《Burning Stars, Falling Skies》


 Chapter 1 - The Descent of Angels

    Threedak was trudging through the desert when the angel fell from the night sky. She raised her upper torso from the fine grey sand, resting her weight on her four bulkier walking legs. She wrung her grasping legs together as she watched the streak of light falling from between the moons.


    It was a portent. Of what Threedak couldn¡¯t tell, but the stars swirled and moved about the spot from which the angel had fallen. Maybe the heavens themselves were angry that an angel dared to flee their lonesome depths. Maybe the other stars grew jealous of the angel¡¯s beauty and pushed it from their twinkling embrace.


    Regardless of cause, the Angel traced a slow and purposeful arc of white light through the night sky as it fell from the heavens. Even if she couldn¡¯t understand the purpose or design behind the celestial entity falling to earth, it seemed appropriate to Threedak that she appreciate and mourn its passing.


    She let out a low, keening croak, her neck pouches expanding as she forced air through them. The angel grew brighter in the night sky as its descent brought it closer to her. Threedak croaked again, pouring her emotion into the deep thrumming note as she swished her thick scaled tail back and forth.


    The tribe had priests that could make better sense of the heavens falling. Their genetic memories were purer, closer to the true source of the Dhajtel people. Threedak was simply a gatherer and a scavenger, providing what she could to the tribe. She would learn what she could of the angel¡¯s passing and then report back to the more learned minds.


    Hopefully they wouldn¡¯t need to consume her for her memories. Although passing your memories to a descendant provided an immortality of sorts, Threedak couldn¡¯t help but selfishly wish that her day of consumption was far in the distant future. Even now she could remember the consumption of each of her ancestors, stalwart Dhajtel that through injury, illness, or times of famine submitted themselves to the tribe. It was a strange thing, remembering both being eaten as well as consuming a still living being. To know both the pain of another¡¯s jaws closing around your leg while simultaneously tasting the warmth of their flesh. Every ancestor was an unbroken link stretching back hundreds of cycles, the echoes of their thoughts, images and memories passing from descendant to descendant.


    When her time came, Threedak would submit herself to the tribe as well. Her memories and skills would become part of the tribe. Most likely the other scavengers would consume her rather than the tribe as a whole so that she could pass onto them her specific skills. She wasn¡¯t the most important Dhajtel, but there was much her tribeswomen could learn from her about hiding and tracking the meager game across the shifting sand of the great desert.


    Unlike many, the concept of being eaten didn¡¯t excite Threedak. She wasn¡¯t opposed to it when the time came, but she would happily leave that honor to her fellow huntswomen if at all possible. Many wanted to be consumed as soon as possible to ensure the smooth transition of their memories into the gestalt of the tribe, but Threedak was willing to take risks. True, she might die away from the tribe, her and her ancestors¡¯ memories lost for eternity. Still, she wanted to live her life for a purpose rather than simply waiting for an honorable death and consumption.


    The angel fell closer, the night air itself bellowing in approval as its light began to illuminate the desert like a second sun. Threedak stood up to her full nine measures of height, supported awkwardly by only her hind legs and tail. She bellowed in reply, celebrating the angel¡¯s mournful descent.


    Then, the angel slammed into the desert, its white light flashing in a strobe through the empty night. A second later, an explosion of sound, like a million thunderbolts striking at the same time washed over her. Threedak¡¯s neck pouches vibrated as her entire body shook from the rumble of the angel.


    She quivered in fear and prostrated herself. Clearly she had offended the angel by only standing on her hindmost limbs. Threedak croaked a prayer, begging for the light¡¯s forgiveness and confessing her transgressions. A wall of sand rushed toward her as she closed the membranes covering her eyes and accelerated her request for clemency.


    The wall of sand picked Threedak up and threw her.. She didn¡¯t know how far she traveled through the night, but the sand surrounded her, biting into her skin and sneaking beneath her scales. She slammed into a dune of grey sand, the air leaving her lungs in a sudden rush. All around her the rumble continued as the angel expressed its displeasure with her arrogance, the very dunes beneath her feet shaking with its rage.


    Like a sandsquall, the cloud of dust and angelic anger passed just as fast as it arrived. Threedak rolled her body to the side, struggling against the sand to work her way to her feet. She crouched beneath the dune on all six of her legs, using both her graspers and walkers to scurry away from her landing spot lest a predator arrive.


    After ten minutes passed without the trumpet of a starvok or the beating wings of a kithsan, Threedak let herself relax. The angel must have forgiven her impropriety. She lifted her torso from the gritty sand, and wrung her graspers together as she looked in the direction where the angel had fallen.


    Curiosity bubbled up inside of her. One of her ancestors encountered a fallen angel, a dead thing of rock laying in a sea of black glass, hissing and cracking as it cooled in the light of the twin moons. Her tribe took the glass as a gift from the celestial beings and used it to tip their javelins and spears for a generation.


