuming of course you really have a passion for it then where is the harm? You're not investing money into it so there is very little risk and like I said you stand to gain much from simply dabbling in it now and then.

 

The mind benefits from exercise just as much as the body.

This is very much true from my experience. I have no regrets, save perhaps that I didn't spend my time more efficiently. Storytelling, in one form or another, will likely always be a part of my life.

 

Just now, Final Verdict said:

For example if you ever got into mapping, it might help with inspiration, themes and so on.

I am actually already a mapper, having contributed to a couple of CPs and even released my own wad. I've also made several private mods, in both decorate and dehacked. While in practice my maps often end up being pretty uninspired and bland, it is not really due to a lack of imagination. As you suggest, my background does help significantly when it comes to imagining settings. Currently, I have more ideas for maps than I know what to do with, but (currently) lack the technical skill to execute any of them. I'm working on it, though, and hope to have at least a few high-quality maps out by year's end.

 

Just now, Final Verdict said:

It's fine, I consider it time well spent since I enjoy reading and being transported into someone else's world, it's one reason I hang out here on Doomworld. Wads and maps are no different in this regard. I just wish I had more time. I had plenty of free time up until a few weeks ago, but things have been a little chaotic over the last 2-3 weeks for me.

 

In any case, I've rambled on long enough. I'll drop in and follow up on chapters when I have time to do so.

 

Best of luck in your endeavours Omniarch!

Same to you, Verdict. Good luck and godspeed!

[Final Verdict]

1 hour ago, Omniarch said:

 

I am actually already a mapper, having contributed to a couple of CPs and even released my own wad. I've also made several private mods, in both decorate and dehacked. While in practice my maps often end up being pretty uninspired and bland, it is not really due to a lack of imagination. As you suggest, my background does help significantly when it comes to imagining settings. Currently, I have more ideas for maps than I know what to do with, but (currently) lack the technical skill to execute any of them. I'm working on it, though, and hope to have at least a few high-quality maps out by year's end.

 

 

Really? I had no idea. I'll ear mark that one and investigate at a later time. I mean to check them out, not because I don't believe you heh.

 

Anyway, my daily quota of free time is up so I'm off for the day. Have fun!

 

[Omniarch]

Chapter 2: Recovery

Spoiler

Lassan loved the feeling of ascension, space was his home, he always felt better out among the stars than on-planet, like a groundhog. He hated dealing with people, they were so complicated. At least, in space, if you made a mistake, the outcome was simple and explainable. With people, you never knew where you were, they had emotions, morals, ideals and feelings. He hated it when people intruded on his affairs, so he generally avoided theirs, to avoid offence.

 

B-9 on the other hand, was nothing like that. Lassan had taken him in when he found him wandering the scrap heaps after disobeying his master a few years back. His full name was: Assistant Beta-9 A8902-A8756 Delta 4, a bit of a mouthful, so he just called him B-9. He was a quiet and intelligent type, never trespassing into Lassan’s feelings or disturbing him when didn’t want to be disturbed. Lassan returned the favour and the two lived in peace and harmony.

 

Then there was F-1, a broken Gamma Type K-9 communication bot. F-1’s full name is Gamma Type K-9 F1-D0 G1123-E6789, but Lassan often refers to him as Fido due to the fact that he is, in reality, a pet. His communication hardware is broken and most of his functions are unusable. His only real purpose is to be loved and cared for, a job which he has filled well since Lassan downloaded a dog A.I from a terminal on Omega Drakkar.

 

Once Starstrider was under-way, B-9 and F-1 came to greet Lassan.

 

“Lassan it’s so good to see you nice and safe, what happened?” asked B-9.

 

F-1 ran in happy circles around his master.

 

“It’s a long story,” replied the exhausted trader as he reached down and patted his K-9 bot.

 

“Well, you’ll need to change into something clean, and you certainly need a wash. Oh and you’ll also need sustenance. I’ll go and cook some food while you refresh yourself,” said the robot.

 

“Wait a moment!”

 

“Yes?”

 

“What is our current course?” asked Lassan.

 

“We are headed for Rho Drakkar, approximately 402.5 light years from Valimaar” replied B-9. “To meet with the Khadreth Consortium.”

 

“Oh, that, I forgot,” muttered the captain. “Well at least the reward will be enough for fuel and supplies for a few months.”

 

Lassan staggered down the corridor to the bathroom. After a long shower, the tired trader changed into his clean, ship-board outfit. He then began the arduous process of reorganizing his rather unkempt black hair. Once finished, Lassan sighed: it felt so good to be clean. He hadn’t felt better since his childhood. Warm water and soap really worked wonders. He was even more pleased when he arrived in the dining room and saw a delicious meal laid out before him. B-9, surprisingly, was a very good chef.

 

After Lassan had finished, B-9 said: “So, what happened?”

 

“Ok I’ll start from the beginning…”

 

B-9 listened to Lassan’s story with what Lassan took to be great interest, however it was impossible to be sure.

 

“Odd, very odd,” said B-9 once Lassan had finished. “Two Psiarchs? That’s unusual, normally they work alone. The presence of two veteran Psiarchs worries me.”

 

“They were terrifying: energy waves shattering walls, dark lightning, and of course the invisible shields. When I saw them, it was like a cold fist had seized my heart, I have never known such fear,” explained Lassan.

 

“I can see the experience has impressed itself upon your mind. This, however, will pass,” reassured B-9.

 

“I hope so,” said Lassan weakly.

 

“Anyway, back to business, we shall be arriving in orbit of Rho Drakkar in three days. I suggest you use the time for recovery,” informed B-9. “Meanwhile, I shall be browsing my personal data bank for information on Psiarchs. It contains more useful information than any library.”

 

Lassan bade B-9 good night and left the dining room for his personal quarters. As captain, he had his own cabin with a Holomap of the Galaxy, displaying all the important trading routes. Holomaps allow the user to focus on any sector or Oversector. Lassan had few possessions, besides his laptop Cognator which he used for research and, on occasion, gaming.

 

He lay down on his bed, but sleep evaded him for some time. Lives had been lost this day, and he was responsible for the majority. The trader pushed his woes aside: if he had not made those decisions, he’d be dead by now, or so he told himself. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him and he drifted into a largely undisturbed slumber.

 

 

Lassan woke to the smell of breakfast (smells spread through the ventilation on Starstrider). Lured by the smell, Lassan wandered through to the dining room.

 

“Good morning,” said B-9. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Much better thanks,” replied Lassan. “Any useful info about Psiarchs?”

 

“Surprisingly little I’m afraid,” said B-9. “Only that the power you saw belongs only to an extreme subset called “Dark Psiarchs”. They are very uncommon but enormously dangerous.”

 

“If so, we must tread carefully in future. I don’t fancy being burnt alive by their Dark Lightning, or splattered by a shock wave,” said Lassan. “We need to keep a sharp eye out for these guys.”

 

“Yes indeed,”

 

Over the next three days, B-9 and Lassan discussed many topics that included Dark Psiarchs and how to avoid them. It seemed to Lassan and B-9, that some people, even non-Psiarchs, could sense the presence of a Dark Psiarch if they were not deliberately hiding themselves. After much debate, it was decided that Lassan would stay clear from lonely places and avoid sleeping away from Starstrider. Traders are highly mobile, so Lassan wasn’t too worried about remaining on the move.

 

 

“B-9, why do you think they are chasing me?” asked Lassan.

 

“Who, the Dark Psiarchs?”

 

“Yes,”

 

“I don’t know. Normally they tend to stay clear of galactic affairs, they usually only attack other Psiarchs and, sometimes, kidnap them and force their will upon the helpless captives,” replied B-9.

 

“But I’m not a Psiarch, am I?” questioned Lassan.

 

“I don’t know, but I doubt it,” answered B-9. “According to the Encyclopaedia Psionica, the signs are quite obvious, especially when you’re young. Did your parents ever mention it?”

 

“No, and they aren’t the sort to keep secrets.”

 

“Well, this bizarre business is getting on my nerves, let’s try and concentrate on obtaining our reward,” said B-9.

“Yes, let’s do that,” agreed Lassan dully.

 

“Don’t worry, you’re a trader! You are a very hard person to kill.” announced B-9.

 

“Agreed.”

 

B-9 clanked off to the kitchen to cook supper. Lassan could hear him bustling happily.

 

“I hope you’re right, B-9, I hope you’re right,” thought Lassan grimly.

 

 

When they arrived in orbit around Rho Drakkar three days after departing from Valimaar, the ship was perilously short of fuel. Lassan had been well-briefed on locations to avoid in Landing City, Rho Drakkar’s capital city. Lassan gazed in awe at the vast number of ships in orbit. Thousands upon thousands gathered above the great Trade World.

 

“Contact the Planetary Harbour Office and request landing permission,” ordered Lassan.

 

“Planetary Harbour Office this is trade vessel Starstrider requesting landing permission over,” obeyed B-9.

 

“PHO reading Starstrider, state your business over.”

 

“Delivering important documents to Khadreth Commercial Board over.”

 

Normally, it could take hours to get landing permission on Trade Worlds, but the reply came through in under a minute.

 

“Permission granted Starstrider, landing cleared at Docking Bay-987A over.”

 

“Thank you PHO, Starstrider out,” concluded B-9. “Alright captain, bring her down.”

 

“Begin landing procedure,” said Lassan. “Bringing her down.”

 

Slowly, the massive planet began to fill the view-port as they drew nearer. Rho Drakkar was a jungle world, or at least it used to be. Millennia of mining and heavy industry left the planet scarred and polluted. This became more and more apparent as Starstrider descended further into Rho Drakkar’s dense atmosphere. The cloud deck was many kilometres thick and they were soon enveloped in a sticky cloud of pollution. Finally, as they emerged from the clouds, Landing City came into view.

 

The only word suited for the description of Landing City is “colossal”, and the term barely describes the vastness of the city that stretched out before the crew of Starstrider; massive towers that averaged at five kilometres tall blotted out the rising sun, huge complexes of fancy houses sat under transparent domes to keep out the noxious fumes, enormous air processing plants that kept the planet’s atmosphere breathable, and of course, the Rho Drakkar Space Elevator casting an eternal shadow across the city. Lassan had been to Landing City before a few times and had grown used to its huge scale, but it was still a sight to behold.

 

“Docking Bay-987A sighted,” said B-9.

 

“Take her down, B-9,” ordered Lassan.

 

“Lassan?”

 

“Yes, B-9?”

 

“What time can I expect you back?”

 

Lassan checked his Omnicom’s AdaptiWatch.

 

“Around five local hours from now,”

 

Starstrider’s engines clinked and hissed as they cooled. The cargo bay door opened and Lassan marched out, keeping a wary eye out for potential hostiles as he went.

 

He approached a Hover-Taxi and asked for a lift.

 

“I’d like to go to Khadreth HQ please, and quickly,” said Lassan.

 

“That’ll be 5 credits sir.”

 

“I’ll pay you when we arrive.”

 

“Fair enough, sir.

 

Lassan climbed into the rear of the Taxi, it was a comfortable taxi with arm rests and cup-holders, not that Lassan needed any of these things: in fact he found them a nuisance. The Taxi lurched as the EM Manipulation generators came online and the Taxi soared fifty metres into the air. Lassan looked out of the window to gaze upon the city; the streets that dominated the upper-levels were themselves above cloud level, as such, an eerie mist lingered just below the bustling walkways. It only took about half an hour to reach the Khadreth HQ, and when the Taxi arrived, Lassan was surprised at the sheer size of the menacing building. It was mainly black with the exception of tall trans-steel windows.

