The krynn are giving away territory not ships. This means everyone else now has to defend a larger territory thus weaking themselves. Well the krynn can pull their much larger fleet back and use it to attack whomever they please. Of course it would have been better to wait until those worlds had been colonized first.
Gasp! Another chapter! Maybe I'll actually finish this story before GalCiv III goes gold sometime next decade?
-----
"Oh, for Chrissake," Vashti grimaced. "Who the hell lost their mind and made you a Commander, Quinn?"
"Promotion happens fast in wartime," Lieutenant Commander Quinn O'Malley said, adjusting the collar of his new dress uniform. "You survive enough battles, people decide you should be a leader. Besides, when you've got my natural leadership ability and scintillating personality, promotions just gravitate towards you."
"I'm sure," Vashti sighed. She picked an empty desk next to O'Malley and took off her white-and blue forage cap, tucking it into her belt in the usual regulation manner. "So, what do you think's going on here? The Old Lady's called back to Cherryh from a field mission. Seven weeks back to Terran space, then the ol' Birmingham gets put into dry dock and we get told to stay put for four weeks. Not that I'm complaining, but I thought there was a war going on."
"Trust me, Vash, it's gonna be bad," O'Malley sighed. "This has all the makings of a Special Mission. The kind that you're supposed to volunteer for, but you can't exactly refuse." He put his feet up on the desk in front of him and tossed his peaked cap onto his foot, ringing it like a quoit. "Career suicide or actual suicide, either way, it's suicide."
"Captain on Deck," Keller said, as she entered the conference room. "Ten-hut."
The small group of naval officers assembled in the room moved to attention at one, as Admiral Solomon Dube entered the room. His black hair had turned so grey as to be nearly white in the year since the massacre at Piers, and he now limped noticably: a souvenir of a battle that had nearly ended his life, and had ended his career in command. "At ease," he rumbled, and took his place at the podium.
"You've been gathered here today because you're the best naval officers in the Alliance. You are all battle-tested, with a minimum of five actual engagements. You have all seen the elephant, seen what this war is like. I don't have to tell you that it's going bad."
"The Arceans have nearly wiped out the Altarians: at last report, the invasion fleets are massing near Zasica, right on the doorstep of the Altarian homeworld. Things. . . don't look good for the Resistance. Rumor has it that Eleys Mue is preparing the surrender to the Greens in exchange for clemency. Not sure how that'll work. The Arceans, after all, are a 'proud warrior race.' They might think of that as a sign of weakness and blast them all from orbit."
"As for the Korx, they've basically rolled over and started wagging their tails for the Arceans. Korx trade ships are bringing raw materials to the Arceans by the kiloton. Korx banks are bankrolling their fleets. Korx money is paying for the ships that are killing us. In other words, we can't expect any help from them."
"As for the Krynn? That's the subject of today's meeting." Dube tapped a control on his podium, and the lights in the room dimmed. A holo depicting a blue-and green mottled planet appeared in the center of the room. "This holo was taken three weeks ago by the stealth vessel 'FG Powers,' transmitted shortly before that vessel was shot down. I think it speaks for itself."
The holo spun and zoomed in, and a low murmur of shock spread through the audience. "Admiral, sir?" one of the pilots asked. "What the hell are those things?"
"We don't know, but the Krynn have been building them like mad," Admiral Dube admitted. He zoomed in on the image of one of the high spires, traced with glowing white symbols, casting a lurid, stark white light over the landscape. "They seem to take in a lot of energy and give out a lot more of it. . . and they've been building them all over the place. Tearing down buildings to make them. Schools, nurseries, hospitals, roads. Everything."
"Could they have some kind of religious significance?" Vashti asked.
"Everything is religiously significant to the Krynn," Dube admitted. "But honestly, we're not willing to find out." He brought the lights back up, and the holo faded from view. "Which is why you are here."
"Here it comes," O'Malley sighed.
"You have been selected for a mission of utmost importance to the Alliance," the Admiral continued. "If it succeeds, it could end the war. If it doesn't. . . well, in that case, we're not really too much worse off than we were before." The Admiral folded his hands behind his back. "The mission is extremely important, and extremely dangerous. And that's all I can tell you. If you don't want in, leave now. No consequences for saying no."
O'Malley shook his head. "Knew it," he muttered.
"Door's right there if you want out, Commander O'Malley," Dube rumbled.
"Not looking to leave, sir," O'Malley admitted. "I'm dead either way, so may as well die doing something useful."