    Excitedly, Threedak dropped her torso to the sand and began hurrying towards where the angel fell as fast as her six legs could carry her. The dunes flew by in the chill night air as she periodically flicked out her tongue to taste the wind. No predators surrounded her, the angel¡¯s anger having driven them away. Threedak increased her speed, excited at the possibility of being the first to witness the angel¡¯s terrible fallen grace.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Then she was upon it. A twisted tube of gleaming metal with the wings and tail of a kithsan glowing faintly with heat. Even from five hundred feet away, she could feel the warmth of the dead angel on her face, the taste of charred meat on her tongue. Hesitantly, she approached and circled around the fallen being.


    The angel had a hole in its neck, dim celestial light spilling from its interior. Almost as an afterthought, Threedak looked down and saw the corpse of a being, a trail of disturbed sand leading from the angel¡¯s injury to its collapsed form. She scuttled forward and flicked her tongue, tasting the air around the body. It smelled edible even if its strange body, pink and scale-less with only two walking legs looked strange beyond belief. At least it only had a single pair of graspers, stunted and covered in five digits rather than the traditional four.


    She pushed the body with her muzzle and received no response. Convinced that the being was dead, and recently so, Threedak opened her fanged maw to devour it. Despite her own mixed feelings on being consumed for the good of the tribe, the thought of dying alone and unable to pass on her memories did scare her. The least she could do for this poor creature was give it the honor of subsisting for eternity in her and her descendants'' memory.


    The crunchy flesh parted under her razor teeth. Whatever it was, this strange being wouldn¡¯t have survived more than a single night in the desert. Its sweet flesh flowed down her throat like honey as she consumed it .


    Its memories flowed into her, vague at first but with increasing clarity. She remembered sitting at a table, grasping a piece of metal. A cup. Yes, a cup in her graspers. Hands, that was the word. Using her hands to move the cup to her flat pink face and drinking a harsh burning liquid from it. Around her, other unscaled beings colored pink and brown laughed and joked in fast high pitched tones.


    Threedak blinked. She was in a new spot, pilot school. She rolled the words around on her tongue. She walked into a grey pod, one of many in a row. Other pink and brown beings took their own pods in turn. Inside she sat down in a strange shallow chair and reached out to grab two sticks covered in buttons and knobs with the being¡¯s hands.


    In front of her, the heavens appeared. Instinctively, she jerked the sticks to the side causing the points of light to move. A green box appeared in the sky in front of her, tiny numbers and letters gave her information for which she had no context. She possessed three hundred fifty millimeter shells, six rockets, and 2000 liters of reaction mass. The memories told Threedak that the shells weren¡¯t of the sort worn by the mountain fraak, but instead some sort of weapon. By the same note, she knew that a liter was a measurement of liquid.


    An angel appeared in front of her in the night sky and she knew it to be an enemy, a harsh pyramid of silver, a tail of flame trailed after it as it flew past. The pyramid spit balls of metal at her that the computer highlighted in red. Computer? She thought in confusion, her brain unable to find any context for the concept as her hands moved on their own, rotating the night sky in a way that prevented the balls of red from striking her. A force pressed against her chest.


    Then the pod shook around her. She was pushing one of the buttons on the stick and the green numbers began to tick down. Three hundred shells became two hundred and seventy five and then the pyramid exploded.


    The images came faster, whirling around her as Threedak kept chewing on the body. Gradually the images gained solidity and the words gained context. The being she was eating was named Ashley Koenig. A prideful and talented pilot, she had defended her tribe to the last, but her time had come at the hands of an implacable foe that her race simply knew as ¡®the invaders.¡¯


    Tears sparkled unshed in Threedak¡¯s eyes as she saw the splendor of Ashley¡¯s race, humanity, in all of their glory. Two dozen worlds covered in glittering metal and farms. A people that did not succumb to disease or hunger but instead pursued art and exploration, littering the night sky with stations and habitats.


    Long before Ashley was born, humanity discovered the wormholes as well as the technology to stabilize them. They spread from one world to another in a golden age, their numbers multiplying without upper limit until they met the invaders.


    The invaders never even spoke their name as they began eliminating human outposts one by one. They didn¡¯t even attack for the purpose of securing territory or food. The outposts they seized lay empty, the corpses of the defenders uneaten and wasted in the streets. A grand fleet was sent to fight them, but it was defeated in a glorious battle. That defeat destroyed almost as many of the invader¡¯s ships as it did human vessels, and slowed the invaders¡¯ advance for a time.


    Then more came. Humanity sent a second fleet. Older vessels, many hastily repaired and activated rushed to battle the invaders, crewed by officers fresh from school. This time the defeat was not glorious. The human forces were crushed and the invaders¡¯ ships continued unabated. Humanity had nothing left to stop them.


    In desperation, a pair of cruisers were sent from the final stronghold, a planet called Earth. They went through a barely modulated wormhole, allowing themselves to be cast through a storm of the universe¡¯s primordial forces in an attempt to escape to a place where the invaders could not follow.