 

Lassan disembarked, paid the driver and advanced toward the intimidating structure. As Lassan walked through the grand entrance, he began to think about who he would soon be facing; the Khadreth Consortium was one of the most powerful factions in the Vadir Sector. The other was the Akkada Confederacy, whose secret documents he was now in possession of. That was the whole reason he had been on Valimaar in the first place.

 

The Khadreth Consortium had approached him, and several other smugglers, and offered them a prize of 50.000 credits should they return with the specified documents. How the Khadreth had known about the documents’ existence was unknown. But all that mattered to Lassan was the money; the Akkada/Khadreth conflict was not his problem.

 

Lassan walked up to the counter. A bored-looking Groatian asked gloomily: “How can I help you, sir?”

 

“I have a meeting at 09:30 AM.” replied Lassan.

 

“Very good sir, I assume you’re Mr. Lassan Krehn?” said the gloomy little being.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Very well, I’ll send for an assistant to guide you.”

 

The gloomy man pressed a green button and a few seconds later a skittish-looking young woman scurried into the room.

 

“You called sir?” she asked nervously.

 

“Yes, I would like you to guide this gentleman to the Board Room.”

 

“Yes sir, right away sir,” said the assistant and motioned for Lassan to follow.

 

As he was lead through corridor after corridor full of expensive ornaments, Lassan thought: “How rich could these people possibly be?”

 

The assistant led him into a large, luxurious lift, complete with couches and drink dispensers. Lassan looked at the lift info-pad, it reminded him of his recent ordeal. It had only been three days since his escape from Krongore, yet it already seemed distant. Finally, the lift reached the floor labelled “Board Room”, and as the lift doors opened, the nervous assistant motioned for him to follow her again. They walked for a few dozen metres before entering a huge chamber.

 

The chamber was semi-circular with ornate staircases leading up to a golden door, studded with gemstones. When Lassan looked the other way, he saw an enormous glass window looking out over Landing City; it seemed that the Khadreth HQ was the highest building in the city with the exception of the Space Elevator. Once again, the assistant motioned him to follow.

 

She led him up the right-hand staircase, and on until he was standing before the Board Room door. The assistant pressed a small button on the right of the door and scurried off. The huge door swung open. Lassan took a deep breath and entered. He was greeted by a board of hard-faced, cold men.

 

The Chairman stood up and said: “Welcome, Mr. Krehn, we’ve been expecting you.”

 

I don't have much to say about this chapter, honestly. Kind of heavy on the exposition. I think I established the gritty, run down and corrupt feel of the Vadir sector pretty well, setting the baseline for the Periphery. At this stage, I was very much following one of the core principles of Star Wars galactography: namely that the Galactic Core = rich & high-tech and the Galactic Rim = poor & corrupt. In Starstrider, this is a rather arbitrary dichotomy, not really informed by the mechanics of the setting. Suffice to say, I would not use this trope today. Plot-wise, though, the rundown state of the rim is quite important, as we'll see.

 

Otherwise, there's not much in the way of character interaction or action in this chapter, due to the afore-mentioned exposition taking up most of the 'run-time'. This is much less of an issue later on, where I manage to strike a sort of balance between action, character interaction and exposition. At least, if memory serves.

 

Also, don't pay too much attention to numbers in this story. I wasn't really keeping track at the time, and while I'll do my best to edit out obvious inconsistencies (especially temporal ones), some may still slip through.

[Omniarch]

Chapter 3: Meeting The Board

Spoiler

Lassan looked around him, at the cold, hard faces, seated at two tables, all of them facing him, and wondered whether he was doing the right thing coming here. These men were dangerous, no mistake. He had heard rumours of the Khadreth Consortium’s doings, they were not a pleasant bunch.

 

The Chairman motioned for Lassan to sit.

 

“I am Chairman Zhakon, supreme leader of the Khadreth Consortium, what I say goes, do you understand, Mr. Krehn?” said Zhakon menacingly.

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Excellent, then we should get along fine,” announced Zhakon. “Now, about these documents…”

 

Zhakon looked at Lassan meaningfully. Lassan produced the datachip from its hiding place and showed it to the board.

 

“Bring it here, please, Mr. Krehn.” ordered Zhakon.

 

Lassan walked through the central aisle and placed the documents on the Chairman’s desk. Zhakon then signalled for him to sit, Lassan obeyed.

“Now, Mr. Krehn, I will do a little test, to see if these documents are the real deal,” said Zhakon “Jing Mei!”

 

An even more frightened little assistant, obviously of Jai’an descent, scuttled into the room, saying: “What can I do for you, sir?”

 

“I would like you to scan these documents, to find if they’re really the ones.” commanded Zhakon.

 

“Y, y, yes sir.” stammered the assistant.

 

The assistant left the room, only to reappear a few seconds later with a large Omnipad. She then inserted the datachip and tapped away for some minutes before announcing: “They are real, sir.”

 

Lassan let out a sigh of relief, who knows what the Board would have done to him if he had brought back the wrong datachip? It didn’t bear thinking about.

 

“Congratulations, Mr. Krehn, you have succeeded where all others have failed, you have earned the favour of the Khadreth Consortium. Here is your reward.” concluded Zhakon.

 

The Chairman put something into the hands of the assistant, who then scurried over to Lassan and handed it to him; it was a credit chip, containing 50.000 credits.

 

“There is your money, as promised,” said the Chairman. “You are dismissed, Mr. Krehn.”

 

Lassan left the room with a bow. He hurried down the flight of stairs, entered the lift and pressed “Ground Floor”. When the lift arrived, he walked through the richly decorated corridors, out into the entrance room, where he stopped and said farewell to the bored-looking Groatian, who looked slightly surprised to see him coming down in one piece, let alone in a good mood. Lassan marched triumphantly down the front steps and signalled to a nearby Taxi.

 

“I would like to go to Docking Bay-987A please,” said Lassan.

 

“Very good sir, that’ll be…”

 

“Add twenty credits, no arguing,” ordered Lassan. “I’ll pay you now.”

 

Lassan handed 25 credits to the bewildered Taxi driver.

 

“Thank you very much sir.” said the Taxi driver.

 

“Not to worry,” replied Lassan, before climbing into the rear of the Taxi.

 

“I’d better call B-9 and tell him to fill the Antimatter tanks,” thought Lassan.

 

Lassan fiddled around in his pocket before pulling out his Omnicom, which had recently been cleaned by a certain B-9.

 

“B-9, I want you to fill the Starstrider’s tanks to maximum.” ordered Lassan.

 

“To maximum? How can we afford… Oh I see, I’ll do it right away.” obeyed B-9.

 

The Taxi raced at 100 kilometres per-hour until it reached Docking Bay-987A.

 

“Thank you for the lift,” said Lassan. “Good bye.”

 

“Good bye sir.” said the Taxi driver, who was now handling the extra money fondly.

 

Lassan strode over to Starstrider and yelled: “B-9, have they finished the refuelling?”

 

“Yes, they’re just waiting for payment.” replied the robot.

 

“Ok, I’ll go and pay them now,”

 

Lassan walked up to the refuelling depot, a cheerful Kamazati was manning the kiosk.

 

“Hello, sir! How can I help you today?” asked the Kamazati.

 

“I’m the owner of the ship Starstrider, I am here to pay for her fuel.” replied Lassan.

 

“Ah, excellent! That’ll be 1000 credits.”

 

“Ok, can I pay via credit chip?” inquired Lassan.

 

“Sure, I’ll just get the machine.”

 

Lassan watched the tall, elegant, but powerful young feline go about his business, humming and singing all the way. After a bit of rummaging, he finally reappeared and announced: “Here is the machine sir.”

 

Lassan typed in his pin code and waited, the machine gave a little “ping” and said: “Transaction complete.”

 

Lassan thanked the Kamazati official and contacted B-9 on his Omnicom.

 

“Everything ship-shape, B-9?” asked Lassan.

 

“Ship-shape Cap’n.” replied B-9.

 

“Alright then, prepare for take-off!”

 

“Uh, where are we going?” inquired B-9.

 

“To Malabaan.” replied Lassan.

 

“To Malabaan?”

 

“Yes B-9, that’s where all smugglers and traders go when they have spare cash.”

 

“I know, but isn’t the stuff they sell on Malabaan, well, a little less than satisfactory? They don’t call it a Junk World for nothing.”

 

“B-9, have you seen the prices for new ship parts these days?”

 

“No, I can’t say I have.”

 

“Well, let’s just say that a new ship’s oven could cost 500 credits, and just for an oven!”

 

“I see what you mean,”

 

“Alright, so we are in agreement?”

 

“Yes,”

 

“Okay, off to Malabaan it is!” announced Lassan.

 

“I’ll go and start up the engines, you make sure all hatches, plugs, and exterior vents are closed.” ordered Lassan.

 

“Right away,” said B-9.

 

Lassan deactivated his Omnicom and started to wander back to Starstrider. Everything seemed peaceful, but Lassan had an odd feeling of dread. He had occasionally had such feelings, mostly before some sort of trouble. It was different to the fear the Dark Psiarchs had inspired, more like a warning.

 

He quickened his pace, and was nearing his ship, when, out of the blue, a massive siren blared into life. Panic immediately consumed the surrounding spaceport. Traders rushed to their ships, Harbour Office officials and beggars alike ran towards the docked vessels, trying to force their way on board. Their panic was justified; Lassan knew all too well the dreaded howl of warning. He hurried towards Starstrider.

 

“Oh, no, there’s only one possible event that inspires such panic so quickly…” Lassan thought.

 

A thunderous, booming voice blared across the city, emanating from hundreds of loud-speakers.

 

“Attention all citizens! We are under attack by hostile forces. Please make your way towards the nearest planetary bunker in a calm and orderly fashion.”

 

No one took any notice. They all knew, as Lassan did, that the only hope lay in escape. His ship came into view. The trader hurried towards the cargo door. Once through he dashed into the cockpit: “B-9! Activate EM Manipulators, charge the Phase Drive and warm-up the engines! We’ve got to get out of here!”

 

B-9, who had heard all the commotion, obeyed.

 

“I contacted the PHO: nothing but static. Whoever is assaulting the planet must have jammed all communications,” B-9 informed.

 

By this time, Starstrider was fully aloft.

 

“Accelerate to local escape velocity and activate scanners!” Lassan ordered.

 

As the scanners came online, Lassan saw three immense signatures and hundreds of smaller ones. There was no mistake.

 

“Those fiendish Mechanoids have found Rho Drakkar at last! They must have snuck up on their planet under a Cloaking Field to prevent anyone from escaping.” breathed Lassan in horror.

 

The scanners showed a full fleet arriving just 2000 kilometres above the planet.

 

“That’s a Purification Fleet!” exclaimed B-9. “Hold on! We’re receiving a broadcast from the enemy flagship!”

 

“Put it on loudspeaker,” ordered Lassan.

 

As B-9 did so, Lassan’s blood ran cold. The vile, mono-toned voice of a high-ranking Mechanoid filled the ship.

