Sunrise (very short original snapshot)
Posted: 2006-12-03 10:46am
Sunrise
Clear as day in the upper reaches of the atmosphere, hundreds upon hundreds of ships plow through sparse, dead air to meet the craggy face of a long-dead world. Their gleaming gunmetal hulls are plunged into gentle shadow as they rush behind the otherworldly mountain. So many hundreds of thousands of awed young men breathe shallow gasps – many having never seen another planet before in their lives.
Enemy vessels begin to dip down from their orbits. Light troop-carrier weaponry is exchanged in halfhearted bursts, etching its quick sears of lit-up air in the patient morning sky. But the exchanges are yet small talk. Nobody is on the ground.
Why these two races both choose to hold off fire until feeling natural gravity tug at their feet would seem quite a mystery – or quite an idiocy – to countless other warring species in the universe. Level-headed logistics calls out its obvious goal: inflict as much damage and demoralization to the opposing species as possible. Why then, having so much firepower, do these two planet-born races never consider that engagements can be fought and won out in the void? Any kind of communication gave way to seething hate centuries ago. We may never know.
Races of my kind are left to observe from a high orbit as I now do. Through magnifying optics I see the ships rapidly unloading – I can all but hear the steady voices of commanders ordering their men forward; ranks rush forth to gain the ground they so desire. I cannot see, however, why ground is so important. This system’s sun begins to brighten a section of horizon behind the mountain.
Another quirk of these races from their respective terra-firma: the ships remain behind with their offspring. I catch myself taking the troop-carrier vessels for dead that they cannot lift themselves back up into orbit and away from the gathering carnage. No. Virtually all are still undamaged, quite able to escape the battlefield, as thick support legs remain planted upon rock. The sun climbs still higher, prepared to burst up and to bleed its rays into a morning sky whose settled particles of men and vessels stand waiting, waiting in shadow.
All troops from both sides are gathered in position now. Perhaps they wonder as much as I do why the fighting still does not break out. From where I stand, it appears almost a staged agreement.
Ah… that star peeks its brilliant face above the mountain’s ridge. The rocky plain is lit up.
Let the fire commence.
Clear as day in the upper reaches of the atmosphere, hundreds upon hundreds of ships plow through sparse, dead air to meet the craggy face of a long-dead world. Their gleaming gunmetal hulls are plunged into gentle shadow as they rush behind the otherworldly mountain. So many hundreds of thousands of awed young men breathe shallow gasps – many having never seen another planet before in their lives.
Enemy vessels begin to dip down from their orbits. Light troop-carrier weaponry is exchanged in halfhearted bursts, etching its quick sears of lit-up air in the patient morning sky. But the exchanges are yet small talk. Nobody is on the ground.
Why these two races both choose to hold off fire until feeling natural gravity tug at their feet would seem quite a mystery – or quite an idiocy – to countless other warring species in the universe. Level-headed logistics calls out its obvious goal: inflict as much damage and demoralization to the opposing species as possible. Why then, having so much firepower, do these two planet-born races never consider that engagements can be fought and won out in the void? Any kind of communication gave way to seething hate centuries ago. We may never know.
Races of my kind are left to observe from a high orbit as I now do. Through magnifying optics I see the ships rapidly unloading – I can all but hear the steady voices of commanders ordering their men forward; ranks rush forth to gain the ground they so desire. I cannot see, however, why ground is so important. This system’s sun begins to brighten a section of horizon behind the mountain.
Another quirk of these races from their respective terra-firma: the ships remain behind with their offspring. I catch myself taking the troop-carrier vessels for dead that they cannot lift themselves back up into orbit and away from the gathering carnage. No. Virtually all are still undamaged, quite able to escape the battlefield, as thick support legs remain planted upon rock. The sun climbs still higher, prepared to burst up and to bleed its rays into a morning sky whose settled particles of men and vessels stand waiting, waiting in shadow.
All troops from both sides are gathered in position now. Perhaps they wonder as much as I do why the fighting still does not break out. From where I stand, it appears almost a staged agreement.
Ah… that star peeks its brilliant face above the mountain’s ridge. The rocky plain is lit up.
Let the fire commence.