"Very well, then. Is there anyone who would like to leave this room?" Dube asked. Not a single person got up from their seats. "Then we'll get started. Keller, please secure the room." Dube reached into his bag and removed a decoder chip as Captain Keller activated the security devices in the room, cloaking it from any outside surveillance. "What I'm about to show you doesn't leave the room. Once you've seen it, you will become national secrets as well. You'll be taken to a secure location where you will train for this mission. Be warned, even if you do succeed, and we do win the war, you may never be able to speak about this with anyone. With that caveat. . . let's begin."
"Oh, shit," O'Malley whispered, as the holo activated. "Oh hells bells, Christ on a crutch."
"Shoulda left when you had the chance," Vashti whispered.
"Good evening," the image intoned. "I am President Alan Bradley of the Terran Alliance. I'm here to speak with you about Project Kali." But it wasn't the image of the Alliance President that caused the gasps of surprise from the audience.
It was the Korath Clan Drengin standing behind him.
NICE!!!
Bloody marvellous..keep going.
Superb mr-excellent!
You're a bloody literary genius!
sweet!
THIS IS AWESOME!!!!!
Can we perhaps get some maps to go with this?
Is this based on a game?
Shoot, he's gone again. If I may do the honors.
Here lies The Last Battlefield. A casualty of negligence, distraction, and the great video game war. May it forever Rest In Peace.
LOVE IT
Following several months of funerals, othergames, and real life getting in the way, I build a new quad-core computer system and decide to install a game. The game happens to be Galactic Civilizations II: Twilight of the Arnor. This reminds me of something that I have left undone. . .
"You have got to be kidding me," O'Malley muttered. "This is insanity."
"If you don't want to do it, you don't have to," Dube said, very calmly.
"I didn't say I wouldn't do it," O'Malley explained, "I just want it on the record that this is insanity."
"Then with all due respect, Commander, shut the hell up and soldier. Every second we spend bitching is another second that we're not saving the human species."
"Right, sir. Right away, sir. Tea and biscuits with sugar on top, sir." O'Malley muttered, but he saluted anyway, and turned crisply on his heel to leave the room. The others followed. . . all except Keller, who paused in the door way.
"Are you sure this is such a good idea, Solomon?" she asked. "If we do this. . ."
"If we don't do this," Solomon Dube intoned, "We're dead." He folded his hands in his lap. "I've seen the projections. The Arceans have a fleet the size of all our fleets combined headed towards Earth. There's another approaching Alderan. A third headed towards Tycho. And each of their fighters can kill two of our capital ships in a straight fight. If we don't do something fast, we're dead."
"Hence," Keller said, softly, "Not making it a straight fight."
"If the Arceans have one weakness, it's mobility," Dube explained. "They've never managed to master drive technology: they pour all their energy into weapons and defenses. We've got the edge in speed. We need to use it." Admiral Solomon Dube shook his head. "Keller, I can't ask you to do this. You know what this mission entails. If you. . ."
"Sir," Keller said, not unkindly, "In the words of a very wise man: shut up and soldier. I know what I have to do. You just make sure there's something back here for when we come home."
Solomon Dube wordlessly got to his feet and snapped a crisp, military salute to his friend. Keller returned the salute, then turned to leave the room. The Admiral turned to face the window looking out into the space yards behind him. The Korath freighter had just begun to offload its deadly cargo. His fists clenched. It was going to be a long two months.
Two Months Later
"Order Third Squadron to fall back to Waypoint Alpha," Dube ordered. "Second Fleet to fill in the gap in the lines. Battle Group Exeter to engage the Arcean Fleets Angel, Ophanim, and Seraphim here, here, and here." He tapped his stylus against the control panel, indicating the three golden ship icons that represented the massive fleets of Arcean fighters standing between his fleet and his objective. "I need an ETA on Black Hawks arrival time."
"Black Hawks indicate arrival within twenty-four hours," his adjutant said. "Right on schedule."
"That doesn't give us much time, does it?" Dube muttered. "All right, let's do this, then." He tapped a series of controls on the armrest of his command seat, and the condition lights on the walls of his ship changed from blue to red. "All hands, General Quarters. Target: orbital defense fleets. Arcea."
"It's starting," Quinn O'Malley said, as the blue fleet indicators on his main viewscreen moved in to interpose over the yellow icons indicating Arcean fleets. "Let's go."
"Not yet," Keller said. She touched the control panel on the arm rest of her command seat. "Not yet. We're still not clear."
"Damn it, Captain, they're getting murdered out there. . ."
"For us, Quinn," Keller said. "For us. Watch and wait."
Vashti reached across the aisle to take Quinn's hand. The young officer shook his head and slumped back in his seat. "I hate watching and waiting," he muttered. "Wish I was in that fight."