 

“Attention, organics and synthetics of Rho Drakkar. The OVERMIND can tolerate this hive of corporate villainy no longer, and has ordered its destruction. This planet will be purged for the greater good of the Collective. There will be no survivors. The Purification of Rho Drakkar has begun!”

 

F-1 squeaked in terror at the sound of the Mechanoid’s harsh voice.

 

“They’re going to destroy every living thing on Rho Drakkar.” said B-9 solemnly.

 

“I know, it’s a terrible thing to witness.”

 

“Are you talking about New Talas?” asked B-9.

 

“Yes, I am. New Talas was my homeworld. My parents and I watched helplessly as the Battle and eventually, the Purification of New Talas went on.”

“But how did you escape?” inquired B-9.

 

“The Admiral of the Talas Defence Fleet aided us in our, and many other trader’s escape. Sadly, he himself didn’t make it.”

 

There was another long silence.

 

“Well, it can’t be helped. We need to escape ourselves. Open the throttle to maximum, we’re going to run this blockade.” ordered B-9.

 

Lassan, slightly surprised at the robot’s bluntness, did as he said. By now the vast hoard of trading ships were fleeing in all directions, trying desperately to evade the Collective force’s fire. It was hopeless; only a few dedicated smuggling and blockade running ships escaped.

 

The vast majority were annihilated by the Collective’s weapons. The Collective Fleet was spreading out, obviously attempting to catch as many of the fleeing traders as possible. The local Planetary Defence Fleets put up a valiant fight, but they were hopelessly out-numbered and outmatched.

The trader turned his attention to his own dire situation.

 

“This isn’t going to be easy,” thought Lassan grimly. “We’ll never be able to evade all of them.”

 

“Full ahead! We’re going to run right between those two Battleships!” yelled B-9. “If we hurry, we might be able to make it before the Battleships engage their Phase-inhibitors.”

 

Lassan immediately saw the robot’s sense; the Battleships’ Anti-Fighter weaponry only had a range of fifty kilometres or so. Starstrider was small and fast enough to run the blockade before the enemy fighters caught on, and, hopefully, before the Phase-inhibitors were activated.

 

“Ship at maximum speed,” informed Lassan. “Prepare to make a Phase Jump as soon as we cross the limit.”

 

“Phase Drive charged!” said B-9. “

 

The enemy Battleships were so close he could almost pick them out. A massive, eight-kilometre-long warship may seem hard to miss at close range, but they are nigh impossible to spot in the vastness of space.

 

“Fighters approaching from the rear! Evasive manoeuvres!” ordered Lassan. Starstrider was unarmed so they couldn’t fight. The fighters began firing their Thermo-Kinetic Pulsers.

 

Many of the shots came within fifty metres of Starstrider. They were only a few thousand kilometres from the Phase-limit, when a Thermo-Kinetic pulse glanced Starstrider, burning off a large plate of armour and frying several life-support components.

 

“Life-Support destroyed!” said B-9. “Toxic purification fluid is leaking from the damaged systems!”

 

Lassan barely noticed B-9 speaking, he was concentrating too hard.

 

Starstrider was now over the Phase-Limit.

 

 “Make the Jump!” ordered Lassan.

 

Starstrider lurched as it accelerated to over fifty thousand times the speed of light.

 

Few people liked the sensation of entering Phase-Space. They said that after the lurching sensation, it felt like having your mind removed from your body. This was not so, as Lassan knew. Only ground-hogs said such stupid things. Any trader, or indeed, spacer, knew that there was no perceivable difference between the space inside the negative mass bubble created by the Phase Drive and the space without.

 

“We are underway,” said B-9. “We’ll be arriving at Malabaan in two days.”

 

“Yes, excellent.” said Lassan groggily. “B-9, why does the air taste so foul?”

 

“Did you not hear that our Life-Support system has been pulverised?” answered B-9. “And that the purification fluid has been vaporized and is spreading through the ventilation system?”

 

“What! How much canned air do we have?” asked Lassan.

 

“Only one and a half days’ worth I’m afraid,” replied B-9. “You might have to enter the stasis pod for the duration of the journey.”

 

“What! Stasis, no! Surely there is some spare oxygen somewhere?”

 

“No, we sold it to a long-distance traveller for an unusually high price. They were a bit short and they had a lot of money, so we offered our week’s supply for ten times the usual price.”

 

“Oh, yeah, that, of course.” muttered Lassan.

 

Lassan hated the idea of being frozen inside the stasis pod (one of the many useful things they had found on Malabaan), being so helpless wasn’t an appealing thought. 

 

Lassan’s head began to swim and he felt dizzy. B-9’s voice sounded muffled and far away.

 

“Lassan, Lassan! Oh no, he’s passed out from the toxins. I’ll go and get some…”

 

Lassan’s vision faded and he knew no more.

 

Quite a bit more action this time around, though the transition from triumph to disaster was more than a little rushed. Additionally, B-9 really ought to have known Lassan's backstory already, so the latter explaining it like that in the middle of the action was abnormally clunky even for my thirteen-year-old self. That sort of thing becomes drastically less prominent (if memory serves) later on in the story.

 

I do like the planetary attack scene, though, which is pure space opera cheese, and also the board meeting scene, just because who doesn't like rooms full of scary mobsters? That and the bored groatian was funny, I geuss.

 

Anyway, no more nitty-gritty, let's talk about space battles: at this stage, I was just starting to become aware of the ridiculousness of Star Wars-style 18th-century-naval-battle-in-space combat, hence the (relatively) long ranges for heavy weaponry. It would not be until I watched an epic space opera anime called Legend of the Galatic Heroes three years later, however, that I became truly aware of the vast distances involved in any semi-realistic space combat. In that series, capital ships often engage from distances measured in light-seconds (~299,000km), and frequently number in the 10,000s.

 

Compared to those figures, the ones found in Starstrider barely seem better than those of any major visual-medium space opera story/franchise. Still, it was a step in the right direction. The total number of capital ships in the Collective space navy was never made clear to my knowledge, but given the scope of the setting, it would have been in the hundreds of thousands even back then. In subsequent versions of the story (mostly unwritten), the size of the enemy navy steadily increased first into the millions, and then tens of millions, until eventually settling down somewhere between 100,000,000 and 1,000,000,000 total capital ships.

 

...

 

Yeah, understanding the scope of a galactic empire will do that to ya. Eventually, I scaled the setting down froom galaxy-wide to the confines of a small ~1,000ly diiatmeter patch of space, resulting in a decline of capital ship numbers back into the low millions.

 

Yes, I do overthink literally everything. I have 10,000+ words' worth of notes about the various versions of Starstrider rotting on various hard/cloud drives, including endless ship-count figures and energy calcs. Don't worry, we'll get to the energy calcs, yesiree.

 

Until then, dear readers...

[Omniarch]

Chapter 4: Malabaan

Spoiler

Lassan fell, coughing to the floor. He felt cold all over.

 

“Wha, what happened?” he asked.

 

“You have just exited Cryogenic Stasis, don’t worry, the coldness will pass,” said B-9. “Here is some synthtea to warm you up. Sorry, it’s all we have. We’re all out of medical supplies.”

 

Lassan had never liked Synthtea very much, but the strong grog was welcome all the same.

 

“Where are we?” asked Lassan.

 

“In orbit of Malabaan. We will begin descent as soon as you are ready to pilot the ship,” replied B-9. “I have chosen a small town called Kilath for our potential landing site. Kilath is where Grung lives.”

 

“It’d be nice to see old Grung again. I think I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” said Lassan, who was already feeling better.

 

Lassan walked through the ship’s main corridor and into his cabin. He then peered out of his personal view-port; the dusty red sphere of Malabaan filled the view.

It didn’t take long for Lassan to recover, especially after a long greeting by F-1. The K-9 bot was very affectionate, and loved his attention.

 

After giving F-1 his daily attention, Lassan strode into the cockpit, and declared: “I’m ready to take her down.”

 

Malabaan Harbour Office was not very busy; few ships that came to Malabaan hung about, as the only reason anyone came here was to buy and sell scrap.

 

“This is the vessel Starstrider requesting permission to land, preferably at or near the town of Kilath, over,” droned B-9.

 

“Permission granted,” answered Malabaan Harbour Office. “Touch down at Landing Pad 5567 over.”

 

Starstrider descended through the thin, dusty atmosphere of Malabaan. It was a short descent, and they were soon grounded safely at Landing Pad 5567. Lassan had been to Malabaan a dozen times, as it was his primary source of parts. He knew the drill. He disembarked, said bye to B-9 and F-1, and proceeded to walk along a hundred metre path that led into Kilath. It didn’t take long for him to get used to the slightly thin air. After walking for a couple of minutes, he spotted Grung’s place. Lassan strode up to Grung the scrap-merchant’s office to ask if he could browse his goods.

 

“Hello, Grung.” said Lassan.

 

“Lassan? Lassan my old friend, come in, come in!” said the large Drakkari (a large, slightly draconic species with four arms) in a very strong Ruskhari accent. “What is it you need today, huh?”

 

“I’d just like to browse your collection.” replied Lassan.

 

“Ah, you, my boy, are always resistant to my bartering. Is rare skill you have. Good thing all my customers aren’t as shrewd as you, otherwise, I’d be bankrupt!” laughed Grung.

 

Lassan wandered far into Grung’s scrap-yard, it was some 200 acres in total, like a vast garden of broken machinery, coated with a fine layer of red dust. Lassan knew what he was looking for; two light Thermo-Kinetic Pulsers, to mount on Starstrider so she could hold her own in a fight. He also needed a light, hull-mounted Shield Generator, to increase Starstrider’s chances in battle, and, of course, a new Life-Support System.

 

It took five local hours to locate all the correct parts, and two more to organize the installation, which Grung and B-9 would oversee while Lassan acquired minor needs, like extra food and water, and a couple of luxuries too. 

 

Over the next six days, Lassan and B-9 worked hard alongside Grung’s men in the retrofitting of Starstrider. The installation of the Thermo-Kinetic Pulsers had been relatively straight forward; all they had to do was drill holes through Starstrider’s hull and connect their power cords to the main reactor.

 

The Shield Generator however was problematic, as Lassan assumed it would be. It also needed holes for its power cords, but this was the easy part; the hard part was crafting new armour to surround every part of the Generator except it's shield projector. The shields were easily the most frustrating part of the retro-fitting as crafting new neosteel armour is difficult at the best of times with the best of equipment. On top of that, the broken Life-Support System had to be cleared out and replaced. The whole job was a nightmare.

 

The whole process of retro-fitting cost Lassan 37.000 credits. Leaving him with only 12.000, plus his savings, this amounted to 14.500 credits. He was eager to escape, because he knew those two Dark Psiarchs were still at large. They were to leave first thing tomorrow.

 

Before they left, Lassan decided to take one last look around Grung’s place, as he had the rest of the afternoon to use, to see if there was anything else there that they might need. He was just about to leave, when he heard a noise, a familiar noise. The sound of cursing.

 

It was coming from the other side of a particularly large scrapheap. Lassan crept round the edge and peeped out. What he saw made him laugh with surprise.

“Osan, Liira? What in the universe are you doing here?” exclaimed Lassan.

 

The two Azini (a relatively small, furry mammalian species, with large, bright eyes and delicate muzzles. They are vaguely lemur-like) turned round in surprise and joy.

