First Contact

We all know it was a Deathworld, a Hellworld, one of those worlds that never produces higher life forms due to the combination of easily obtainable resources and highly aggressive life forms.

Rocks, loose rocks, were scattered around everywhere thanks of heavy geological activity. Rocks which most races ignored.

It was a rock that caused all the problems. Just a Digital Omnimessiah damned rock.

Only a few tens of thousands of years ago a human picked up a rock and chucked it at an antelope.

Terra's evolutionary arms race, the same arms race our planets went through that produced all of us 'pinnacles of evolution', had come to a sudden and shocking end.

It was humanity's planet now.

But it went beyond the Malevolent Universe making it everyone else's problem.

Humanity had broken the chains of evolution. They would break the chains of ovulation, of caste, of birth circumstances, even break the chains of what was inhabitable to them.

More, everyone who viewed them was shocked and appalled at the simplicity of breaking those chains. Races millions of years old stared and went 'how did we miss something so simple' as they watched a human run by, a cinderblock raised over their head, screaming in rage, to crush whatever problem had made the mistake of raising its head.

There is, was rather, something about humanity that was different from the rest of us.

Just a simple brush with humanity left rocks everywhere.

The question the Malevolent Universe would then ask you was simple.

Do you dare pick up the rock? Excerpt from On Rocks and Lemurs, by Bygthu'unknmo'o, Lanaktallan philosopher, 75 Post C3.

He stared at the Master's body. The entire top of the head was missing, the hypervelocity round causing the tissue it hit to splash from the body. The eyes were missing, the flesh at the front of the skull was missing. The tentacles were loose, the mouth, with the concentric rings of grinding teeth plates, was open wide, relaxed in death. The body was loose jointed, sprawled out.

Sparks popped from the armor, which suddenly shivered like old jelly and dissolved, leaving the Master naked, with purple blood slowly oozing from the massive wound.

He blinked a few times, then became aware of dampness on his cheeks. He reached up with one hand, touching the wet spots with his fingertips.

They came back with a sheen of green, blood on his fingertips.

From the barbed stingers on the end of the feeding tentacles.

"You all right?" the other servitor asked.

He nodded.

"You saved us in there," the other one stated. It looked around. "You saved us, again."

From below came more screams. Lemur and servitor and slavespawn all mingled together.

He looked at the other servitor, who chose that time to open the armor so it peeled away from the upper body.

"You do not remember? When we faced the insect warriors of the Inheritors three times. You saved many of us. Do you not remember?" the other asked. "The bunker. Before the Inheritor rammed through the front wall and killed us all. Don't you remember? Before the Masters brought us back from the dead."

He furrowed his brow. Trying to remember.

The bunker.

The smell of ferrorcrete dust. Propellant. The heat of the rapid-fire plasma machinegun. The hiss of the rocket launcher.

he remembered

The way the Inheritor had charged through the massed fire, the tracers whipping around them, how they lowered their shoulder and crashed through the wall. How it had a sword wrapped with a howling rotating chain with savage teeth. How when the sword got bound up in armor it had used its hands.

he remembered

The way he had been grabbed, slammed against another servitor, then another. The crunch of his back breaking and all sensation fleeing his body. How the Inheritor had lifted him up, then dropped down, breaking him in half over its knee and throwing the parts of him to either side.

he remembered

A feeling of flipping upside down and inside out. The sun, red and angry, high in the sky. The way he had lifted one arm, blinking, as the sun hammered down on him as he stood with hundreds of his fellow servitors.

Alive.

Again.

I live. I die. I live again.

He went down on his knees, putting his hands on either side of his head, grabbing his triangular ears and pulling on them as he made a high keening noise of pain, his eyes wide and his mind teetering on the edge of madness.

"They bring us back over and over to die for them," the other said, hurrying over to him. The other knelt down and put their hands on either side of his face. "We live again. You saved us again."

He looked at the other's face, still making the horrified keening noises.

Being shot point blank by a tank cannon. Being skewered by insect warrior bladearms and thrown to the side. Being gutted by an Inheritor stubber. Being exploded into rags by artillery. Being savagely beaten to death by armored Inheritor hands.

I live.

I die.

I live again.

None of it matters.

"It doesn't matter," he keened out, shuddering, his mind on the brink of insanity.

"It mattered," the other said. They leaned forward, brushing the side of his flat face with their whiskers. "It mattered then. It matters now. Hold tight."

An Inheritor with red eyes burning so bright they could be seen through the faceplate of the helmet, on top of a burning tank, firing the heavy machinegun ripped him into bloody chunks as the Inheritor got his range and put a burst right into him that exploded his armor and his flesh in equal measure.

He remembered screaming his life out as an insect warrior in a gas mask grabbed him, lifted him up, and sawed him in half with bladearms before tossing his pieces to the side.

I live.

I die.

I live again.

"Hold tight to me," the other said.

He reached out, with his hands, his biomechanical armor peeled open to the waist, and grabbed the other, holding tight as he shuddered and shivered, weeping and making a keening noise.

The memories faded, leaving him holding on to the other servitor.

"So many times," he whispered.

"Yes," the other said.

"They threw us at the Inheritors so many times. Over and over. They knew we would be killed, but they just brought us back and threw us at the Inheritors over and over," he said, shuddering again. He looked up at the starry sky. "Even death could not save us from their grasp."

"No," the other said, reaching up and petting the top of his head. "You remember again?"

The sudden realization that they were all going to die again as he watched the red-eyed insect people, shrieking in rage through their gas masks, charging the trenches.

Again.

He nodded. "Again."

The other turned his head and spit on the corpse of the Master. "They deserve what happens here," the other said.