    Only one human ship survived the transition. The Ark limped toward a world surrounded by two moons that Threedak recognized as her own. Then the invaders transitioned out from the maw of the wormhole, many of their ships mangled and leaking air or radiation from the storms of energy the wormhole flung them through. Not content with defeating humanity, the invaders had risked thousands of their own just to eliminate the race entirely.


    The Captain of the ship dispatched Ashley, piloting a shuttle of humanity¡¯s best and brightest to Threedak¡¯s world. After all, that was the Ark¡¯s true purpose. Not to fight the invaders, but to ensure that humanity survived, that their culture and technology lived on in some isolated corner of the galaxy. The invaders shot it down regardless. Ashley did her best to land the shuttle, and her efforts prevented the vessel from crashing into the world at speeds that would have likely ensured a winter that would last generations, but it was not enough to save her own life or the lives of the scientists in the shuttle¡¯s hold.


    Threedak stood on her hindmost legs, balancing precariously with the help of her tail and let out a low thrumming moan. Tears of precious liquid flowed down her scaly face as she sang a song of lament to the uncaring desert winds. The long moan disappeared into the emptiness of the night, unanswered. Ashley Koenig had been humanity¡¯s last guardian, and the contents of the shuttle had been humanity¡¯s last hope. Now, they were both gone forever at the hands of the invaders, and the galaxy was a poorer place for it.

 Chapter 2 - Broodmother

    Threedak delved into Ashley¡¯s memory to remember how to trigger the emergency release on the back of the shuttle. It hissed, the stale air inside the shuttle equalizing pressure with the cold desert night before she stepped inside. The interior of the spaceship was a charnel house of gore and charred meat, souring her delicate pink tongue as Threedak tried to taste the ship¡¯s air. None of the human pioneers had survived the landing.


    Reverently, she began to eat body after body, her large torso swelling as she absorbed the hard earned proteins and fats of the human leaders.


    After almost an hour, Threedak lowered her bloated torso into the sand, memories swarming through her. Soon she would need to lay eggs, the biological imperative tripped by the amount of meat she consumed. Normally, this would be nothing but a concern for Threedak. Sustenance was rare and hard to come by in the desert, and most young didn''t survive long enough for their genetic memories to take hold. Her tribe considered it a grave offense against their scant food supplies for any Dhajtel to lay eggs without the approval of the entire tribe. Usually, the honor of whelping was reserved for the Dhajtel with the clearest and most valuable of memories.


    Now, that was Threedak. She remembered the lives of the eleven humans that were meant to preserve the technology and culture of humanity. Each was an expert in their own field. Dennis Billings was the greatest admiral that humanity had ever produced, solely responsible for the holding actions that bought humanity the time it needed to build and launch the Ark and its sister ship the Preservation. Mara Prentice was a metallurgical engineer, the inventor of many of the alloys and designs used by the human fleet. William and Amanda Drisco were scientists specializing in physics and biology respectively. Franklin Mitchell and Jon Reaves were the team''s social scientists, specializing in psychology and governmental institutions respectively. Brianna Rivers and Davis Brown were the artists in the fields of poetry and painting. Mudit Singh was one of the greatest civil engineers that Earth had to offer with experience in water purification, sanitation, and transportation load management. Wang Xinyu was an acclaimed neurologist and doctor responsible for saving hundreds of lives before the invaders arrived. Finally Stephen Igwe was an economist and agronomist, responsible for planning much of Earth''s farming and one of the central figures in humanity''s elimination of famine.


    Together the eleven of them joined Ashley Koenig to take up residence in Threedak''s mind with the rest of her ancestors. For the rest of her life she would be able to relive their memories with the same clarity that she experienced this day. Some of them such as Ashley, Dennis, Stephen, and Franklin were fresh enough when Threedak consumed them that portions of their personality survived their death. For those people, like Threedak''s ancestors, she would be able to pose questions to them and interact with their memory fragments as if they were independent entities.


    This preservation of personality was why the tribe encouraged those who were to be consumed to give themselves to the tribe alive. The greatest factor in retaining a personality was the length of time from death to consumption. Eating an ailing Dhajtel alive almost guaranteed that their personality would survive in those that consumed them.


    Threedak poured through her newly earned memories, trying to make sense of the alien words and experiences inherent to human existence. All of the pioneers but Brianna and Davis, the artists, were morose at their time of death. All of them had left family and friends behind knowing that even if they were to succeed, the invaders would''ve already butchered everything that they had known and loved. Interestingly, the artists weren''t deluded about their fate. They accepted the low chances of survival and the inevitable death of their race and civilization. Instead, they just chose to be happy in the face of such all consuming doom.


