StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This is a series of short stories I am in the midst of writing. They're not based off of any sci-fi or fantasy in particular, but do have a number of distant genetic influences. (See if you can guess them!)

I would very much appreciate feedback of the constructive sort -- "you could do this better by...", "this imagery could be improved in such and such a way...", "this character is a bit flat, could make him more rounded by possibly...", etc., etc. A big focus for me is characterization, since I'm not very good at that yet.

Each short story is broken up into sections. The first section follows:

(oh, and thanks for reading! )

Paranoid legal note: All original concepts, places, characters, names, etc., are copyright (c) me, 2003-05.
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...Extracting from Cataclysm Stone 2...

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A Story from the Second Cataclysm

"To defeat your enemy, you must first know him and all of his relevant backgrounds."
~charon war proverb

Andalia Tertius: one of a handful of world-cities that could actually be called a superplanet. Only Pikiang was bigger. The size of a small star-a planet could disappear into its structures-it would have burst into nuclear fusion long ago, collapsing in onto itself, were it not for the huge manaic cables holding it up, like suspenders for an obese man.

Mana itself turned the universe. Mana, the mysterious threefold power which enabled channelers to perform feats of superhuman strength; mana, the inunderstandable power which drove the gargantuan ships of the Intergalactic Union. It formed the heart of the Union, a fragmented entity which spanned three entire galaxies, bound by fragile economic ties into a cohesive unit.

The Union was comprised of three separate states, mainly divided by race. The charons, short, with large jet-black eyes set in pale skin ranging in tone from green to brown, implacable in war and stubborn in loyalty, made up one third, the Charon Consortium. Pleidans, tall, with wiry bodies, peaceful and loyal, merchants-not warriors-composed the second third in the Pleidan Concourse. Lastly, capricious humans, of medium height, skin tones ranging from milk-white to black chocolate, ever-shifting, clinging to their whims, were the third, the fickle democratic Human League. They were perversely powerful as a whole, their military rivaled only by the majestic charon navy. Tension had been budding as the pluralistic ideal of the Union was achieved and misunderstanding grew. Only two standard years before, the Praetor Akhan had been elected as leader of the humans in a landslide against the peaceful human Jaan Nigana. The Praetor advocated a reasonably spoken position, but within it were the seeds of a rampant, bellicose dictatorship.

Andalia Tertius was the seat of the human government. Though smaller than Pikiang, it wielded much more influence. Pikiang was a melting pot, the one place in all three galaxies where humans, charons, and pleidans could mix without fear of recrimination. It was the cultural center that still welded the splitting Union together, although many feared those bonds would be cut soon, too.

Akhan had just enacted tariffs on the Charon Consortium for alleged human rights restrictions, and had employed the navy in large operations to disrupt smuggling. The Trade Council, the governing body of intergalactic commerce, was meeting to determine the legality of the restrictions. Meanwhile, Akhan was using laws passed a century and a half before, during the first war between the charons and the humans, to crack down on opposition to his government.

For several months now, people had been reported missing. Suspected aliens were being held without bond, without representation. Most of the charons and pleidans in human space were being rounded up and deported. Akhan had the support of the majority; a propaganda campaign made the crackdown easier. But no one suspected the portent of his actions, save perhaps several government analysts, and a few of the peaceful minority. But the analysts were working for him, and no one listened to the minority, anyway.

Sorry if the first section's a bit dry; I have to get background established before the actual story begins. It picks up from here on out. Next installment coming soon!

"Defense is a fine costume for aggression."
~charon proverb

Erin Nigana was listening to her friend's enthusiastic report, complete with emphatic gestures and exclamations. As the oration grew in length, her mind wandered to the city around them, Andalia Tertius-the bustling hum of activity and glamour, the great highways and deep tunnels, even the small pockets of residential peace, like this one, balanced precariously on the edge of a power canyon-and the great manaic columns holding it up. She could feel them throbbing in the distance: one of the gifts of a channeler, to feel mana being channeled from a distance. It was practically everywhere, interfering with her studies, interrupting her thoughts like an unwelcome guest. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Maybe I should add that to the 'curses' list, she thought wryly.

"…did I say something wrong?" asked Jen anxiously.

Erin swept a strand of raven-black hair out of her eyes. "No, no. Go on. Sorry, I'm kind of distracted, but I'm listening."