Dube was starting to wish he was anywhere but here.
The Arcean fleets were massive. Pushing past them was an ordeal. Every time one of his ships died, carrying with them thousands of crew and officers to a horrible death in the void, his heart sank. But he pushed on, pushed through, watching the numbers on his indicators start to rapidly decline in number, the blue numbers declining faster than the yellow. . .
There.
"Tell the hard hats to do their thing," Dube said, softly. "Engage Phase Two."
And somewhere out there, an astounded Arcean commander saw the auxiliary craft in the back of the Terran fleet, the ones he had dismissed as mere troop transports waiting for the moment to strike, suddenly reconfigure themselves into a massive sphere, extending nanolathes and rapidly extending carbon nanotube spires into an intricate series of interlocking rings, slowly turning in space.
"Terror Star construction 100% complete," the adjutant said. "Now beginning power-up sequence."
"That's got their attention now," O'Malley said, grinning. On the screen in front of him, the yellow icons started to break off and attempt to engage the newly created space station, only to be stopped by the Terran fleet at every turn. Outnumbered and outgunned as they were, the capital ships were tenacious fighters, biting onto the fleets of stinging wasps and forcing them to engage, cutting them off from the nascent weapon of mass destruction. "Do you think they know what's going to happen?"
"They can't have a clue," Keller said. "Now we go."
"Understood. Quinn out." O'Malley flipped open the control panel on his command seat's armrest and cut off the comm. "All right, Vashti," he whispered. "Let's do this."
"I'm right with you," Vashti said, from the other seat of the tiny two-man fighter. "To the end."
"To the end," O'Malley agreed.
And the twenty-two ships of Strike Group Black Hawk powered up their engines and raced towards the Arcean homeworld, breaking through the weakness in the enemy lines. Twenty-two tiny fighter craft, each armed with a single weapon, as many engines as could fit onto such a tiny ship. . . and a Korath spore bomb tucked into its belly.
"When will we know?" Bradley asked.
"Fairly soon." Laramie placed the cup of tea by his desk. "The first reports from the nearer battle fleets should be coming by in a few minutes.
Bradley closed his eyes. It was a desperate gamble, one he never would have taken if there were any other choice. A single, last-ditch attack, bypassing the Arcean attack fleets to strike deep into their homeworlds. A single shot at victory. . . the final Hail Mary.
The Terror Stars were a simple extrapolation from the technology given them by the Krynn. The Spore Bombs. . . that was different. He wondered how the American scientists back in the 20th century had felt using Nazi rocket scientists to go to the moon. . . no. This was nothing like that. As monumental an achievement as that had been, it had been a mission of exploration. This was a mission of survival.
A soft chime was heard from Laramie's earpiece. She tapped the control on her pocket computer and listened closely, then nodded her head. "First reports are in, sir," she said. The screen in front of Bradley activated, depicting the image of a verdant, green world being rapidly consumed by a grey-green plague, staining the seas with dying fish and scum. "Gabriel IV confirms deployment of spore weapons. All enemy civilians confirmed dead. Fifth Fleet, in escort, destroyed to the last ship. Bucephalus III confirms deployment of spore weapons. All enemy civilians confirmed dead. Ninth Fleet, in escort: one surviving vessel, heavily damaged. Leonidas I confirms enemy defenses destroyed, spore weapons inbound. . ."
One by one, the grim reports came in through across the galaxy. They all meant the same thing. Billions dead, in an instant. Dozens of star systems wiped nearly clean of life. Dozens of vibrant ecosystems turned into dead worlds. The magnitude of the deed was staggering.
"Sir," whispered Kinnis. "I have a communicade from the Arceans. Their government has been decapitated by the attack on Arcea. They wish to negotiate terms of surrender."
Kinnis shook his head. "Tell them they can negotiate with my wife in hell. Continue the operation. Wipe every single planet clean of life. I want every single one of those slugs dead by the end of the week. Then order the surviving ships to escort the Terror Stars into Krynn territory. We're going to blast those damn sneaks into oblivion."
"Sir. . . Mister President. . . Alan, please. We've won. We don't have to. . ."
"We continue. We hold the line. We keep going. I was soft once. Never again. Never trust those fuckers again. Kill them all," Bradley whispered. He shook his head. "I need a drink. Laramie, tell me when the last report comes in. I'll review it then. . ." He staggered into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. The door clicked shut with an awful finality.
"We did it?" Quinn asked.
