Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fifthmonth, 1634 PTS
Triezal quietly watched as the martial artist’s charge fell apart before it properly began, and then returned his gaze to the interior of the barrier, unwilling to waste more time watching. He had already looked into the files Kalthen’s mother had collected on the leaders of the force he was facing. Karie Hadal, a woman just a few years older than him. Despite this, he knew her life experience was far less than his own. It was one disadvantage of practicing martial arts- it usually required years upon years of secluded practice to reach the higher levels.
In the absence of war, it was the only way to reach such levels.
Meanwhile, Triezal had been able to develop his combat skill to near the limits of his own body in less than a decade, and use technology to improve it even further- if he didn’t use his naeratanh knife, he could even contend in personal combat with a core formation practitioner.
“Prep the heavy artillery,” he said. “Let’s see how they do if we destroy their hiding spots.”
“Understood,” replied Denarza, a Korlove woman who was in charge of the artillery squad. They had four mortars, and a very large set of ammunition crates. Every time the barrier dropped, Triezal intended to have them fire a volley.
All in all, there were thirty-seven soldiers within the forward base, a number which included Triezal himself. Deuvar had insisted only volunteers be assigned to this post, a matter which Triezal approved of. This was, after all, a suicide mission. Triezal had created an egress plan he was reasonably confident in, but it was hard to be sure just how effective it would be. More importantly, it was a method only he could use. He would have to leave all of his men behind if he were to attempt it.
He was not so coldhearted that he could simply abandon them like that, not when there was still even the slightest opportunity for them to escape back to little Celah. No matter how much he doubted their chances. After all, the longer the forward base lasted, the more effort the Seiyal would likely put into their destruction.
Triezal walked over to the technicians who were handling the core barrier generator, an oversized lump of vibrating metal which was glowing from the inside. At first glance, it looked even more explosive than the actual artillery ammunition.
“We’ll rest for a quarter of an hour, and then be ready to drop it again, he ordered.
“Yes, sir!” called the technician, a Jobu man named Zalnaru still inspecting the machine to ensure it was functioning properly.
Triezal gave them a respectful nod, showing his appreciation for their work. After that, he walked down the stairwell to a secluded area on the lower level, and sat down on a chair in one of the buildings. This place, which had been a Seiyal restaurant, was now Triezal’s personal abode in the forward base, a place assigned to the commander of the force stationed here. It had not been furnished with a bed or any sundries, as the base was not expected to last long enough for such things to be worthwhile. In the air, Triezal could still smell the scent of Seiyal spices, a factor which made his mouth water.
Despite their many similarities however, he knew little of the food here would be edible for him, and even if it was, it would not be nutritious. Ultimately, Seiyal and Celans had different origins, and their bodies required different nutrients to sustain themselves.
He set an alarm for ten minutes, sat down on one of the restaurant’s thin benches, and sat there in silence, his mind roiling with thoughts he needed to bring in line. He needed to plan out his next steps, or this place might crumble immediately when the barrier dropped.
It felt like only moments later when the alarm rang, and Triezal escaped from the prison of his own plans and deductions. He pocketed the slate, standing and making his way back to the higher layer, glancing around to see how all the different groups were doing at the moment. He then walked to the barrier generator, where the technicians were all taking their own short break. This had been one of his first orders upon arrival. Everyone was to take breaks whenever possible, so as to reduce the strain that would inevitably build up.
He stood there with the technicians for several more minutes, each of them silently suppressing their anxiety and trepidation. If Triezal was honest, he would have to admit that he was scared to drop it. Simply leaving it up until it ran out of power would be the safest and least stressful plan, even if it went against his orders.
Triezal sighed. Courage was not the problem, of course. He had no lack of such an attribute. What he feared was the guilt that would come from leading all of these promising soldiers to their deaths.
“Drop the barrier, but be ready to turn it back on,” he ordered Zalnaru, watching carefully to see how the Seiyal would react.
This was a very dangerous matter. Every time he dropped the barrier, there was a risk that the Seiyal would be able to force their way in before it could be brought back up. Even just a few martial artists would be able to cause significant damage, and unlike him, the Seiyal would be able to receive reinforcements. On the other hand, he only had enough power cores to sustain twenty-eight hours worth of the barrier. If he wanted to stretch this out for days, he would need to have it down for as long as possible. In this case, the goal was to last for at least fifteen minutes with the barrier down. Equal uptime and downtime was probably the best they could hope for, he thought.
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Zalnaru pulled a switch on the machine, and the generator’s rumbling slowed, the glowing light from inside fading as a fine, almost invisible mesh fell to the ground from where it had been floating inside of the barrier’s surface.