    She found their example inspiring. That was another word she hadn''t understood a mere hour ago. Dhajtel were not motivated or inspired. They struggled to survive without any self reflection or questioning. When the time came for them to die and be consumed by their tribe, they submitted without complaint. Depression, longing, and excitement were human concepts, new and alien to her. Emotion in general didn''t exist for Dhajtel behind anxiety about having enough food, curiosity about eating new beings, and a sense of duty toward one''s tribe.


    Things were different now. Threedak could feel the hopes, fears and dreams of the twelve humans thrumming inside of her. She wasn''t sure if what she felt was something genuine and inherent to herself, or merely a reflection of the humans'' emotions and personalities. It didn''t matter where they came from. What mattered was that she was the first Dhajtel to think and feel beyond immediate survival and a concern for one''s tribe.


    With a start, Threedak realized that she was no longer Dhajtel, but now something greater. Mentally she named that thing Dhajtel-Human. Even if her body remained the same scaled form, nine feet from snout to the base of her tail, her mind was different.


    Looking out over the empty desert, she realized for the first time that it was empty. Her tribe lived in a cave, carved by the wind from the sandstone beneath a particularly majestic dune. The most base hallmarks of civilization such as harnessing fire or building structures to shelter themselves from the elements all remained foreign to them. It might take years to replace that wasteland with the gleaming cities she saw in her memories, but Threedak knew that she owed it to both of her people to try. She would lift the Dhajtel from squalor and hunger, and give them civilization and purpose. For her human side.


    For the first time in her life, Threedak felt the steady burn of anger ignite in her gut. The invaders took so much from humanity and it was all without purpose. If it had been a war over territory or religion, she could have understood, but instead it was simply a campaign of silent extermination. The twelve humans dwelling in her mind murmured sadly amongst themselves. Even if their people would never know the boon they had delivered to Threedak, she would not easily be able to forget it. Humanity was surely dead, but so long as Threedak and her spawn survived, an ember of their culture would continue to burn on, waiting to be fanned into the flames of rebirth and retribution.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Threedak gave a snort and pulled her heavy bulk away from the downed spaceship and toward Ashley''s recently consumed body. Filching through her remains, she found what she was looking for. A small and ugly contraption made from composite alloys, Ashley''s needle pistol had survived the crash. Threedak gave a sigh of relief. The weapons were built resilient, but it was still good to know that her suspicions had been correct. Glancing around her naked form, Threedak frowned. Dhajtel didn''t understand the concept of clothing, so pockets were out of the question. Still, the fact that as a scavenger she wasn''t even sent out with a ceramic pot or a reed woven bag irked her.


    Checking the safety on the needle pistol with her graspers, Threedak noted that it only had fifty shots loaded into it. Ashley didn''t remember bringing any spare ammunition, so those fifty shots would be it. After that she would be as exposed as any other Dhajtel, at the mercy of predators and other tribes hungry for her flesh and experience.


    Glancing back at the wreck of the shuttle, she gave a chuff of disappointment. Maybe consuming such beings was a bit of a mistake. They filled her with such lofty goals and thoughts, but in reality they were nothing more than a collection of calories. At the end of the day, she was a scavenger with nothing to her name, scraping out an existence in the middle of a desert that would make humanity''s stone age look plush and comfortable.


    She walked toward the edge of the desert as she pondered her options. If she were going to remake Dhajtel society, she would need two things. Allies and tools. Locked away in her skull was all the knowledge that she would ever need to innovate and build the new world that she wanted to create. As for tools? They weren''t a concern so long as she had access to wood and rocks that could be split or knapped. Similarly, allies were easily acquired. She had more than enough protein in her to give birth to a clutch of eggs and mold them into valuable allies.


    The instincts related to motherhood kicked into high gear as she thought of her potential offspring. Threedak had too many memories to properly transfer genetically to her daughters. Until Dhajtel grew older, their brains were limited in how much data they could absorb. At most, she could pass on the relevant technical skills of two of the humans to her young. Still, with even two of the the humans'' knowledge of science, combat, and engineering her young would be born with the cunning they needed to survive and the skills they would need to carve out a niche for themselves in this harsh world.


    This was not the time to return to her tribe. The priests would almost certainly order her consumption as they tried to jealously gain the secrets that she had rightfully earned. Knowing them, once they had the blueprints and technology locked away in Threedak''s mind, they would hoard it. Maybe every once in a while they would leak another skill or trinket to the rest of the tribe, but now that she knew what to look for, Threedak clearly saw their jealousy and greed.


    The priests claimed that they ruled from a place of knowledge and wisdom granted by the clear memory of their ancestors, but the memories of Franklin Mitchell said otherwise. Unlike the rest of the Dhajtel, the priests had grown self aware enough to lie. With the power of these lies, they began hoarding protein and memories. Looking back, Threedak had never noticed it before but in each generation the priests laid clutches of eggs twice as large and twice as often as the other Dhajtel.


    No, Threedak wouldn''t be going back to the tribe to throw herself on their mercy. Even if she did, what was there for her there. Every day was a new exercise in danger as she tried to survive long enough to find something of use to the tribe in the desert. That was not the path to longevity.