 

“Lassan!” they exclaimed simultaneously and rushed over to greet him.

 

“Lassan, it's been years!” cried Liira.

 

“Ages.” agreed her brother, Osan.

 

“I know!” said Lassan.

 

“So, what have you been up to?” asked Osan.

 

“It’s a long story.” admitted Lassan.

 

“Come on now, we’ve got loads of time,” said Liira. “And so do you, by the look of it.”

 

“That is true. Well, let’s find somewhere to sit and I’ll tell you my story,” agreed Lassan.

 

Once they were all seated and relatively comfortable, Lassan explained the recent events, including Rho Drakkar.

 

“Rho Drakkar’s gone? That's terrible!” said Liira sadly. “All those people, gone.”

 

“Those Collective Mechanoids get on my nerves, roaming the Galaxy, committing atrocities wherever they go, and I don’t like the sound of those Psiarchs either,” grumbled Osan.

 

“I agree, terrible business. Rho Drakkar was the last un-purified Prime World in the whole Oversector. Between that and the Psiarchs, it’s been an excessively exciting month,” said Lassan glumly. “Well I’d better be heading back to Starstrider. Speaking of which, how’s Dragonfly?”

 

The two Azini exchanged sad glances. Osan finally said: “We had a run-in with a Marauder ship in orbit about a month ago, Dragonfly was damaged, she didn’t survive the crash.”

 

“What! That’s horrible! I’m so sorry. What have you been doing this last month without Dragonfly?” asked Lassan.

 

“Surviving, hoping a ship will come along that is in need of two more crew members.” replied Osan.

 

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t have a steady income. I can’t afford to pay two new crew members,” said Lassan, feeling sorry for his old friends.

 

“Well, I for one don’t care about payment,” announced Liira. “I’d sell myself to Vulfuri Slave Traders if it got me out of this dump.”

 

“However silly it sounds, I concur, Malabaan is a dump,” agreed Osan.

 

“But I couldn’t not pay you! That’s slavery!”

 

“Its willing slavery,” Liira pointed out.

 

“Okay, fine, we’ll go back to Starstrider and consult B-9, he’ll think of something,” concluded Lassan.

 

It took only a few minutes to walk back to Starstrider along the dusty pathways. Lassan was both pleased and ashamed: pleased because he had found two of his only friends and offered them positions as a crew, and ashamed because the only reason this was possible was that they had lost their own ship. He sighed, no point getting upset over spilt Loras juice. Once he arrived back at Starstrider, he walked up the entrance ramp and into the ship. B-9 was waiting for him inside.

“That took longer than expected. Something interesting turn up?” asked the robot.

 

“You could say that,” replied Lassan. “I found two of my best friends.”

 

“Do you mean Osan and Liira?”

 

“Yes. I’ve invited them over for a reunion.”

 

“It’ll be nice to see them again, how are they doing?”

 

“Not so well.”

 

Lassan explained the two Azini’s situation.

 

“Oh, how terrible! They must be devastated.”

 

“They do seem rather down, although they put up a show of bravery.”

 

“But they could be stranded on Malabaan forever.”

 

“I know, that’s why I’ve invited them to join us as crew members.”

 

“What! Lassan you know we can’t afford…”

 

“I know, I know. Let’s just negotiate.”

 

“Okay then, I’ll prepare the dining room.”

 

Half an hour later, all four of them (five if you include F-1) were all seated around the dining room table. B-9 had suggested agreeable payment terms. Lassan and the Azini saw them as reasonable. Osan, however, had come upon another problem.

 

“What if we don’t agree with a mission, if it is too dangerous or poorly paid, don’t we get a say?” said Osan. “Or does all the power rest with Lassan?”

“Of course it does, he’s the captain,” said B-9 bluntly.

 

“I wasn’t complaining, I was just asking,” retorted Osan.

 

“Stop arguing, it’s Lassan’s choice,” said Liira calmly. “Lassan?”

 

“I don’t know. I think we’re a bit tired, except you B-9, and not thinking clearly. Osan, I understand your anger, losing one’s ship is second only to losing one’s family. Once we have all rested, we can decide. Okay?”

 

The others nodded.

 

“Well, we’d better go back to our camp,” said Osan. “We’ll be back in the morning.

 

“Yes, we will.” agreed Liira.

 

Once Osan and Liira had left, Lassan said to B-9: “Look, B-9, I’m not taking them on just because they’re old friends; Starstrider needs a crew. You’re having difficulty maintaining it on your own, you know that,”

 

“I am well aware of the facts,” replied B-9. “I know Liira and Osan too, you know. We could use two crew members like that.”

 

“Good, I’m glad you agree, and I’m sure you’ll get along well with them. They aren’t noisy and intrusive. They enjoy the tranquillity of space as much as us,”

explained Lassan. “Well, I’m off to bed, wake me at 07.00 AMLT sharp.”

 

“Okay, I shall.”

 

“Oh, and B-9?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“If you don’t mind, I’d very much like you to make one of your special breakfasts. But be sure to add two extra plates, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

“Certainly.”

 

Lassan watched as B-9 walked off to do his nightly duties; he seemed to have difficulty resting or recharging. Lassan found F-1 lying on his bed. It was impossible to move the large robot off his bed by force, so he called him for a cuddle. Despite his cold, hard skin, Lassan always enjoyed making the little blighter happy. Once he had “tired” F-1 out, he climbed into bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

Lassan woke early the next morning, he had decided. He got dressed and marched downstairs to see if B-9 had made breakfast. He had, and on each plate was a delicious assortment of vegetables, meat, and carbohydrates. A few minutes later, Osan and Liira banged on the cargo-bay door. Lassan asked B-9 to let them in, which he did. When they entered the dining room, they were surprised to find such a feast awaiting them.

 

“Why, thank you Lassan!” said Liira.

 

“Don’t thank me, thank B-9,” corrected Lassan.

 

“Well, thank you then, B-9,” said Liira.

 

“Yes, thank you B-9,” agreed Osan.

 

The organics tucked into their meals. Once they had finished, Lassan stood up and announced: “Everyone, I have decided; Osan and Liira can join if they wish. But, there are some conditions: 1, payment will only be given if the profits are not needed elsewhere, also, all crew members will get equal pay. 2, we will debate all action democratically, but I reserve the right to overrule, should this be necessary. 3, all crew members will work when needed, with no overtime or bonuses, that includes myself. Any questions?” 

 

“Yes, where will we rest?” inquired Osan.

 

“I will renovate the spare room,” replied Lassan. “It’ll be divided equally in half.”

 

“That sounds good enough,” said Liira.

 

“Oh, one more thing, you know that I seem to be a wanted man, at least by two or more Dark Psiarchs, so travelling with me could be potentially dangerous. I have already delayed my departure long enough; we will spend this final day preparing ourselves. Osan, Liira, I will accompany you to your camp to help carry all your belongings to Starstrider. We will leave at sun-set, understood?”

 

“Yes,” said the two Azini.

 

“You’re not worried about the Dark Psiarchs?”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay then, we shall leave now to fetch your belongings.”

 

“I’ll lead you,” said Liira.

 

It took them three hours to carry all Osan and Liira’s possessions to Starstrider. By then it was 11.00. Lassan had decided they would leave at 20.00, so they all busied themselves making last-minute preparations. Lassan wandered into town to say farewell to Grung.

 

“Oh, you go so soon? That’s very sad indeed! Oh well, goodbye then you little rascal,” said Grung sadly, before giving Lassan a big, crushing hug.

“Don’t worry, Grung, I’m sure I’ll see you around,” said Lassan comfortingly.

 

“Yes, probably. Well, go on! Fly away into the heavens and leave me to my work, you blighter!”

 

Lassan smiled at the old Drakkari before heading back through the dusty streets to Starstrider. 

 

Once he was back, Lassan walked into his room and began thinking of a new course. It was apparent that without Rho Drakkar, the entire Vadir Sector would fall under Akkada hegemony, and, since the Valimaar document incident, he now had a bounty on his head, so it would be suicide to stay in Vadir.

 

Many of the surrounding sectors were overrun by Marauders and pirates. There was one exception; Eredorus Sector. Eredorus Sector was still relatively civilised, and it was outside the Collective’s operational zone, making it safe from their excursions. The only problem was that the local government, the Eredorian Sectorial Authority (ESA), was at war with one of the most powerful trade organizations in all the Western Wilds; the Abaani Mining Corporation.

 

The AMC as it is often called is said to have been founded before the War. The AMC was vast, stretching its influence across all of Oversector Drakkar and many neighbouring Oversectors. Betraying them could make finding work outside Eredorus a very difficult, and possibly, dangerous affair. However, the ESA was also large and in need of constant aid, and with Vadir collapsing into chaos, work for the ESA could now be a more viable option than ever.

 

Lassan spent over an hour pondering their next move. He decided to ask the others opinion once they were under-way. He was on his way to tell them when a cold chill ran down his spine and he knew what was about to happen.

 

“B-9!” yelled Lassan as he ran into the dining room.

 

“Yes?”

 

“We need to leave now!”

 

“What, why?”

 

“They’re here!”

 

“Oh, no, Liira and Osan have just left to say goodbye to one of the shopkeepers!”

 

“Well we have to go and get them! Before it’s too late!”

 

Before B-9 could object Lassan had rushed back to his room, fetched his energy pistol and ran through the main corridor and out onto the Landing Pad. B-9 was waiting for him; he had his Thermo-Kinetic Pulse Pistol and a couple of spare magazines. F-1 looked worriedly at Lassan.

“Sorry, boy, but you must stay on the ship,” he said.

 

F-1 obeyed sadly.

 

Once he had dashed out, Lassan used the automatic locker to seal the ship.

“Which way!” asked Lassan.

 

“I don’t know, toward town!” answered B-9.

 

Lassan and B-9 rushed through the town, pedestrians dashed for cover in case a fight broke out. They skidded round a corner and nearly smashed into Liira and Osan.

 

“What’s wrong?” asked a surprised Liira.

 

“We have to get off this planet now!” said Lassan.

 

Liira and Osan had been traders long enough to not ask questions and followed swiftly. Lassan noticed the town had become eerily quiet.

”I hope we’re not too late,” thought Lassan.

 

As they rushed around the last gentle corner, Lassan’s heart skipped a beat; a dark figure stood between the group and Starstrider.

The figure took a step forward and began to speak in a cold, malevolent voice.

 

“Greetings, crew of Starstrider, I am Amarrath.”

 

A fairly placid chapter, compared to the last at least. I don't have a great deal to say here, but there are a few key points:

 

First and foremost, to answer the question at the tip of your tongue, dear reader, yes, I was a furry. That's why there are anime lemur people in my space opera. Don't judge. Moving on.

 

Now, Malabaan. Cool name (I've always been good with names, more on that later), but the concept behind the planet is fucking stupid. Another Star Wars-ism, the junk planet is nonsensical from every possible perspective: if you want to get rid of space junk, it is far easier to just nudge it into a decaying orbit with a gas giant, or any planet with a thick atmosphere really, and let it burn up in re-entry. Hell, just give it a push in the direction of the nearest star, that'll do just fine.