"It's over," Vashti sighed. She looked up into the clear blue sky, now rapidly turning grey. The fighter ship had crash-landed onto the peak of one of the many mountains of the Arcean homeworld. The green pods in its belly were now empty. She could hear invasion sirens far below. It wouldn't do them any good.
"Thought we were done when that fighter saw us coming in," Quinn sighed. "Keller? Did you see her?"
"I think she got away," Vashti said. Her skin itched. The breeze blowing through the cracked canopy of the fighter craft was cool and soothing. "
Quinn tried to raise a hand to light a cigarette before he remembered it was gone. The wound didn't hurt as much as he'd expected: the laser blast had cauterized the stump instantly. It was probably for the best. Cigarettes would kill you. "Sorry about this," he said. "Didn't think that guy would follow us all the way in. Shoulda zigged instead of zagged."
"Don't worry about it," Vashti said. She wished she could sit up, but the shard of metal through her stomach prevented that. "Like I said, I'm with you till the end."
"Till the end," Quinn repeated. He laughed. "Kinda wish I'd known you could have been nice earlier. It would have made things easier." He shook his head sadly. "How come we never got together? We could have gotten along pretty well."
There was no answer. When he looked over, he knew there never would be. He lay down in his acceleration couch and looked up at the rapidly greying sky. The world was silent except for the breeze. "Wish I could have a cigarette," he muttered, then closed his eyes.
As he slept, a world died.
And on Earth, Doctor Adelard Clef dropped his pen as he saw the final equation in the last encoded piece of information from the Krynn data packet, and felt a cold chill run down his spine. He understood, at last, what the Krynn were trying to do.
And nothing he could do could stop them.
To be concluded
The final chapter. . .
Three years prior
Prelate Ynrhed Eidden rested his chin on his fore-claws as he gazed out into the darkness of Holy Space, now tainted with the fires of war. It broke his hearts.
The Krynn had triumphed, of course. The Krynn would always triumph. It was God's Will, as God's chosen. But the victory was hollow to him, the taste of triumph as ashes in his mouth. "My hands are stained with blood," he whispered, "and no water can wash them clean."
"Thus is the burden of the Holy," said Khndil Emnin, his Magister. "The Holy are ever beset by the spears and the insults of the Unclean. Blessed is the Holy, for they rise above the filth in which they must live."
"Yet, even a sage will grow angry if struck three times in the face," the Prelate observed. "I am tired of this world. my friend. The burden of the Holy rests heavy upon my shoulders. I have borne it too long. I am weary, poured out like water upon sand."
"The words of the High Priest of Worldly Knowledge are still with you," said Emnin.
"They are. His proposition is. . . tempting." The Prelate stood. "I believe I shall accept his proposal. Tell our people to prepare for the Great Journey. And speak to the Blessed Among the Unclean. Summon them to Piers, that we may test their worthiness to join us in the journey to come."
Now
"Terror Stars are in position, Mister President," Dube said, over the communications channel. "We will fire when ready."
"Any resistance from the Krynn?" Bradley asked. He pulled the wool blanket closer around his tired body, his sunken eyes glittering with rage as he saw the blue ships of his fleets standing by deep inside Krynn territory.
"None," Dube said. "None at all."
"Then fire, Mister Dube," whispered Bradley. "And the devil take these bastards."
Two years prior
"Have any discovered the secret messages hidden inside their data packets?" Ynrhed Eidden asked.
"None. They merely scrabble for worldly wealth and power, like rats in a mansion fighting over scraps while spendour and glory exists all around them," Emnin sighed.
"Continue to watch and listen," Eidden said, disappointed. "Perhaps one among them shall listen to the Holy Writ. Meanwhile, continue to build the Spheres of Enlightenment. Prepare the people for the Journey to come."
"Interphase online," said the tech.
"Capacitors charged."
"Prefire chambers one through fifteen activated."
"Standing by secondary heat sinks."
"Evacuate the fleet to two times minimum safe distance," Admiral Dube said. "Tango Sierra Zero One, you may fire when ready."
One Minute Prior
"The humans draw close," Emnin said. "They mass their Ships of Death around our stars."
"Then speak the Word of Truth," Eidden said, triumphantly, "And let their ships witness the glory of the Holy."
And the ships fired.
And the stars died.
And on countless planets across the galaxy, trillions of Krynn, those born Krynn and those who were Krynn by religion alone, witnessed the face of God.
And trillions of motes of light arose from the shattered remnants of those broken worlds and vanished into the void.
And Alan Bradley, sitting in his wheelchair many lightyears away, saw his enemy die, and he smiled. His work done, he allowed himself to die. And a silver wedding band fell from his hand and clattered against the tile.