    Domestication and animal husbandry. The strange words flowed off of her thin pink tongue. Those were how the Dhajtel would survive. She was jealous of humanity, able to survive on nothing but grains and fruit that grew from the soil. Dhajtel needed meat, and meat was harder to come by. Still, the task was not insurmountable. Rather, it just added a step to the process. Threedak would grow food from the soil, but rather than eat it she would give it to an animal, probably the woolly hartden. It would take time but the hartden would breed and her and her children would have a renewable source of meat.


    Unfortunately, domestication meant she needed to make a paddock and to make a paddock she would need wood. Her tribe didn''t have many connections and the concept of trade was almost unheard of as any would be merchants were quickly eaten by their neighbors, but she was aware of the swamp. The tribe that lived in the swamp was the most powerful in the region for one reason. The swamp had water. Plentiful brackish water laced with protein and decay.


    In times of need, the priests of every tribe would drive them to attack the swamp tribe in order to seize the water they needed to survive in the desert. It almost never worked. Dennis Billing''s thoughts trailed across hers, delicate tendrils of paranoia and logic. She could almost envision the older dark human, shaking his head in the featureless room of her genetic memory, clucking his tongue in irritation. His voice whispered in the back of her mind that it wasn''t meant to work. He cynically noted that times of need came when the priests decided that there were too many Dhajtel in the tribe to easily control and that the actual purpose for the raids were to thin out their numbers.


    Glumly, Threedak admitted that he was probably right. Still, the swamp had water and in the water grew trees. That water could easily be used to grow the hardy swamp grains that the wild hartden lived off of. If Threedak wanted to create an enclosure for her hartden, she would need to set herself up in the swamp.


    Even if she wasn''t actively taking their water, the swamp tribe wouldn''t take kindly to a rogue Dhajtel moving in next door, and they were a people prone to overreaction. Her first task upon reaching the swamp would be to lay her eggs. After that, she would need to seize the land her progeny would need to grow and thrive so that they could help her when the time came. For that, she would need to fight.


    A feral grin split her muzzle, exposing her jagged teeth to the night air as her thin tongue lovingly ran over the barrel of the needle pistol. It wouldn''t last long, and sooner rather than later she would need to create more sustainable weapons for herself and her young, but she had enough needles for one tribe so long as she paced herself.

 Chapter 3 - Lament

    Threedak lovingly dug into the moist swamp soil. Here her eggs would be warm, damp and safe. They wouldn''t suffer from the predation of desert mites or risk having their shells cracked from the dry baking heat of the day. Instead, the thick, loamy dirt would keep them the perfect temperature as her young matured enough to break free from their shells and escape into the nearby swamp where they would subsist on bugs and minnows until they grew old enough for their genetic memories to activate. Then, her daughters would return to her and together they could go about the important work of reforming the scattered and miserable Dhajtel people.


    With the hole deep enough to accommodate the heavy clutch she planned on laying, she moved her body over the pit and went about the business of becoming a mother. The humans called this the miracle of birth, but as Threedak poured through their memories they seemed to be focused more on trauma, screams and pain. Even after the children were born, they were helpless and dependent on their mothers for years. She grunted in slight discomfort as another egg slid into the nest. Really, the Dhajtel way was much better. Amass enough protein to lay the eggs. Focus on the memories and emotions to imprint on the eggs, and then simply deposit them someplace safe and sheltered from the environment. After the whelps were born, they would mature on their own or die to starvation, disease or predators. Either or.


    She hoped that a large number of her young would survive. Once they gained their memories, they would become a useful part in her quest to restructure Dhajtel society. Maybe later when there were more enlightened beings around they would be able to set up nurseries and creches to care for their young and prevent the atrocious generational losses. Until then, all she could do was lay her eggs and hope that they were lucky.


    Threedak focused on the memories earned by eating the last of the humans. Images of science and experimentation flickered through her mind as she imprinted them on each egg. Even if the Dhajtel lacked in many ways compared to humanity, their genetic memories would let them advance at a prodigious rate. Each of her young would be born with the equivalent of several doctorates and decades worth of research. They might not have the life experience to go with that training, but the wealth of theoretical knowledge and skills would help them survive long enough to gain that experience.


    She pulled herself away from the nest and began burying it using her graspers. Once the channel was safely under earth, she chuffed in contentment before finding a squat swamp tree. With a little bit of work she worried a straight branch from it. Then, she began walking, keeping her eyes trained either for threats or her goal. After an hour or two she stopped, poking the firm ground in front of her with the stick before trilling happily to herself.


