The glaring sun beat down on the black volcanic dunes as Hrake’s clawed feet pounded into the loose, sandy hillside. He shielded his eyes and looked to the top of the ebon dune he was climbing, his bronze war hammer resting on the shoulder-most edge of his shell. One more dune, then he could climb the volcano.
He’d requested the visionquest himself. The elders had been a little too eager to send him, but that was the cost of being honest with one’s people. Crops had been poor for years. The gods had been silent for generations, if they had ever spoken at all. He crested the dune and saw the Seat of Fire. The tall black mountain rose twice as high as any of the nearby peaks, its top ripped away, revealing its molten viscera. If he turned to the east he knew he would see the Mountains of Wasting, the very gates of the Underworld, but he kept his attention on the holy volcano.
While the journey was treacherous, the mission was simple. Once he reached the top he would look for an omen in the form of a bird or other flying creature. Then he would report the bird to the city’s elder shaman for interpretation.
He looked down to the base of the dune, beginning his descent. Off to the east he saw a cloud of dust. Riders were coming from the direction of the Mountains of Wasting. The fleshy corners of Hrake’s beaked mouth turned downward. Riders from the Mountains seemed like an evil portent. He walked down to meet them.
As they came closer, he could make out the massive desert hounds that pulled the wide-wheeled sand chariots. He saw that both the hounds and the riders were wearing the same orange leathers as himself, making them fellow Gredites.
“Hail, brothers. What news of Gred?” said Hrake. He recognized the riders now. It was Gevrok and his four brothers. Gevrok sneered at him. The hounds, five feet tall at the shoulders and nearly as wide, growled at Hrake but remained unmoving, obediently waiting for orders.
“Your uncle has finally had enough of your meddling, Hrake,” he said. “He rules Gred, not you, and he will not suffer any more of your sedition. You will not return from this visionquest.”
“You approach the Seat of Fire not on foot but in chariots, bringing dishonor to our city. I assumed there was a greater need than the delivering of idle threats.”
“I do not deal in idle threats,” spat Gevrok, stepping down from his chariot and hefting his hammer. His four brothers followed suit, stepping menacingly towards Hrake.
Hrake sighed. His grip tightened, but he kept his hammer on his shoulder. “Die, then,” he said coldly.
One of the brothers rushed him. In a display of pure explosive strength, Hrake swung his hammer in a wide, one-handed arc, bringing the head of the weapon into his enemy’s temple. He followed through on the swing, slamming the warrior’s head into the black sands. He pulled his hammer back up and then stabbed down once more, the spearhead on the top of the shaft piercing the fallen warrior’s throat. Hrake brought the hammer up again, blocking a wild swing from the next brother. Then he jumped backwards, swinging in a devastating arc, more to ward off the four remaining enemies than to hurt them.
They regrouped, coming at him as a single unit. Their attacks were too uniform, and they all swung in near unison. Hrake took advantage of their combined vulnerability to take a stab at Gevrok, taking out one of his eyes. Gevrok screamed.
“I will spread your viscera over the Mountains of Wasting, you soft-shelled coward!” he hissed, his blue-green face now red with blood. The other brothers came in swiftly, swinging wild, rage-filled hammers at Hrake. But Hrake was simply the better fighter. He twisted to avoid the worst of a two-pronged attack. One hammer missed completely, while the other glanced harmlessly off his shell. He sidestepped a third attack and brought a short but mighty swing into the chest of one of the attackers, cracking his carapace.
He parried another blow and stepped back while stabbing out with the spearpoint. Of the five that had attacked him, one was dead and two were seriously injured. Gevrok was standing behind his remaining brothers, holding his bloody eye socket.
“Kill him!” he screamed. “I’m going for backup.”
The two uninjured brothers looked at each other nervously. The one with the cracked carapace coughed up blood. Hrake put his hammer back on his shoulder and stared at them. They seemed unwilling to attack, so Hrake reached for his sling, as if he was going to try to attack the retreating Gevrok. This was enough to spark some level of bravery in the uninjured brothers, and they charged.
Hrake took a sideways stance and leveled the spearpoint of his hammer, rushing into the attacks and forcing them to shorten their grips on their hammers, drastically reducing the power of their blows. The spearpoint found one of the attacker’s throats. The last brother was still trying to recover from his swing when he caught a hammer to the head. The one with the cracked carapace had begun to back up, whirling a stone around in his sling. Hrake swung his hammer in a fierce roundhouse, letting his grip slip down the handle so that the head reached out far enough to crush the would-be slinger’s skull. The stone slipped from the sling and shot straight up into the air. Before it landed on the dark, blood-soaked sand below, the last of Gevrok’s brothers had fallen to the ground, dead.
Looking out at the retreating chariot, Hrake considered trying to chase Gevrok down and kill him. The truth was he would probably not be able to catch the coward, and he had more important things to worry about. He cut the hounds loose from their chariots and sent them on their way, and smashed the chariots, dragging them into a pile. He placed the four bodies on the pyre and lit it, then continued up the mountain.
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***
Far away, aboard the Wingspan, Jasken was addressing the fleet over the comms. They had left Kirakna’s atmosphere and were preparing to make the next jump.
“I realize that being kept in the dark about our next destination is less than ideal, but it was necessary as a security measure. So here it is; we will be going to the unexplored planet designated Kir147-WB1.08. As the designation denotes, the planet has water, a breathable atmosphere, and has roughly the same gravitational pull as Griffonia. It appears to have significant volcanic activity and a number of large continents. The jump is expected to take three weeks, so get settled in and check your assignment listings. Providence shine on our journey.”