"Okay." Jen radiated relief. Another "gift" for channelers was the ability to read emotions, to feel the emotions of other people. It was hard to distinguish between others' and your own, sometimes. And channelers were supposed to be killing machines? It was hard to imagine anything which cut more deeply than hurting another person, much less killing them. After her first kill, she had spent days alone in her room, refusing to speak or eat. It didn't get easier after that either. The memory was still with her, as vivid as when it had happened…she was screaming, screaming at the top of her lungs. Air rushed around her, roaring in her ears, and mana writhed with her anger. She put every thought of anger, her frustration, her bitterness at this lot in life into the blow, and there was an immediate feeling of surprise from his part as her blade sliced into his chest…

Erin shook her head again, feeling the hollowness well up inside of her. They had provided counselors; they had provided other empaths, specially trained to soak up the pain. Nothing had worked. She had refused to see anyone…this line of thought is only going into more pain, she thought. How about Jared's birthday party today? That brought a smile.

Jared, her younger brother, was adorable. He had huge brown eyes, perpetually ruffled black hair, and the tan complexion native to her entire family. He was perpetually curious, with the frantic energy of all four-year-olds; he was into everything, exploring everything, the delight of the family. She herself was lithe while not particularly tall, with long black hair which had strange white highlights. Her skin was the color of olives, and her eyes were brown. Three years of channeling had made her extremely fit, but not particularly attractive, and they had marked her. She was wise beyond her years, and her eyes held deep pain in them.

"…so to conclude, channeling is called such because the channeler becomes a sort of conduit for mana, allowing it to flow through them, and controlling it. There are different strengths of channeling-hey, are you listening to me?"

Jen ran her fingers through her short mouse-brown hair as she spoke. There was a tinge of anger to her feelings now, and Erin felt some of it reflected within her own mind.

Erin stopped. "Yeah. It sounds good," she said absent-mindedly. There is something different about the neighborhood today, she thought. It was quieter.

"You weren't listening to me," Jen accused, completely angry now, her hands planted on her hips.

"Okay, I wasn't. So what?" Erin was mad as well, her anger a mirror image of Jen's. She knew that she was going into a feedback loop, her own mind reflecting Jen's rage and magnifying her own seed of irritation, but the emotion had swept her away from good judgment already.

"You're a channeler! I want your opinion! Was my paper right?"

"I didn't hear a word you said in that report." An outright lie, but she was too irate to care.

Jen practically screamed at Erin, "I don't care if you're a damn channeler!" and threw herself at her friend. Even as time slowed around Erin, she realized that Jen must be at least a bit empathetic, to pick up on the fury so quickly, and a small part of her mind marveled at the fact that she hadn't noticed in the two years they'd been close friends.

Mana was there at Erin's command, and Jen seemed frozen in mid leap. Erin spun around behind her, grabbing her friend's wrist, and her perception of time increased at her command. Jen was jerked to a halt, crying out in pain as her arm was twisted painfully backwards. Erin spoke into her friend's ear in a voice filled with cold fury. "Your report was fine. Now take it and go home."

With a small shove, she pushed Jen to the cement ground and sped away towards home, her conscience already attacking her.

As Jen began to pick herself up from the ground, Erin was already at her own front door, and halfway around the gigantic superplanet, the Praetor Akhan was sitting at his desk. He smirked, his broad mouth seeming to split his face in half. He was well-built but thin, with straight brown hair, streaked with blond, and jet-black eyes. He noted the time and pressed a button on his watch. "Is it all set?"

"Yes. We've arranged everything," said a voice on the other end of the line. "No one should escape."

"Have the charges been filed?" asked Akhan.

"Of course, sir. As I said, everything has been arranged."

"Excellent. Notify me as soon as it begins. I want to see the whole thing on a viewscreen."

"Aye, sir. Will do."

Akhan hesitated a moment, his hand hovering over the cutoff button. Then he said, "Lancot?"

"Yes, sir?"

"That daughter…she's dangerous."

"Si-"

"I know, you've thought of it, but let me reiterate: make absolutely sure that the inhibitor field is up. I've seen her. She's got a heart of ice."

"Yes, sir."

Akhan terminated the conversation, and sat back in his lush chair, heart beating with excitement in his narrow chest. At last, my revenge on you, my old enemy, he thought. As he grinned at the empty viewscreen, contemplating how sweet vengeance is, Erin slammed the door behind her, to be greeted by the somber faces of her parents.

"Where have you been?" asked her father.

Erin was in no mood to talk, but she remembered Jared's birthday, and said for his benefit-he'd be listening from just around the corner of the hallway-"I was talking with Jen."

"Have you seen Jason?" said her mother anxiously, twirling her long dark braid.