 

If you want to keep the space junk around for some inexplicable reason, then the last thing you want to do is keep it planetside, for the following reasons: 1) it is a pain to get stuff to earth without burning it up in re-entry, 2) there are far more corrosive forces at play in-atmosphere compared to space, which would result in rapid degredation, 3) when someone eventually buys your scrap, they then have to lug it back up into space at great cost! Needless to say, I won't be using that trope again.

 

Another thing: ignore anything I say about local polities, they don't matter. For better or for worse, I wanted to paint a convincing picture of an inhabited Periphery, with many competing factions, which I did do, though perhaps I could have been a little less heavy-handed about it. Once the main plot gets going, none of the local politics matters, at least not for long.

 

That's all for today, dear readers. I know my notes have mostly been centered on the world-building, but I do have stuff to say about plot and characters as well. All in due time...

Edited July 9, 2021 by Omniarch

[Omniarch]

Right, sorry about the delay, dear readers. I forgot to upload on staurday, so I just decided to stop posting over the weekend. Anyhow, on with the show!

 

Chapter 5: Amarrath

Spoiler

Lassan lifted his weapon. Liira, Osan and B-9 did the same.

 

“You think such pathetic weapons could have any effect on me?” drawled Amarrath. “I could kill you all right now, but I’m only after one of you. Mr. Lassan Krehn, I believe your name is.”

 

“My question is why, why do you want to kill Lassan, you vile, filthy, twisted creature?” spat Osan.

 

“I’ll take that as a compliment, my good Azini. As for your question, my business is my own. However, let me just say, your friend is, or will be, meddling in affairs he shouldn’t. My master has seen it, and has ordered me to intervene accordingly,” answered Amarrath.

 

“He’s our captain. You’ll need to get through us first,” said B-9 flatly.

 

“That can be… arranged!” hissed Amarrath and a shock wave flew toward B-9.

 

The impact knocked B-9 flying. Lassan, Liira, and Osan all fired their weapons. All the shots impacted harmlessly on Amarrath’s shield. B-9 had been thrown about twenty metres backwards, right next to a rather convenient alleyway.

 

Meanwhile, Lassan, Liira and Osan were darting from place to place, occasionally firing in the hope that Amarrath would let his guard down. So far he hadn’t. While the others engaged Amarrath, B-9 crept quietly along the rear of a long building, his plan was to creep up on Amarrath’s flank and blast him while he wasn’t looking.

 

Finally he came to a suitable alleyway and took up position. He could see Amarrath now, he was doing well, judging by the look on his face, B-9 was about to change that. He lifted his weapon to his eye (his gun was not designed for synthetics), took aim, and fired. Amarrath was caught completely off guard, and the shot found its mark. Amarrath screamed as the Thermo-Kinetic pulse seared into his flesh. A purple shield appeared around Amarrath’s whole body.

 

Meanwhile, Liira had been sneaking closer and closer to Starstrider. Lassan, seeing her plan, had the remote ready to unlock the ship as soon as she arrived. When the purple shield covered Amarrath, Liira seized her chance and dashed for Starstrider. Lassan pressed the unlock button on his remote just as she arrived.

 

Liira closed the cargo-bay door behind her just as an under-powered shock wave from the enraged Amarrath slammed into the hull harmlessly. Lassan made for the desert, where they could hide and wait for Liira to pick them up. He signalled for the others to follow.

 

“Liira is a good pilot, she should be able to pick us up once we’re out in the desert,” thought Lassan.

 

Meanwhile, Grung (who had heard all the commotion outside) had been biding his time, hunting through his collection of weapons and armour for the best possible set. Grung knew that Lassan and any one he deemed a friend could survive long enough for Grung and several other scrap-merchants to arrive.

 

The scrap-merchants of Malabaan were an incredibly tough bunch; they had held off an entire Dawn Raider invasion force all on their own. That had been a battle to remember. Grung called the others on primitive radio equipment (radio transmissions were hard to pick up on modern Omnicoms), but most of the scrap-merchant community was up in arms already.

 

Grung then walked into his garage and picked up a Quantum Battery, lugging it off toward an inconspicuous, run-down old building out in the desert.

 

“It’s time to send those off-worlders running home!” thought Grung grimly.

 

Back in the desert, Lassan and his allies had made good progress, putting about a kilometre between them and the town. They now stood atop a dormant lava-spout with a small caldera, a perfect form of cover.

 

“Now all we have to do is survive until Liira comes back,” said Lassan.

 

“Wait a minute, what’s taking her so long?” asked Osan. “She should’ve been here ages ago.”

 

“I don’t know, B-9, can you contact Starstrider?” inquired Lassan. “I’ve tried, but my Omnicom doesn’t have the range.”

 

“Yes, if she’s in range, I’ll try now,” replied B-9.

 

It took only a few seconds for B-9 to pin Starstrider down and make a transmission.

 

“Liira says; under attack from a strange craft, locked in dogfight above the planetary troposphere. Wait, transmission failing, I can’t keep it open… no good.

 

Transmission lost,” reported B-9.

 

“Wait, did Liira get shot down!” asked Lassan in horror.

 

“No, just out of my range,” answered B-9.

 

“Can you reroute power to communication?” asked Osan.

 

“No, not without shutting down thought function,” replied B-9.

 

“Uh, guys, I think we have our own problem,” said Lassan and pointed.

 

A strange black mass was gathered a few hundred metres from the town, Amarrath was in the lead.

 

“Uh, oh,” groaned B-9. “Now he’s angry.”

 

“What is it!” said Lassan and Osan together.

 

“I read about it in the Encyclopaedia Psionicum. Those are Nether-Borne.”

 

“Nether-Borne?”

 

“Extra-dimensional creatures, powered by raw void energies. They are created by Dark Psiarchs as minions and are extremely dangerous, capable of shifting their shapeless forms into hideous and deadly contortions.”

 

“So how do we kill them?” asked Osan.

 

“You can’t. They can only be dispersed. Thermo-Kinetic and energy weapons do have some effect on their 3rd dimensional forms. But it will take a lot of fire to bring even one of them down,”

 

Before B-9 could continue, an ear-splitting shriek split the air and the Nether-Borne advanced. The trio opened fire on the shapeless hoard. Several of the forms collapsed or dissipated, but more took their place. The creatures were now only a few hundred metres from Lassan and his friends.

“We have to retreat!” said Osan desperately.

 

“It’s no good, it looks like we fight to the death,” replied Lassan grimly.

 

Lassan had always feared the Dark Psiarchs, but now that death was sure to come, he felt strangely calm and determined, determined to bring as many Nether-Borne down with him as possible. Judging by Osan’s ferocity, he had similar feelings.

 

“Duck!” yelled B-9 while pulling Lassan and Osan to the ground.

 

Before Lassan could say anything, a thundering boom shook the ground, mingled with the shrieks of dissipating Nether-Borne. Lassan peered over the edge; the silhouettes of a large army of angry-looking scrap-merchants, armed to the teeth of course, were advancing toward Amarrath from his rear at a frightening pace. And in the centre of this angry mob, was Grung, standing atop a huge tank. Another scrap-merchant, armed with a loudspeaker, climbed up alongside Grung.

 

The merchant with the loudspeaker began to yell: “Alright ya ugly bunch! It be time to show these off-world Jessies some of our famous, Malabaan hospitality!”

 

The mob roared its approval.

 

“I don’t believe it,” said a surprised Osan. “I didn’t think these lazy blighters had it in them.”

 

“Did they never tell you that they held off an entire Dawn Raider invasion force?” asked Lassan, surprised.

 

“They did, over and over again. So much so that I assumed they were joking,” replied Osan.

 

“Well, good thing they weren’t, or we’d be dead by now,” B-9 pointed out.

 

From their viewpoint, they could see Amarrath, who had obviously seen the oncoming threat and had turned and fled as fast as he could. His progress was hindered when a tank shell exploded a short distance away from him. He frantically summoned a cloud of some sort of dark mist all around him, which quickly spread, engulfing half the town. He seemed to have called his ship because a few seconds later, B-9 received a signal from Liira:

 

“Message is; “Enemy vessel broken off, returning for pick-up”. She should be here any moment now.”

 

And sure enough, the familiar hull of Starstrider appeared over-head. Lassan felt the subtle push of its EM landers. The cargo-bay descended and the door fell open.

 

“What are we waiting for!” yelled Osan before jumping aboard.

 

“Just a second,” said Lassan.

 

Grung was watching them through his eye-glass. Lassan asked if he and the other merchant needed help using hand signal codes. In response, two shots were fired into the air, meaning “No”.

 

Lassan, glad to see that Grung and the other merchants were doing fine, and grateful to them for saving his and his friends’ lives, gave them his best salute, which was admittedly a bit clumsy but it sent the message all the same. Grung and his men returned with a volley of shots. Then, answering a call from inside Starstrider, Lassan disappeared into the ship.

 

“Well, goodbye again, my friend,” thought Grung as Lassan clambered onto the ramp and was gone.

 

Grung watched happily as Starstrider’s powerful engines took her far into the now darkening sky.

Right, a nice short chapter with plenty of action. One thing you'll notice, dear readers, is that this chapter marks my first shift in perspective from third-person limited to third-person-omniscient. It was janky, for sure, and represents a rare unmarked break in perspective on my part. However, this technique would go on to become quite prevalent in my later works, where it was used as a sort of 'zoom' feature, allowing me to describe scenes in such a way that would be impractical from a more limited perspective.

 

Another recurring trend that made its first appearance here is the presence of highly competent allied / neutral third parties. One thing that I have always hated aboout heroic fiction is the consistent tendency to make everyone except the heroes and the villains irrelevant and incompetent in equal measure. Works that manifest this tendency too hard tended to make me root either for the bad guys (because I preferred OP villains vs OP heroes) or the nearest third party.

 

Needless to say, I have pushed back aggressively against this trope ever since I started writing (even my first story, written a year before Starstrider, manifests this tendency to some extent), filling my works with competent third parties, sometimes (as in this case) at the expense of the antagonists. Later, this issue would be made irrelevant by the increasing moral complexity of my works, but its legacy remains in the form of powerful and influential neutral figures and factions.

 

That's all for today, dear readers. After this chapter, the plot finally starts to cohere, though this is not obvious until a bit later. Stay tuned!

[Omniarch]

Sorry for the delay, dear readers. Something rather drastic occured IRL. Check the latest status for details. Regardless, I'm back now, and plan on returning to schedule. Enjoy!

 

Chapter 6: Leaving Vadir

Spoiler

As Starstrider broke through the upper atmosphere, Lassan began to remember that they would have to leave Vadir Sector, and that he would need to discuss it with the others. Once they were nearing interplanetary space, Lassan activated the ship’s jammers in case that Amarrath fellow came after them, and called the crew together in the dining room.

 

But before he could break this news, he decided that they all needed a nice friendly meal. Luckily, he had bought some delicious Loras Fruit, a mouth-watering coconut-like fruit, filled with juicy little seed vessels. Soon afterwards, they were all enjoying a meal of Loras Fruit.

 

“Liira that was some amazing flying you did out there today, incredible!” congratulated Osan. “Good job!”

 

“Thanks bro,” said Liira sweetly. “It was mostly instinct.”

 

“Yikes, I’ve used more battery power in one afternoon than I have used in the past week!” declared B-9. “No more adventures for us.”

 

“You should remember that Amarrath is still after us, B-9,” said Lassan solemnly. “We mustn’t let our guard down.”

 

“You’re right, maybe we should move on,” suggested Osan.