The moment the barrier started to drop, the artillery battery began to fire their mortars, launching explosives towards the Seiyal’s resting positions. He could hear shouts and screams as the unfortunate martial artists began to rapidly move from their positions, trying to dodge the falling bombs. Some managed to escape, but most of those who had been fired upon were hit by shrapnel.
Moments later, Triezal heard a call, let out by a Seiyal woman, and there was movement all across the surrounding stacks. From all the areas which had yet to be destroyed by the artillery barrage, small spheres were launched, presumably thrown by martial artists with their bare hands. As they approached, Triezal squinted, attempting to make out their nature.
“Shit!” called Triezal. “Raise it! Raise the barrier!”
Flustered, the technicians raced to halt the shutdown process they had not yet completed, attempting to reverse the process. They had not expected to have it down for less than a minute.
The technicians, despite their haste, had been expertly drilled in the operation of the generator, and knew exactly how to resolve the difficulties they faced. While the barrier had been very swiftly raised once more, a number of the spheres had fallen inside, clinking onto the open stone ground of the stack’s top layer. There was a lengthy pause as Triezal and the others reacted to this turn of events, but Triezal was too far away, and didn’t have the opportunity to assist.
The bombs exploded, sending flaming shrapnel across the forward base, and destroying equipment and soldiers who were near.
Triezal cursed, running over to assist, and to dampen the flames. They were extremely lucky that the bombs had not ignited the artillery ammunition yet, but the blazing corpse of an artilleryman who had been caught in one of the blasts was just a few feet away from the stockpile.
It had become clear that leaving the ammunition pile on the open ground had been a poor idea. They had wanted to make it easily accessible so that the mortars could continue to be loaded, but it also made for a convenient target. Had they been fighting against the Staiven or any other race, they would not have been so complacent. It was important to remember that despite their low technological base, the Seiyal were no less intelligent than the Celans were.
Their shield was up, and no more explosives could arrive, but the surface of the forward base was ravaged. Triezal’s only solace was the fact that atop the barrier, an even greater quantity of explosions resounded, sending fire and shrapnel to slide rapidly off of the barrier’s surface.
“How many…” muttered Triezal as he ran around, helping the wounded. Luckily for everyone within the base, the generator had been protected by the body of one of the technicians. The unfortunate man had taken shrapnel all up and down his body, but his sacrifice had likely saved the lives of everyone present.
All in all, the losses were minor. Three were dead and three were injured, but aside from significant damage to the ground and minor damage to one of the enforcers, their defenses and equipment had come out unscathed.
Despite this, Triezal knew that both sides were being extremely restrained with one another. Not just in terms of how they were holding back their immortal level forces, but also the scope of their munitions. The Justice Office was willing to ignore small mortars and enforcer combat, so long as it didn’t result in destruction of corporate assets or industrial areas, nor the destruction of the workforce or station architecture.
In fact, so long as it was restrained sufficiently, it was even considered beneficial by the Pantheonic Government. War was of benefit to the economy, and the Fulstovan and Verainin churches viewed it with great favor.
Particularly when the deaths were only of aliens or dissidents. No matter how many Celans and Seiyal died, the Staiven would not care unless their interests were threatened.
However, Triezal felt he couldn’t hold the moral high ground in this case. After all, his faction was fighting and killing the Seiyal for motives that were similarly related to their personal benefits. If they had truly wished to avoid the conflict, they could have pushed harder for a compromise, after all.
He had once considered leaving the underworld altogether, but deep down, Triezal knew that even in the vastness of the universe, there was no other place that would accept him. Whether here or in the Janaste system, it was where he belonged. He knew of no other way to live.
He sighed, knowing that there had only been two exchanges, and less than half an hour had passed since the conflict here truly began. From this point, matters could only get worse.
Access to Food in the Pantheonic Territory: [Even races with shared origins often have different dietary requirements, much less aliens with little shared in terms of heritage and nature. Even the humanoid classification of species, which share such odd convergent similarities all have very different diets. In any given station or planet within the territory, farms and factories can be expected to produce more than sufficient food for the Staiven population, and nutrient bathhouses are a common sight. For the stations with a large population of a given species, such as the Seiyal, Celans, and Exid on Tseludia Station, mass production of synthesized food can be expected, as well as a number of restaurants. For those who are less common, such as the Telaretians and Escalos, food must be specially synthesized, and sometimes all that can be found is nutrient paste. For rare races such as the Reth, even such paste might be difficult to acquire.]