The fleet got into position, lined up a few miles apart, and activated their ripmed drives, leaving Kirakna and its twin suns far behind. However, they had also brought along an unexpected and unwelcome guest.
Grim had found a reasonably comfortable crevice within the landing gear of the Wingspan and hacked into the ship’s comms. He would be able to siphon enough power from the reactors to send ripmed messages to the Astralbians. As long as he kept them short, he would be able to do so without alerting the Republic to his presence. There was no reason to sit awake for the next three weeks, so he set a scheduled restart time for twenty days and shut down. He’d want to be well-rested and refreshed for what was coming.
***
Back at the Seat of Fire, Hrake had seen to his enemy’s remains and had begun his climb up the volcano. It was a half a day’s hike to the summit, but he hoped to be there by nightfall if not a bit before. The trail was not well maintained, but it was familiar to Hrake. He had made the journey three times before, the first time before he had come of age. The mountain was sacred; it was the seat of Skyfire, the god of storms and earthquakes. Located in the northern reaches of the lands, it was a full week’s journey from the city of Gred if made on foot, which was the proper way.
Hrake had never put much hope in the gods themselves, but he respected the traditions, unlike his uncle. The gods never seemed to deliver, but Hrake could see by observing their creation that they must indeed be mighty. So he made the sacrifices, said the prayers, and watched for the omens. If the gods were watching, perhaps they would help the faithful. Hrake shook his head and continued the climb, resting as he reached a flat outcropping.
He looked out over the black dune sea, straining his eyes to see the green of the crags of the southern mountains beyond. On the other side of them was the Great River and Gred Valley. He shook his head, thinking of the city and its politics. Hrake wasn't shocked that his Uncle, King Zrykyk of Gred, had sent Gevrok and his brothers to kill him, but he had hoped it wouldn't come to that. The King was leading the city-state into oblivion, starting wars unnecessarily and doing little to mitigate the crop shortages they’d been facing these past few years. Hrake had been leading the opposition, as it had been declared, that was trying to argue for better practices. Hrake had no desire to overthrow the King, much less take the throne himself.
All this on his mind, he stood back up and continued his climb. Hours later, he reached the summit. Walking to the rim of the volcano, he looked down into the boiling lava. He reached into his satchel and tossed a handful of vegetables into the fiery maw; a sacrifice for Skyfire. The ritual accomplished, he turned and sat, lying his hammer across his lap and facing west, looking for his omen as the pool of lava below scorched his back. The sun set, and he grew worried he’d miss the omen in the dark. Was that how it worked? Could mere bad luck obscure the plans of the gods? Surely not. He hoped.
The sky went from blue, to orange, to purple, and finally to black. He kept his vigil, the lava still burning behind him, causing sweat to run down the aqua-green scales of his face. The stars came out, and there was no sign of any flying creature. He feared he’d see a bat in the blackness, an evil omen to be sure. The dawn would come before long, and maybe a sparrow looking for an early meal would grace the sky. Sparrows were good luck. He was no shaman, but he knew some of the signs.
A star caught his eye, and he looked to see that it was moving. He nearly rose to his feet in excitement, but knew he must wait for the omen to end before he could move. The star came closer, and it seemed to split into many stars. Then it became clear the stars were some kind of lights attached to a metal box or tube of some kind. The box fell below the next mountain, evidently landing in the prairies beyond. Hrake sprang to his feet, mind reeling. At first, he considered running home to tell the shaman of his omen, which, good or ill, was clearly of great importance. However, he decided that a sign of this importance needed more exploration. He rose from where he stood, put his hammer over his shoulder and trekked down the far side of the mountain, making his way to the bizarre flying object.
***
Three brutally boring weeks later, the Wingspan settled into orbit above Kri147-WB1.08 and Vanbrook’s nervous energy built to a head. He could see the black and blue planet below, speckled with green masses that must have been forests or grasslands of some kind.
“What’s the plan?” he said to Raivyn, who sat next to him in the observation area. “Are we good to go or what?”
She unbuckled and snorted at him in good humor. “You know better than that, there’ll be some post-jump inspections, a probe to check the atmo and so on before we go… the works.”
“You ruin all my fun,” he said with a pout.
It was indeed a few more hours of waiting. Evidently the travel shields had been depleted to a mere nine percent, a dangerously low number, and Jasken took his time going over the post-jump inspections. Finally, he called Talon Squad to his office.
“Thank you all for joining me,” he said when they had gathered. “This planet looks especially promising, though it may just be a lot of sand and scrub brush. There’s early indications that there are high levels of radioactive isotopes, as well.”
“Great,” said Vanbrook, raising his eyebrows in concern.
Jasken ignored the sarcasm.
“Indeed,” he said. “Uranium, or whatever fissile materials may be found here are incredibly valuable fuel sources. Though that does bring me to our big problem - we can’t set up a standard beacon here, since we don’t want anyone knowing where we are. What we’ll do instead is set up a local beacon that will ping any ship in the system, but not broadcast our claim to anyone listening. It’s technically a legal claim by International Galactic Code standards, but it’s easier for our enemies to take out or ignore, and the Code Enforcement Task Force won’t recognize our claim if they don’t get a ping at their headquarters. Of course all of this is moot if the planet has sapient lifeforms, but we’ll take the same approach until we reach the Cornucopia Cluster.
“Alright, you folks know the drill. The shuttle is prepped and waiting for you in the main hangar. Providence shine on you.”
Vanbrook joined the chorus of “you, too’s” and started making his way to the shuttle with hurried, excited steps.