 

“But to where?” asked Liira.

 

“That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” replied Lassan. “I think we should go to Eredorus Sector.”

 

“What!” said all of them at once.

 

“I think it’s a brilliant plan,” said Liira.

 

“That’s not a good idea” declared B-9. “If we move there, the Abaani Mining Corporation will put us on their “undesirable” list. Do you want to be on their undesirable list?”

 

“Yes, I agree with B-9, it’s not a good idea,” agreed Osan.

 

“Listen, all of you. Eredorus may not have as much well-paid work as the neighbouring sectors, but the jobs are safe, since they actually defend their worlds from pirates,” said Liira. “It may be good for our wallets to work in Abaani territory, but it will be good for our souls to work in the safer, more civilized Eredorus.”

 

“I think I agree with Liira, Eredorus will be better for our, uh, souls, and for our health,” said Lassan. “And now, with Vadir falling into chaos, the Eredorian Sectorial Authority (ESA) will have more need for experienced traders than ever. Remember when Obaan Sector, our closest neighbour, collapsed into anarchy, it was the ESA not the AMC who came to Obaan’s aid. And their military campaigns needed resupplying, so the need for traders and smugglers grew. Now the same process will repeat with Vadir.”

 

“Well, I see you have made up your mind,” declared Osan. “Off to Eredorus we go, I suppose!”

 

“It seems I’m out voted,” muttered B-9. “We’ll probably die, but, at least I would have proved my point.”

 

“Ok everyone! To your posts! B-9, prepare the ship for Phase-Jump,” ordered Lassan. “I’ll take her over the limit.”

 

“Right away,” obeyed B-9.

 

“Lassan?” said Liira.

 

“Yes Liira?”

 

“What will me and my brother do?” she asked.

 

“You need to keep an eye on the ship’s new systems, to make sure they’re running fine. As for you Osan, you’re on swabbing duty,” answered Lassan mischievously.

 

“What! I have nine years of mechanical experience!” exclaimed Osan. “I’ve been working since I was twelve!  I cannot swab the decks!”

 

“I’m just joking; you’re on engine and reactor duty.”

 

“Oh,” said Osan, slightly embarrassed by his out-burst. “Hur, hur, hur. Very funny, Lassan.”

 

Lassan walked into the cockpit.

 

“How far to the Phase-Limit?” inquired Lassan.

 

“200.000 kilometres, we should be there in half an hour,” replied B-9.

 

Lassan walked to his cabin to plot their course. Holomaps were such useful things. Their journey would take them around ten days, covering a distance measuring 3000 light years.

 

 Once their course had been plotted, Lassan walked down into the cockpit to input their desired course. They had more than enough antimatter to reach Alpha Eredori, capital of Eredorus. They were now just five minutes away from the Phase-Limit.

 

“Start charging the Phase Drive please B-9.”

 

“Charging Phase Drive now.”

 

“Attention crew!” commanded Lassan over the intercom. “We will be entering Phase space in five minutes, I repeat, five minutes!”

Lassan sat down in his command chair. He was happy to be away from Malabaan, the dusty red world was highly depressing.

 

“Begin Phase Jump procedure,” ordered Lassan. “Activate Inertial Dampeners, set the Navigator.”

 

“Phase Jump procedure commencing,” echoed B-9. “Activating Inertial Dampeners.”

 

“Phase Jump in five, four, three, two, one…”

 

Lassan pushed the antimatter input lever to maximum. Starstrider lurched forward and the view ports went black. There were no photons in Phase space, so it appeared inky black. Phase space was dark; it was the complete, utter absence of any form of light. Nothing in the 3rd dimension came close to that level of emptiness.

 

Early on in his career, seeing that empty void had given Lassan the shudders, but that had worn off over the years. Him and B-9 left the cockpit and wandered into the lounge. Many trade vessels had a lounge of sorts, Starstrider’s was basically a couch, some chairs and a few tables, all bolted to the floor in case of gravity failure.

 

A few minutes later, Liira and Osan entered the room.

 

“Uh, Lassan?” said Osan.

 

“Yes Osan?”

 

“Could you connect me and my sister’s Omnipads to the ship’s computer? It would allow us to keep a constant eye on the ship’s systems.”

“Well, uh, yes, of course, but why?”

 

“Your ship’s Phase Drive and Reactor are in desperate need of repair,” said Liira. “Yikes, when was the last time you serviced your ship?”

 

“Several years ago, I simply didn’t have the money,” replied Lassan sheepishly. “Besides, surely if something’s wrong, won’t the ship start beeping?”

 

“Yes, but do you know what happens after it beeps?”

 

“Well, uh, no not really.”

 

“The ship’s Drive fails and the surge of power from the reactor vaporizes the ship! Surely you should know this?”

 

“That’s not very nice; I’m not an expert on Reactors and Phase Drives. When I have the money, I get the ship serviced, but I have been short of funds for 18 months now,” retorted Lassan, slightly annoyed. “Most of the time I barely had enough fuel to reach the next port.”

 

There was silence.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you, I just got annoyed because you weren’t taking care of your ship,” apologized Liira.

 

“That’s fine. I have been a bit of a slob lately,” said Lassan. “When we reach port, I’ll use my money to service the ship. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and study the astrography of Eredorus.”

 

 

The next ten days were mostly uneventful. Lassan spent the time renovating the spare room into a pleasant double cabin and getting used to having the two Azini on board; Osan and Liira were good company, just as he remembered them to be. The story on how they’d met was a strange one.

 

Lassan was only 19 at the time. He was on a routine smuggling mission for the Akkada Confederacy, carrying a valuable supply of antimatter to Gundabar, a highly contested world during the early stages of the Khadreth/Akkada conflict, when he noticed another ship heading for Khadreth space. Lassan had decided to follow the ship, thinking that if he and B-9 discovered a secret Akkada base, they would surely get a bonus.

 

Lassan had followed the vessel for some time; they were only seventy kilometres above Gundabar’s surface, when two colossal ships appeared on scanners. They appeared to be from opposite sides, and immediately began shooting at each other. Squadrons of small, light fighters streaked out of the hangers of both ships. Lassan and the other ship turned to flee from their respective enemies.

 

Starstrider could not outrun fighters so Lassan decided to take her down to the planet’s swampy surface. The other ship had a similar idea, and it too descended in order to escape destruction. There were no suitable landing zones, so when Lassan took his ship down, it crashed down through the trees and fell right in the middle of a muddy bog. Lassan, knowing that Starstrider was thoroughly stuck, decided to try and make for the nearest town, which he had seen during his descent. Lassan decided not to use the communication device, in case the town was under Akkada occupation.

 

He judged the distance to be around fifty kilometres, so he set off at once, leaving B-9 to guard the ship. However, he didn’t go far. As he crashed through the swampland, Lassan heard voices. They sounded like they were arguing. Lassan tried to sneak up on them but tripped and fell. Energy shots rang out as the two hostiles fired. Lassan got out his own pistol and returned fire. The fire-fight lasted several minutes, until one of the voices, a female one, shouted out:

 

“We want to make a truce! Our ship is damaged and we don’t have the crew to repair it!”

 

“You’ll find I have the same problem,” returned Lassan. “But maybe I can help you, and then you can help me.”

 

“That’ll do,” said the male voice. “But don’t try anything funny.”

 

It took them several hours to repair the Azini’s ship and get it out of the bog. Once it was free, Lassan boarded the ship to guide them to where his ship had crashed. The two Azini remained true to their word. It didn’t take long for Lassan to attach a strong cable to Dragonfly so that she could pull Starstrider out of the muck. Once Starstrider was free and repaired, Lassan and the two Azini agreed to complete their respective missions without interference from the other.

 

Once they had completed their missions, Lassan and the Azini had met on several occasions, doing various missions together, until they became the best of friends. They had worked together on and off for two years. So in total, Lassan had known them for three years, although he hadn’t seen them in 11 months until he had arrived on Malabaan. He was glad to have them as a crew.

 

 

 

It was the tenth day of their voyage; Starstrider had long since crossed the border from Obaan to Eredorus. Lassan had rarely been so far from Vadir in the last few years.

 

“We will be arriving in orbit of Alpha Eredori in two hours,” announced B-9 over the intercom.

 

Lassan decided to use the final hours of the voyage to make sure that he and his crew’s papers were in order. It didn’t take long to upload them into the ship’s computer, ready for sending. Lassan decided to call everyone to the dining room for briefing:

 

“Attention all crew members! Please report to the dining room for briefing.”

 

Once everyone was gathered, Lassan explained his plan:

 

“Ok, I want us to split up so we can get as much done in as little time as possible. Liira, I’ll be giving you 1000 credits to find and pay someone to service the ship. Osan, you’ll be going to negotiate supply, make sure we have adequate water and food. Oh, and please top-up the fuel tank. I’m giving you 500 credits to obtain the supplies. I will go to the Mission Centre to look for jobs. B-9 and F-1 will stay with the ship. Any questions?”

 

None were asked.

 

“Good, we’ll be arriving in one and a half hours, so be ready.”

 

Once they had arrived in orbit of Alpha Eredori, Lassan had transmitted his and the crew’s papers to the Planetary Harbour Office. They announced that the papers were in order and that Starstrider was to dock at Tower-75, Clamp 335. Alpha Eredori’s capital, Eredorus City, was nothing like the polluted cityscape of Rho Drakkar. Instead, it was a glittering metropolis, with parks, museums, and hotels standing atop the vast Tower-Cities.

 

The Tower-Cities of Alpha Eredori were enormous round structures, standing several hundred metres above cloud level. Their centres were hollow and full of light and air. Some were giant, vertical suburbs, others, vast recreational centres. All-in-all, Eredorus City was the place to be, if you were a ground-hog, that is.

 

Starstrider flew down towards the massive, spiral shaped, docking tower. The towers were amazing, with their huge, but intricate shapes and their incredible heights, they were a sight to behold. Once they had landed and Lassan had disembarked; he asked a Taxi to take him to the Monorail Station. Once there, Lassan bought a Holomap of Eredorus City.

 

Once he had plotted his course, Lassan boarded a Monotrain headed for Central Plaza, where the Mission Centre was located. The Monotrains hung from a Neo-Steel track wound around many of the Tower-Cities. It was an amazing view. Lassan had heard stories of the Core Worlds that existed before the War, and concluded that, whatever people said, a metropolis couldn’t get much more stunning than Eredorus City.

 

Lassan finally disembarked at Central Plaza, looking around in awe at its sheer scale. Then he noticed a sign saying “Teleportation Matrix”. Lassan had to ask.

“Excuse me,” said he to the nearest constable. “But what is the Teleportation Matrix?”

 

“I’m glad you asked off-worlder! The TM is Eredorus City’s latest method of transportation! Travel is instantaneous and only costs 20 credits!”

 

Lassan thanked the constable and thought:

 

“What will these Eredorians think of next?”

 

Lassan looked around and spotted a large structure labelled “Mission Centre”. He walked up to the front office and waited. A happy little man looked up and smiled.

 

“Hello sir! How can I help you today?” he asked.

 

“I would like to register my ship Starstrider as a trading and blockade running vessel,” replied Lassan.

 

“Sure thing sir, sure thing. Now if I could just see your ship’s papers?”