    She dug deep into the wet clay, each stroke of her clawed graspers excavating more of the sticky substance from the swamp. One of the hardest parts of creating civilization from scratch was picking a starting point. On her trudge out of the desert, Threedak had considered two starts. The first was searching the nearby mountains for materials with which to make tools. According to her new memories, those mountains were the culprit behind the dichotomy of the desert and the low lying wetlands she dwelt in now, scraping the condensation from the sky and preventing the rain clouds from reaching her former tribe. The other was to find clay and bake it in the daytime heat of the desert until it became terracotta.


    Given her simple tools, the most she would be able to make with the terracotta was crude bricks and basic pottery, but Threedak was sick of being unable to store what she found. Right now, she was restricted to whatever she could carry by hand, a fact that prevented her from raiding the crashed shuttle of its plentiful but jagged shards of metal. If she was to go to the mountains to search for needed minerals such as lime or flint, having a pot or container to haul it back in was essential.


    Memorizing the nearby landmarks of twisted trees and rolling bog, she filled her arms with the wet clay and marched toward the edge of the swamp. The journey took her almost an hour, but it was blissfully uninterrupted by predators or the swamp tribe. At the edge of the desert, Threedak began fashioning pots and trays from the malleable clay, using the stick to hollow out the pots and smooth the trays. She didn''t have any way of assuring the purity of the clay or controlling the heat when the sun baked it so she suspected that the end product would be rough at best.


    Whether her dream was made of a hundred, a thousand, or a thousand thousand small steps, she would pursue it because she must. Once she had the terracotta pottery, it would make her next task slightly easier. That next task would make her third simpler. It might not be today, tomorrow, or even in her daughters'' lifetimes, but through accumulation and sheer force of will she would civilize this barren wasteland.


    The first javelin struck the soil next to her, wobbling harmlessly. She had known that the swamp tribe would not suffer her dwelling near them in peace, but she hadn¡¯t expected them to act this quickly. Calmly, Threedak spit the needle pistol out into her hand and turned to face the three Dhajtel of the swamp tribe that were moving toward her. All of them were armed with crude stone weapons, really little more than sharpened rocks afixed to tree branches with hardened sinew.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    They hissed at her, their neck pouches bulging in ritual challenge. Almost reverently, Threedak wiped the saliva from the needle pistol and disabled the safety with one of her graspers'' foreclaws. The three tribeswomen stalked closer, fanning out to surround Threedak. She puffed out her own neck pouches, letting out a ragged croak of dominance that startled the approaching tribeswomen. They stopped their advance in confusion and began hurriedly whispering to each other.


    Calmly she pointed the pistol at the first of her enemies and depressed the firing stud. It jerked in her grip like a dying hartden, magnetic microcoils accelerating a sliver of metal and slamming it into the neck of one of the approaching Dhajtel. With a startled croak her victim clawed at her throat with her graspers before collapsing to the ground. One of the injured tribeswoman¡¯s two companions dropped to all six legs and hurried over toward her while the other charged Threedak.


    She shifted her aim, letting Ashley''s memories guide her. The human''s long hours at the firing range paid off as Threedak fired her second round, spinning her opponent around and sending one of her graspers flying into the air, disconnected from her body in a fountain of gore.


    The injured Dhajtel croak gasped in pain, collapsing to the ground. Threedak fired a final round into her, ripping a deep and bloody hole into her upper back. The final tribeswoman stood up onto her hindmost pair of legs in surrender, waving her graspers frantically. A day ago, Threedak would have accepted her surrender, but now she just saw her as another potential failure point. She was alone and trust could get her killed. Any thoughts of mercy needed to be tempered by the risk inherent in the swamp tribe knowing she was in the area.


    Threedak touched the firing stud once again, ripping out the surrendering Dhajtel''s throat with a sliver of steel. It was unfortunate that such actions were necessary, but she would be put to better use as protein for Threedak''s daughters. The towering Dhajtel fell into the muddy slop, unmoving. Without any further fanfare, Threedak approached the three corpses and began eating.


    Their memories were vague and blurry, merely a collection of images without any real thought or drive backing them. Threedak winced slightly. That was her only a day ago. Living her life in a fog and barely sapient, without the knowledge and capacity to truly contextualize what was going on around her. Only now, looking back, could she see that her former self was closer to an animal, ruled by instinct and hunger, than a properly intelligent being.


    She finished consuming the last of her enemies flesh. Their thoughts were barely worth adding to her own. She learned the location of the swamp tribe''s village as well as their numbers, approximately twenty five Dhajtel now that three of them had died. She chuffed to herself in disappointment. The largest tribe she was aware of and it would barely rate a human hamlet. Her people had an almost impossible distance to travel.


    Once again Threedak dug a nest, letting the rhythmic strokes of her graspers help ease her digestion as she prepared to lay another clutch of eggs. The process repeated itself without interruption. This time she imprinted the memories of the human warriors in her first clutch of eggs and the human engineers in the second. Unfortunately there was a limit to what she could directly pass on to her young, their minds were fragile when they first awakened and overloading their synapses would simply break them. Still, her new civilization would need all types.