The anger was immediately drowned in worry. "No. Isn't he home yet?"

"No, he's not. He took Jared out for a ride and he told us he'd be back by one. It's nearly three, and we're about ready to call the police."

Erin turned around and tapped her foot, trying to think. In the superplanet's crowded airways, accidents were not uncommon. Jason, her older brother, had just gotten his license and was notoriously careful, so what could have delayed him? It felt like her mind was full of cottonballs. She moved into the kitchen nervously, poured herself a glass of water. She could hardly stop her hands from shaking. What if he got into a wreck? Could he have died?

The doorbell rang, and she jumped. The glass shattered on the floor. Embarrassed, but glad of some action she could take, she opened it. Her heart jumped up into her throat. It was an officer in full uniform, with a ceremonial escort.

He spoke quietly, but gently. "Is your mother here?"

"Uhh…yes…" Erin was finding it hard to pick up a reading of this man's feelings. He's probably got some barriers up… She was finding it hard to think at all…

"I'm here. Is something the matter?" Erin's mother opened the door wider.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid that we have the terrible duty of reporting to you that your sons, Jared and Jason, were both found dead several hours ago at the scene of a terrible aircar accident," said the man, formal and distant.

Her mother's face contorted for a moment, and a stifled sob escaped her lips, before she composed herself. "Is there anything else?" Behind her, Erin's father didn't have her self-restraint. He was openly crying. Erin just felt like the bottom had dropped out of her soul, leaving her empty.

"Yes, ma'am," said the officer. "Something for your husband." He handed her a folded piece of paper. Through the thin fiber, Erin caught a glimpse of a script A, and a terrible suspicion arose in her mind like a dark cloud. She tried to follow the thought to its conclusion, but her mind was sluggish, as though it were stuffed with cotton balls…As though it were stuffed with cotton balls?

Everything burst into terrible clarity. Her mind, in the time it took her mother to hand the letter to father, had raced from the symptoms to the cause: a channeling inhibitor field caused slowed mental reflexes in channelers, telepaths, and empaths…the A was unique to the signature of the vindictive man who had defeated father two years ago…a suspicious crash…

Though she couldn't channel, her body still had excellent reflexes. With the only warning a slight narrowing of the eyes as she computed the possibilities that only an experienced channeler wouldn't miss, she knifed her left hand into the officer's neck, snapping his spine, and in the same motion, grabbed the pistol from his holster as she spun and leaped sideways as she finished the spin, squeezing the trigger four times. Three of the men went down in sprays of blood, but the fourth was only grazed, and he raised his weapon. Her father had just scanned the letter and was mouthing "Akhan?" when the officer's gunshot wrecked his forehead.
From the place to the left of the doorway where her leap had carried her, Erin saw her father go down, and jumped back. She noted the officer's finger begin to pull the trigger, and measured the vectors to shoot the first bullet out of the air. Turning, she dropped the last man. Her mother still stood in shock, looking at the dead man.

"Go to the living room. Stay back from the window," commanded Erin. Her mother obeyed numbly, walking stiffly past her father's corpse. Erin herself hurriedly grabbed the guns from the dead men, turning them over and salvaging any extra ammunition as well. Suddenly, a gunshot rang, and fire burst in her side. Clamping her hand there, she jumped backwards into the doorway and kicked the door shut, gritting her teeth in pain.

"Mom!" she snapped.

Her mother started, as though awakened from a dream. "Yes, Erin," she replied vacantly.

"Help me bar the door."

"Okay, Erin." Her mother's voice was slightly slurred, and still empty. She rose, and walking slowly, stepped up from the recessed living room to the entryway.

"Faster, Mom," grated Erin, trying to keep from crying out in pain.

"I'm sorry, Erin. How do you want me to bar the door?"

"Grab that bookcase…help me here…ouch! There."

The bookcase was secured against the door just as men began to shout and pound on it.

Then there was silence.

Suddenly, a breaking window shattered the silence. The only window in the house opened up onto a power canyon. A cylindrical canister landed at the steps leading from the entryway to the living room. Erin just had time to recognize it, and she tackled her mother in the stomach, hurtling them both out into the living room as she shouted, "Get down!!"

When the inequality charge exploded, Erin was safe, but her mother wasn't. It shot out in a circular plane, and then lifted, eradicating everything for a predetermined height. Erin landed clutching her mother's body. Her head had been sliced in two from jaw to ear and was spurting blood. Erin, still in shock, hadn't moved when the shockwave from another concussion hit her, and everything went black.