 

Lassan handed them to him and waited. The little man tapped away on his desk Data-uplink for a while. When he was finished he said:

 

“Registration completed sir! Here are your papers.”

 

Lassan thanked the little man and began to walk back to the Monorail Station. 

 

He felt a strange urge to take a little detour, so he could walk through the vertical suburbs, just to see what they were like, or so he told himself. When the Monotrain dropped him off at one of the residential blocks, Lassan began to walk quietly through. As he walked, he encountered many happy residents, walking their dogs or riding their Hover Boards, but as he got into the area labelled “Retirement Road”, it began to get eerily quiet.

 

Sure the residents were there, mostly sitting on their verandas, waving at passers-by, but as he went further and further into the Retirement area, fewer and fewer people were outside, until at a certain point, he was alone. This didn’t bother him of course, Eredorus City was safe and Lassan liked to be alone.

 

He was nearing the end of Retirement Road, and was beginning to wonder what had possessed him to take this strange detour. He was now walking past some smaller cottages, without gardens, so he was walking directly next to the doors when one of them swung inward, and before Lassan could do anything, he was dragged inside.

Oh ho ho, the plot thickens... Finally, the real plot begins!

 

I don't have anything to say in particular in this chapter. Its okay, I suppose. Questionable in more or less the same way as usual for the story.

 

There is one incredibly petty thing I want to focus on, though: there is no fucking way an interstellar starship could get trapped in a swamp. None whatsoever. Those things output a small nuke's worth of thrust every second in order to reach cruising speed for pity's sake!

 

Told you it was petty. Regardless, that's all for now. I'll probably have a lot more to say about tomorrow's chapter. 'till then!

[Omniarch]

Chapter 7: A New Purpose

Spoiler

Lassan tried to fight his assailants, but they were too strong, and the darkness wasn’t helping either. He found himself being pushed into a chair. He tried to struggle but was held fast. He attempted to shout but one of the attackers put a large hand over his mouth. Suddenly, a light came on and Lassan could see the room now, a fairly normal room, and sitting at one end was an old man.

 

“Greetings, Mr. Krehn, I’m sorry for my rather rude methods, but I’m sure you’ll understand,” said he and signalled for the men to let go of Lassan. “I am Narad Talanar, Psiarch, and Guardian of the Light.”

 

Lassan thought fast, if this man was his enemy, he could have killed him by now, so that couldn’t be it. Had he had put the urge to take a detour in his head? Maybe he wanted something, but what?

 

“You could have just asked to speak with me,” said Lassan, stalling for more time.

 

“Truly I would have, if it were an option. We Guardians are nothing if not courteous,” he replied. “However, there are nefarious forces at work, and it would not be wise to attract their attention too soon.”

 

“Nefarious forces? I wonder…” Lassan thought.

 

He decided to test the Psiarch.

 

“What do you know of a Dark Psiarch called Amarrath?” asked Lassan suspiciously.

 

Narad looked mildly surprised at the mention of Amarrath.

 

 “Amarrath? Hmm, yes, I know of him, he’s a rogue, a remnant of an age long past,” replied Narad. “Why do you ask?”

 

“Because he tried to kill me.”

 

Lassan saw surprise and worry flicker across Narad’s face.

 

“Do you mean he attacked you? But why?” 

 

“He said something about me, or a future me, meddling in his master’s plans.”

 

This time worry was easily visible on Narad’s face.

 

“Really! Are you sure that’s what he said?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure. You can ask my crew, they’ll tell you the same thing.”

 

“I see. It seems as though things are moving faster than anticipated. We’ll just have to hurry,” said Narad with resolve.

 

“Can you please just explain why you brought me here?”

 

“Ah, yes that. I wanted to make a business proposition.”

 

“What kind of business proposition?”

 

“I would like to hire you, to carry a very special passenger.”

 

“So, where would I be taking this passenger?”

 

“To Utopia!”

 

“Utopia!” exclaimed Lassan. “But it’s just a legend!”

 

“No, that’s where you’re wrong, young man,” said Narad. “Utopia is the last stronghold of the Resistance.”

 

“The Resistance! But it was effectively destroyed over a thousand years ago by the Collective!”

 

“That’s what many people believe, but it’s not true, the Resistance lives on. The tide of war is changing, the forces of old yearn for vengeance! The Galaxy will be re-forged!” announced Narad excitedly. “Lassan, you too can be a part of this, help us, and together we will destroy the Collective and liberate the Galaxy!”

 

Lassan thought: “This guy is a lunatic. No sane person would have such grand ideas!”

 

“I can sense your doubt, but I assure you, it is real. But if you refuse to respond to principle, then maybe you’ll respond to something a little more… solid,” said Narad. “If you deliver my passenger to Utopia, we, that is, the Resistance, will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

 

This was a lot to take in, and Lassan, being a fairly logical type, didn’t believe a word of it.

 

“I can see you’re having a hard time believing me, but Utopia is real. You know as well as I do that Alpha Eredori, despite its grandeur and strength, will not last forever. The ESA has bitten off more than it can chew, and, sooner rather than later, the Collective will come,” said Narad. “But do not fear, if the Resistance’s plan succeeds, Alpha Eredori will be spared. So, Lassan Krehn, what do you say?”

 

Lassan had been thinking hard. He couldn’t just decline without his crew’s approval.

 

“I’ll need to consult my crew. If you wish to meet them yourself, then you can come and discuss it with us, on my ship.”

 

“Hmm, I’ll have to bring a couple of my men, just for insurance,” said Narad.

 

“Go ahead,” replied Lassan, taking assurance in the fact that he and his friends were also armed. “Starstrider is docked at Tower-75, Clamp 335.”

 

“Excellent, I’ll be there at dawn,” declared Narad. “Men, please escort Mr. Krehn to the Monorail Station.”

 

 

Lassan thought hard about the whole business all the way back to Starstrider. Once he arrived, he wondered how he was going to explain it to the crew. What if they thought he was mad? No, it was unlikely. He decided to just tell them and hope for the best. Lassan walked onto the ship and was greeted by B-9.

 

“Hello! How’d the registration go?” he asked.

 

“I got us registered, but…”

 

“What’s “but”?”

 

“Just get everyone together in the dining room please,” asked Lassan tiredly.

 

“Yes, yes of course,” obeyed B-9.

 

Once everyone was gathered, Lassan said: “Okay, guys, I’ve had a very unusual experience. I was just walking through…”

 

Lassan told them about the whole incident, beginning to end. There was silence.

 

“I knew coming here was a bad idea, now we’ve got two groups of Psionic nut-jobs on our trail,” muttered B-9. “I thought something like this might happen.”

 

“But what if this guy was telling the truth, what then?” said Liira reasonably. “If he isn’t a lunatic, then helping him might be the right thing to do.”

 

“How can it be the right thing if it gets us all killed!” snapped Osan, who had a very one-dimensional view of life. “We’ll be too dead to enjoy the fabled rewards.”

 

“The right thing is its own reward,” retorted Liira. “Do you lot have no morals or principles at all?”

 

“Only monks and dead people have morals and principles!” said Osan. “The monks have it because it’s their job to keep their memory alive and dead people have it because it’s what made them dead in the first place!”

 

“Quiet, everyone,” commanded Lassan. “Look, he may sound like a lunatic, but if he isn’t, then we could end up with enough money to retire in luxury, just by taking someone from one place to another.”

 

“You do make a good point. One could argue that this guy can’t be just any old random nutter. If so, where’d he get those men? But, he could have an alternate motive, and be attempting to deceive us,” B-9 pointed out.

 

“But to what end? Why would he bother? If he was an enemy and wanted to kill us, as well as Lassan, he could have knocked him out and coated him in explosive nanites. That’d have done the job and would have left the authorities none the wiser,” declared Liira.

 

“That’s a lovely thought,” said Osan.

 

“We can at least save the arguing until after we’ve given this Narad guy a fair hearing,” said B-9 reasonably.

 

“I’ve just got one question: why would he choose us?” wondered Osan. “I’ve always thought of myself as being the bottom of the barrel.”

 

“We all consider ourselves the least likely choice, its trader logic. With Narad, though, I guess we’ll just have to ask him when he arrives,” said Lassan. “Right, I think I’ll be off to bed, and I suggest you lot do the same. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a busy day.

 

 

When Lassan woke up the next morning, he had forgotten all about yesterday’s adventure and happily went about his morning doings. Then as he opened the door, the previous day’s stress poured over him.

 

 “Why, why, why did he have to pick me? Why am I so special?” thought Lassan bitterly. “No trader should attract such attention to himself.”

 

He wandered through to the dining room and saw that everyone else was sitting, waiting. Lassan took his seat and joined them, pressing the button on his remote to unlock and open Starstrider’s cargo door. Half a minute later Narad and two of his men arrived.

 

“Ah, yes, beautiful ship, yes, she’ll suit our needs perfectly,” said Narad. “With your permission of course.”

 

Lassan showed him inside. F-1 jumped around excitedly, clearly taking a shine to Narad.

 

“I think your K-9 bot likes me,” chuckled Narad. “How did you get him to behave so much like a real dog?”

 

“I just downloaded a dog A.I from a terminal on Omega Drakkar.”

 

“What an excellent idea! It’s been years since I’ve kept pets,” said Narad. “Too much work. But a robot, hmm…”

 

Narad drifted off into muttering. Lassan smiled on the outside, but was secretly wondering about Narad’s motives, and, indeed, sanity, on the inside.

Soon they were all seated in the dining room. There was silence. None of the crew knew what to say until Osan asked:

 

“Okay, I’ll get straight to the point; why do you want to employ us, us in particular? Surely there are others?”

 

“You assume much if you think there are other parties like your own. Sure there are plenty of ships to fill our needs, but almost no crews. Most crews are a woven web of unrelated people, employed only because their skills coincide with the ship’s needs. In ships like these, the forces of darkness can always find an ally, willing or unwilling.

 

But, a party like yours has no outsiders, you are all friends or family, none of you would betray the others of your own free will. You clearly don’t appreciate how rare a party like your own is. And rarer still, is the correct combination of personalities; Liira, I sense you are kind and principled, something that is uncommon in a Galaxy of darkness. Osan, you are street-wise and courageous, you would more than happily die to protect your comrades.

 

B-9, you, being a robot, would find treachery particularly difficult. You are not motivated by greed, only to support yourself and, unusually for a robot, your friends. And finally, Lassan, you are a firm but thoughtful and democratic leader, but you are also willing to take risks in place of your fellows. All in all, you are a quite unique band.”

 

There was a stunned silence. Never before had Lassan heard someone speak like that to anyone. It was wonderful, to have someone who appreciated you, not just your role. Lassan found himself coming to trust Narad, within reason.

 

“So, that’s my reason for choosing you, but I haven’t explained my purpose. Long ago, around a century past, I dreamed of a Galaxy where its inhabitants did not have to live on the edge, between the forces of Order and of Chaos, but could live without fear of Marauders or Collective Purification Fleets, a time of Unity.

 

The dreams seemed familiar, so I went through the library on my homeworld, New Caledar, and found that I was correct; I was remembering the age of the Imperium, a period that lasted from around 31.000 years ago to roughly 8.000 years ago, when a galactic governing body that was both orderly and prosperous, reigned over the Galaxy. I looked through countless books, wondering what had become of this mighty state.