    Finally, after the three Dhajtel were stripped bare and both of the new clutches of eggs were laid and buried, Threedak returned to her work. Over the course of three days she excavated clay and set it out to bake into bricks in the hot desert sun. She didn''t yet have mortar, not having ventured into the mountain to look for lime, but she stacked the crude bricks in wet mud to make a square one room building. Finally she placed boughs from the nearby trees over the top of the structure. It wasn''t much, her construction barely kept the swamp''s frequent rains out, and the walls rattled in high winds, but Threedak was sure that it was the first purposefully made structure on the surface of the planet. That had to count for something.


    She curled up in her new house, tail touching the nose of her muzzle. The last couple of days had been near constant work without rest. Soon she would need to venture forth into the mountains to look for the minerals her new society would need, but until then she could take a moment to relax and reflect.


    In a very non-Dhajtel moment, Threedak decided that the city she was founding would need a name. To Dhajtel, names were meaningless beyond a designation for an individual. They simply didn''t have enough exposure to the world to need the use of proper nouns for anything else. There was only one planet, desert and swamp that her tribe was exposed to so all of them became ''the'' desert, planet and swamp. Tribes were almost as simple. The world consisted of your tribe and other tribes. Sometimes other tribes would be notated by a nearby landmark like the swamp tribe, but more often than not the distinction wasn''t necessary. It was a very simple way of looking at things that fit for the simple people that the Dhajtel currently were.


    She pondered, searching for a name that would summarize her gratitude and debt to humanity for providing their memories to her as well as her feelings toward the Dhajtel as a whole. Something to encapsulate the entirety of the titanic struggle ahead of her as well as the ultimate failure of her unwitting benefactors.


    The membranes covering her eyes nictated as she stared at the loose brick of her walls for a long time. Eventually, she closed her eyes, satisfied with her choice. For as much as her people gained, humanity had lost infinitely more. When she met her daughters for the first time, she would stroke their soft scales with her graspers and tell them the story behind the humans that died so that they might have culture. She would weave the tale of their final doomed battles against the invaders and how despite everything they fought to the last. She would tell them the name of their new home, Lament.

 Chapter 4 - Queen of the Swamp

    The journey to the mountains proceeded without setback or interruption.  Threedak found enough flint and limestone to fill two of her crude pots before returning home.  Already her mind whirred and spun with plans for her collected treasures. The limestone could be cooked in a kiln to make quicklime which she could mix with the sand from the desert to create mortar, whitewash, and concrete.  The flint would be chipped and knapped into the axe and shovel heads she needed to finish Lament''s construction. She was a long way from steam power or internal combustion engines, but they represented a solid first step.


    She was mentally interrogating the figments of Mara Prentice and Mudit Singh, the human metallurgist and civil engineer she had consumed in the desert, about the best way to go about making the kiln when she arrived home.  Threedak stopped suddenly. Dhajtel tracks circled her house, deeply imprinted in the wet soil. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air. The fading flavor of stale and ungroomed scales assaulted her senses. No one was nearby, but the tracks were recent.  She sighed, gently setting both of the pots down next to the wall of her house.


    She had hoped that the swamp tribe would leave her alone long enough for her daughters to awaken, but it would seem that Threedak would have no such luck.  Removing the needle pistol from her mouth, she briefly consulted the murky memories she liberated from the swamp tribeswomen before setting out into the misty bog for the swamp tribe''s settlement.


    She chuffed to herself.  It was hardly a settlement.  Rather the tribal priests lived in the rotten out log of a gigantic tree that fell on its own an age ago.  The rest of the tribe simply sheltered in the shadow of the nearby trees to escape the elements. Without the plentiful water and mild elements of the swamp, the poor living arrangements of the tribe would have led to the deaths of everyone but their priest from exposure long ago.  None of them would survive a sandstorm in the desert or a cold snap in the mountains.


    Still, Threedak thought, chuckling dryly, if mother nature wouldn''t discipline her wayward and soft children, Threedak could take up that mantle.   Given that the swamp tribe wouldn¡¯t leave her alone, all she could do was turn them into the protein that her daughters would need to grow strong.


    Part of her rebelled at the callousness that had become part of her since consuming the humans, but she knew that it was necessary.  Without her, the Dhajtel would continue, barely sapient, to scrape out a limited existence from a harsh planet. Even above and beyond her own desire for self preservation, she owed it to her people to survive long enough to set them on the correct path.


    Her muzzle broke into an unfamiliar, human-style smile.  Ultimately, the self doubt and concern about her own morality and arrogance were laughable in the face of the circumstances.  Just ten days ago, she didn''t even understand the concept of ethics. She didn¡¯t even possess the sense of awareness or self needed to be arrogant.


    The swamp tribe didn¡¯t suffer from her doubts and introspection.  They wouldn''t hesitate to kill her and take her protein and calories if she failed today and their actions wouldn''t have anything to do with arrogance or reasoning.  They would act out of hunger and instinct. Just like Threedak had before she encountered humans.