And on an Arcean prison world, Saya Lir gazed up through the glass at the spore-choked sky, and she smiled as the lights sped across the galaxy and vanished into the deeper void.
And from the bridge of his ship overlooking the devastation, Solomon Dube saw the war end, and he thought of the many friends he had lost to this final war, and he was sad.
And in a laboratory on Earth, Doctor Adelard Clef watched a holographic DNA spiral unravel, incorporate a third strand, and reintegrate into a perfect whole. He watched the simulation again and again, each time feeling colder and colder as he understood what the Krynn had wrought.
Power tends to corrupt, a wise man had once said, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. The Krynn had given the universe power, and they had watched to see what the Galaxy would do with it. They had received their answer in the form of death and war. In the face of that death, they had left the universe entirely, and vanished. . . who knows where? Only God, if he could be said to exist.
Doctor Clef closed the simulation, then removed all traces of the file from his computer. He kept a single copy in a data crystal around his neck, the final gift of the Krynn: the final secret to absolute power, transcending all power of this world. He would keep it there all the rest of the days of his life, and would pass it on to another in turn. It would take many, many generations, he knew, before the human race was ready for its secrets. But if the battle against darkness, pettiness, and greed, was a difficult one, it was one he was ready to fight.
It was on this final battlefield: the human soul, that the last battle for humanity's future would be fought.
END
Oh.......my.......god That was amazing!
An awesome end for an awesome story! And three updates all togheter... It's Christmas in September!
Truly superb-no words can describe what an awesome story that was Themo-brilliant!
Hopefully your new game will spawn some more......
E
P
I
C
I was NOT expecting that ending!
I really like how you handle an ascension victory here, too.
What more can I say, except....when's the next story coming out???
Hopefully soon, if he doesn't do another of his months-on-end disappearances. Now we can wait on Eidolon to finish Oddessy into Hell, and me on finishing Jordan's Revenge.
The most haunting/beautiful thing I have ever read in an AAR. It shows how certain defeat can turn into victory.
I wonder what the Krynn thought of God when they found him.
There is really no such thing as God. He's not a person, just an idea. Krynn didn't realize that until it was too late.
Edit: Yes it was a three month gap between replies, but this epic story deserves a bump.
And finally, three months after I wrote the last portion of this story, one last revisiting of the concept, and an explanation of why I wrote this.
Earlier in the thread, someone asked whether this was based on an actual game. It was: I was the Krynn. With one week until "Beyond Mortality" completed, I decided that now might be a great time to gloat about how I was about to, you know, transcend the mortal realm and become something greater. So I gave away my tech to all my allies, gave them a bunch of my non-research planets, declared war on absolutely everyone, and sat back to enjoy the last few weeks of my mortal existence before I completed my Technological Victory.
It was only then that I realized that my Technological victory was going to take me another year to finish researching.
Well. Crap.
What ended up happening was a desperate retreating battle as my erstwhile allies used the technology which I HAD GIVEN THEM to fight first me, then each other. The end result: what had been a peaceful galaxy wound up nearly burning down entirely in the fires of war before I managed to finally win. By the end, the Terrans had invaded most of my planets and were heading for the heart of my civilization: this was back in the Dark Avatar days, but I thought that the Terror Stars and other TOA techs were more evocative.
So yeah, that got me to thinking. . . what must the other leaders have been thinking? Galaxy is at peace, suddenly the most powerful race in the galaxy decides to give away all their tech and planets and then inexplicably vanishes about a year later. Yeah.
Anyway, yeah, that's my story.
As for what I've been doing since then: well, I'm in the ELEMENTAL: WAR OF MAGIC Beta, of course, and enjoying seeing that new game start to build and grow: it's shaping up to be as epic, if not more, than GalCiv, with that same inexplicable Stardock charm. Dragon Age: Origins had my attention for most of a month, most recently, and I've also enjoyed playing old favorites like X-Com. The Dawn of War series has also been pretty fun (FOR THE EMPEROR!), but I wind up coming back to GalCiv time and time again, like an old friend. As for creative endeavours. . . well, if the words [DATA EXPUNGED] mean anything to you, you might know what I've been up to.
In any case, I don't have any plans for any new AARs in GalCiv, but we'll see how it goes. If I do, it'll be a more ordinary AAR, based on an actual game, not these fanfictions. Hopefully, they'll still be fun.
Yours,
"Themocaw"
Pretty cool! I would NEVER do something like that in my GC2 games,
By the way themocaw, I am including some of your work in this large story compilation am creating, so more people can read it.
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