 

However, the answer was, sadly, exactly what I had expected; the Imperium had grown too large, corrupt and tyrannical and had eventually fallen. Its own weight brought it crashing down with lethal force, plunging the Galaxy into chaos. Sure, order rose again, but this time it was scarred and bitter. Two factions formed instead of one, and eventually, they clashed. That conflict has echoed through the ages, for it was in its fires that the Collective as we know it was born.”

 

This was highly interesting to Lassan and his friends, and, although they had heard of the Imperium, they knew almost nothing about it. They listened intently to the rest of Narad’s story:

 

 “For years I studied the decline and fall of the Imperium, trying to find a way for a civilization to avoid this result, to no avail. Finally, during a surge of anger at how helpless I was, I suddenly discovered my talent, for, as you know, I am a Psiarch. With this discovery, I realized that I now had unlimited potential, but a lust for power also grew in me. My anger and excitement grew and grew, until my home began to fly apart.

 

The local authorities took notice, and paralysed me with their stunners. I was banished from New Caledar, for fear of attracting the Collective, and sent to an isolated Prison World. They did not try to hold me, they simply released me into the wilderness, counting on the fact that I would never find my way out. Sad and miserable beyond belief, I released huge bursts of raw Psionic energy, ripping the landscape apart in my fury.

 

Then, a strange thing happened; a spark of light grew in my mind, clearing away the anger and hate, and replacing it with an unusual calm. Then, a white, crystalline ship flew down, and a man got out, covered in silken, glittering robes. He called to me and I came, and from that day forth, I was a Guardian of the Light.”

 

Narad paused for breath, and Osan asked: “Who are the Guardians of the Light?”

 

“Listen, I shall explain,” said Narad before continuing. “For decades after then, I believed that the Guardians were the ultimate representatives of Order. But I soon discovered that the Guardians are passive unless provoked, they are unwilling to bring their Order to the rest of the Galaxy. It is impossible to bring Order through pacifism. The reasons for their passiveness date back to their founding eons ago. You see, the Guardians were the ones that the original light-keepers chose to continue their beliefs. They were called; the Rei’ans.”

 

There was another silence. Everyone in the room (except F-1) had heard stories of crystalline beings flying white ships. They, on the rare occasions that they spoke, called themselves “Rei’ans”. It was known that thousands of Rei’an vessels served during the War, but in the times since the rise of the Collective, they were becoming increasingly rare.

 

“The Rei’ans, even back then, were a dying people, barely a shadow of their former selves. Most assumed the Rei’ans to be gone, but during the War of Resistance, they emerged from their hiding places,” continued Narad. “Sadly, when the Collective crushed what was thought to be the Resistance’s last major stronghold, the OVERMIND demanded that the Rei’ans be destroyed. The Exterminator Fleets swept the Galaxy, hunting for the remains of Rei’an civilization, passive or not.

 

Now Rei’ans are all but extinct, or so we thought; approximately 20 years ago, a Psionic shock wave rippled out from a remote world and I knew that a baby had been born, but not just any baby, one with the power, and should it choose to learn, the wisdom of all the past members of the Light. When we, the Guardians arrived, we had no clue what to do with this abandoned child. We were debating our next move when a Rei’an vessel descended through the cold sky. Out of a circular hole in the ship’s hull, a Rei’an descended.

 

This was the first time I had ever seen a Rei’an face. We looked questioningly at the Rei’an, asking for its wisdom, and we were given it. The Rei’an filled our heads with the baby’s potential. She is the key, with her ability to access forbidden knowledge, the Resistance will have the strength and wisdom to battle the Collective on even terms!” continued Narad enthusiastically.

 

“I had found, in the Guardians, the one thing the Imperium lacked; Light! You see, the Imperium had two competing branches of its so-called ‘PsiGuard’; the Knights of the Shadow, and the Order of the Purifying Flame. Having two forces caused imbalance and strife. However without the dark forces within its ranks, I believe that the Imperium would not have fallen. With Pure, untainted Light on our side, we can topple the Collective and bring a new order to the Galaxy, not a new Imperium, but a state called the Unity!”

 

Then Narad sobered, as if he had just experienced some wonderful dream.

 

“But, it is clear in Amarrath’s behaviour that another power has a very similar idea, and their plans too are nearing completion. And, of course, the ever-present threat that the OVERMIND should learn of our plans and decide to finish what it began a millennium past looms over us all,” said he. “So, crew of Starstrider, will you join the Resistance and at least try to save the Galaxy from darkness, or you can stay here and greatly decrease the chances for peace.”

 

Lassan was uncertain, so he looked to his crew. Liira nodded subtly, but Osan shook his head. B-9 shrugged. It seemed the final choice was up to him. He glanced at Narad: excitement, but also worry flickered across his face: he must have kept his plan and his passion locked away for a long time.

 

“Lassan?” said Liira.

 

“Whatever your decision is, I’ll follow,” sighed Osan and B-9 nodded his agreement.

 

Lassan evaluated the odds and decided: “We will join you.”

 

“Excellent! Brilliant! Wonderful!” exclaimed Narad. “Welcome to the Resistance!”

 

As conversation went on between his friends and Narad, Lassan thought about what he had gotten himself into. He decided to ask more about his mission: “Narad, sir?”

 

“No please, just call me Narad,”

 

“Okay, Narad then, where is this planet Utopia?”

 

“Well I can’t say too much here, but I have with me a Resistance map, leading through the dense nebulae of Oversector Horizon.”

 

Narad handed the map to Lassan.

 

“Oversector Horizon! But it’s nearly 190.000 light years to the galactic north-east. That’s a two-year journey from here even for military-grade ships!”

“Exactly; that’s why it’s safe: the Collective Fleets never go that far out. The nearest Collective fleet base to Utopia is over 20.000 light years away.”

“But it's madness! It’d be suicide to go through so much un-civilized space!”

 

“If Oversector Drakkar is what you call civilized, then you’ll find your so-called ‘civilization’ all along the way.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“So, are you still in?”

 

Once again Lassan looked to his friends for guidance; they didn’t seem troubled by this prospect.

 

“Yes, we are,” said Lassan.

 

“Excellent, excellent. I’ll be arriving with my passenger in three days. Take that time to prepare yourselves,” announced Narad.

 

“Just one more thing,” said Lassan.

 

“Yes?”

 

“About our fuel, I can’t afford to pay for two years’ worth.”

 

“Leave that to me! There are many Resistance sympathizers in the Galaxy. I will upload their locations on your Holomap. But, just to get you started…” Narad handed Lassan a credit chip. “Cheerio!”

 

Lassan looked at the info screen, it showed 20.000 credits. 

 

Lassan thought about the necessities for a long voyage.

 

“Liira, did you find a servicer?” asked Lassan.

 

“Yes, he said he could service the ship tomorrow, he also said it would only take him eight hours,” answered Liira.

 

“Excellent, how much did it cost?”

 

“Only 1000 credits.”

 

“Good. Osan, did you acquire fuel and consumables?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Great, so all we need to do is wait.”

 

And wait they did. While the ship was being serviced, everyone except Liira, who was overseeing the service, went to explore the city. For the first half of the second day, Lassan and his friends worked hard to make the ship more comfortable for the passenger. Finally, on the third day Lassan spotted Narad and a cloaked figure.

 

“Ok, they’re here! B-9, open the cargo bay doors, if you please.”

 

Lassan rushed out of the ship to meet them.

 

“Ah, Lassan, I’d like to introduce you to your passenger; Aniiria,” said Narad.

 

“Can I take the cloak off now?” asked Aniiria.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

The cloak fell away, and a very grumpy-looking Aeldarei (a tall, elven people), was revealed. She had long, pointy ears, and equally long hair, which was silky white. She was wearing a high-grade ship suit and carrying a space helmet under her arm in a very Ground-hoggish fashion. She looked around expectantly.

“Where’s my ship?” she asked disappointedly.

 

“You’re looking at her,” said Lassan.

 

“That’s my ship!” announced Aniiria. “You expect me to live in there for two years?”

 

Lassan felt rage bubbling up inside him.

 

“’That’ is what’s getting you to Utopia,” said Lassan, infuriated by the cheek of this, this ground hog.

 

“That’s what worries me,” replied Aniiria indifferently. “Judging by your over-reaction, you must be the captain.”

 

“Yes,” said a simmering Lassan.

 

“Good, I would like to ask you for assurance that this ship will not fall apart in Phase Space. Don’t try and lie, I am a Truthseer you know,” inquired Aniiria infuriatingly.

 

“She’s sturdier than she looks,” answered Lassan through gritted teeth. “Just excuse me for a moment.”

 

Lassan called: “Crew, front and centre!”

 

Lassan wanted to show Narad that his crew were well behaved and orderly, unlike this Aeldarei ground-hog.

 

“This is Liira, she will show you to your quarters, while I discuss our journey with Narad,” said Lassan.

 

“Don’t worry, honoured guest, there is a small half-cabin for you until we can retrofit one of the other rooms,” informed Liira reassuringly.

 

“Half-cabin!” exclaimed Aniiria. “You want me to inhabit a half-cabin!”

 

Narad looked at her sternly.

 

“Okay, I guess the half-cabin will do,” muttered a mollified Aniiria.

 

Once the two had gone inside, Narad turned to Lassan.

 

“I’m sorry for Aniiria’s bad behaviour. Despite our best efforts, she has become used to solitude and private space. She knows she’s the most powerful Psiarch in the ranks of the Guardians, and it has made her somewhat arrogant,” said Narad sadly. “Hopefully, after a few weeks in space, she’ll calm down. She is, if anything, resilient and adaptable.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure me and my crew are capable of dealing with Aniiria’s demands, at least for a while,” said Lassan uncertainty. “Narad, are you coming with?”

 

“No, I’ve still got work to do back here, but when the time comes, I’ll be there,” said Narad. “Anyway, I had better be off, and you should too. Amarrath would have caught your scent for sure.”

 

“Farewell then, Narad,” said Lassan. “Oh, and Narad, thanks.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For opening our minds.”

 

“That is a pleasure. It is my duty as a Guardian to reveal the truth. Well, goodbye, young Lassan, we will meet again!”  Narad concluded before hurrying along his way.

 

F-1 looked after him mournfully. Lassan felt sorry for him.

 

“Don’t worry, boy. We’ll see him again,” said Lassan. “We’ll see him again…”

 

Lassan and F-1 boarded Starstrider, and as she broke through the upper atmosphere, Lassan thought: “What have I gotten myself into this time? I wonder where this will all end.”

Holy moly, that is a long-ass chapter! Honestly, I'm quite torn about it: on the one hand, there is some genuinely good writing here, like Osan's hilarious quote about monks and dead people, or the Narad's characterization in general. On the other, though, there is so much exposition and generalized Science-Fantasy bullshit. Light and Dark? Come on me from the past.

 

Still, I found myself unironically enjoying the old man's rhapsodizing. There is something so profoundly honest about Starstrider, and I feel it shines through the strongest in the story's unabashed love of Space Opera cheese. That kind of thing is lost to me now, not because I strictly dislike Sci-Fantasy BS, but because I cannot ignore the obvious genre-trappings. These days, I pride myself on my originality, which unfortunately makes writing this sort of thing impossible.

 

Anyway, editing, transcribing and formatting this beast of a chapter kinda took it out of me, so no more rambling for now. Until next time, dear readers!