"Yes," he said. He stood up and moved to the edge of the hole.

Down in the middle of the cavernous building a group of servitors were now back to back, firing their rifles at the oncoming hordes of lemurs, all of whom screeched and reached out with rending hands, their eyes burning a dull red.

He pulled the suit up enough to activate the psychic communications link.

"Up high! Jump for the terrace. Up here!" he sent to them.

They all looked up, tensed, and jumped up, away from the lemurs. The lemurs screeched and all turned to run at the stairs like a flock of angry birds. They landed on the terrace and jumped again, landing on the top terrace, then jumped up through the hole.

Twelve in all.

One of the other servitors came bounding back.

"We sealed the doorways leading up here. There were many access points, but we believe they are all now sealed shut," they said.

He nodded.

The others looked at the dead master.

"Who did this?" one asked.

Down below them, in the hole, came another shriek.

"It doesn't matter," he said. He closed the armor almost all the way, just leaving his head exposed, and used four of his back tentacles to pick up the body. He moved to the edge of the roof and threw the body off. "We are alone now."

The others were silent as he looked over the open area around the huge building.

"Come and see," he said quietly.

The others moved up, looking down at the open area.

There were lemur vehicles scattered around. Some had crashed, others had burned, and still others were turned over, smashed almost beyond recognition, or otherwise destroyed.

Where before the wide open area had been abandoned, nothing but wrecks of vehicles, now it was nothing but a sea of lemurs, all of them trying to push forward, trying to get inside the massive building the servitors stood atop of.

Their sounds, low moans, all merged together into a roar that hurt the ears.

"The vehicles," one stated, pointing with two of the tentacles on their armor.

Lemurs covered the vehicles, pounding on them, ripping at them. He could see how two of the living vehicles were being ripped apart and devoured by the lemurs.

He could sense its pain from where he stood on the roof.

"Where did they all come from?" one of the others asked.

He pointed at the buildings around them. "From there," he said. "We are in the middle of a megalopolis. They were already here."

"How did we not see them?" another asked.

"Perhaps activity stirs them up?" another suggested.

"Perhaps they were torpid or dormant, like a slavespawn, until they sensed us?" another put in.

He nodded. "They would have emerged from their torpor and followed us. The activity of the others waking still more from their torpidness," he pointed at the far edges, where hordes of lemurs moved down the streets and into the wide open area. "They follow each other like herd animals."

"And kill like predators," one of the others stated.

"We must escape. Tell the Masters what happened here," an other said.

He shook his head. "Yes, we must escape, but not for the Masters," he said. He closed his eyes and shuddered. "We must escape for us. If we do not, the Masters will merely pull us from death to serve them again."

"It is what the universe and the masters created us to do," a different other said. "Serve them in all things."

"And what of what they are to do?" he asked, turning around. "The Master was going to eat my brain. Made me want it to eat my brain. What of what they are to do for us?"

"They shelter us. Protect us from the Inheritors, from the lemurs," one said.

He noticed their voice sounded doubtful.

"It is our place to serve," another stated.

"For how many lives?" he asked.

"As many as are needed. We are blessed that they choose to return us to life to serve them," a different other said.

"For what purpose? To fight the Inheritors, to fight the Mad Lemurs of Terra, to fight and die over and over again? What purpose does that serve?" he asked.

"It is not our place to ask," a servitor said.

"Why not?" he asked them.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Why is it not our place to ask what purpose our lives have, what our lives mean for us rather than the Masters?" he asked them. "We have died, over and over."

"We do what is our purpose," one stated.

He pointed at one of the servitors whose armor was unpeeled down to their waist. A minor birth defect had left them with white tips on their triangular ears.

"I have seen you die a dozen times," he said. "My body was crushed against yours by an Inheritor in full armor. He beat us to death with each other," he said. He unpeeled his armor to his waist. "You have been run over by a tank, disemboweled and left screaming by an insect warrior, blown up by artillery, ripped in half by one of those terrible Inheritor swords."

He leaned forward. "To be brought back, again and again, without even the memory of what happened last time so you could learn something, anything, even if it was just to stay out of reach of an Inheritor of Madness that has crashed through the front wall of our bunker."

The one he was pointing at swayed. Their hands came up, pressing against the sides of their head, and they began to give a loud keening sound of pain.

The one who had helped them moved over to the other, soothing them.

Others unpeeled their suits, their eyes wide.

we remember

"Hold," he said. He reached out, trying to find a word, some word, something he could say. "Hold on. Hold on."

he remembered

The Inheritors. How they spoke out loud, let the servitors hear them speak, causing fear.

DAXIN IS WITH US, BROTHERS!

FORM UP ON ME, BROTHERS!

KILL THEM IN THE NAME OF THE SEVEN PODLINGS OF FAITH AND DUTY, BROTHERS!

WE STAND TOGETHER AGAINST THEM, BROTHERS!

The words of the Inheritors rang in his mind.

He moved forward, grabbing one's hand. "Take hold of one another, brothers, hold tight to one another!"

Each unpeeled their armor, reaching out with their small furry hands, to grab another's hand.

They stood on the roof, beneath the uncaring stars.

"Hold fast to one another, brothers!" he called out. "We live, we die, but now we live again, brothers!"

He did not know what the word meant, only that the Inheritors shouted it to one another, called each other by it, even as they were engaged in combat.

One by one the others stopped keening, wiping away the tears that stained their fur beneath their wide, expressive eyes.

They all looked to him.

"We will stand together against them, brothers," he said.

One by one they each nodded, even though not one of them knew the meaning of the word.

But underneath the dark starry sky, they had begun to understand the concept behind it.

He turned and looked toward where the starport was hidden by the skyline.

"We will survive, together, brothers."