    Unlike the desert, the swamp didn''t have any predators large enough to menace a Dhajtel so the tribe didn''t have any sentries standing guard.  She scoffed as her eyes ran over the disorganization of their camp. Dhajtel slept, ate, or mated without real care or concern around the large downed tree.  Young and males, both tiny and non-sapient, scurried about underfoot.


    Threedak tried to think of the best way to eliminate the threat posed by the encampment.  For a second, she entertained the idea of trying to poison their food, but then Threedak realized that the simplicity of their society would protect them.  Each tribeswoman other than the priest collected her own food. There was no central reserve for Threedak to target. Even their water didn¡¯t come from a central cistern or well.  Instead, Threedak would need to use irreplaceable needles from her pistol.


    Silently, she sighted the weapon at a Dhajtel dozing next to the half eaten remains of a hartden.  The needle pistol bucked in her hand and with a crack, her opponent''s sloped forehead disappeared in a cloud of red mist.  Several other nearby tribeswomen glanced up, confused but without context for the sound of the flechette breaking the sound barrier.  Threedak depressed the firing stud once again and another Dhajtel collapsed missing much of her throat.


    One of the Dhajtel that witnessed the second death inflated her neck pouches and let out a keening howl.  First one then another of the surviving tribeswomen joined her. The low thrum of their vibrating pouches combined into a cacophony of sound, alerting the entire camp.  Still, none of them spotted Threedak as she crouched low and fired again, eliminating a third Dhajtel.


    She had to be careful with her aim, human weapons were designed to fight the armored encounter suits of the invaders and other humans, neither of which approached the majestic size of an adult female Dhajtel.  As powerful as the needle pistol was, it simply wasn''t intended to cope with their scaly bulk and a misplaced shot would injure but not kill a tribeswoman. Despite her methodical campaign against the locals, Threedak didn''t want them to suffer.  They needed to die so that her daughters might live, but that didn''t mean that they had done anything wrong.


    Threedak fired again, bringing down yet another Dhajtel.  Despite the chaos and distress around her, she remained unseen.  The swamp tribe was panicking. Dhajtel were milling about their downed comrades, tails flicking in agitation.  From her hiding spot, crouched behind the stump of a tree, she could hear them shouting about the ''strange thunder'' that was striking them down.  One was claiming that their camp site must be cursed and that it was time to move on to the mountains or the desert.


    The tribal priest exited her home, scales grey with age, and hissed to gather their attention.  Threedak aimed the needle pistol at her, waiting as the priest tried to rally the tribe. As the elderly priest spoke, the tribe calmed.  Their tails still swished to and fro with agitation, but they were no longer at risk of routing. Threedak fired the pistol, cutting the priest off mid word with a sharp crack that eliminated most of her head.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Then the tribe panicked.  Threedak made sure to bring down some of their larger and more impressive and scarred members with the needle pistol.  Solitary Dhajtel usually weren''t as hostile and territorial as a foreign tribe, but she didn''t want to risk a fight with someone almost twice her size.  The rest she let scatter. Eventually her daughters would bring them to heel, but until then there was no real purpose in tormenting the poor creatures when they posed no threat to her.


    Threedak checked the needle pistol and sighed.  Only six shots left. Once the tribe broke up and started fleeing, she hadn''t been able to get clear shots anymore.  For many of the swamp tribe warriors, it had taken multiple shots to bring them down. With her inherited memories and skills, Threedak rarely missed, it just took a head or neck shot to kill something the size of a Dhajtel.  For many of her targets, once they were moving fast enough that a headshot couldn''t be assured, she didn''t have any choice but to waste three to four needles to bring them down via blood loss.


    Hesitantly, she approached the corpses strewn about the former camp.  It was all a waste. The other tribe would rather kill than talk to her, so Threedak didn''t have a choice but to commit an atrocity, but that didn¡¯t alleviate her newfound guilt.  The worst of it was that she could have used their help. Excavating clay and building crude dwellings was difficult and time consuming work. If she had the support of simpler Dhajtel, it would speed the process immeasurably, allowing Threedak to focus on more rarefied labor such as prospecting in the nearby mountains for the materials she would need to spur her nascent civilization into an industrial revolution such as copper, tin, iron, and coal seams.


    She leaned down and began eating the swamp tribe priest.  The priest''s memories were clearer than the three scavengers, a testament to the quality of the food she likely reserved for herself at the expense of the tribe.  The final thoughts of the priest rushed into her mind, but there was nothing to surprise Threedak.


    The priest¡¯s recollections confirmed her suspicion that the priests intentionally reserved the choicest of game for themselves so that their daughters would dominate the social hierarchy of the tribe, but there there wasn''t much else of interest.  The actual religion itself wasn''t anything more than a collection of semi-mystical thoughts passed down from one ancestor to another about the holiness of the swamp and the importance of observing the flow of the stars to predict the coming of the ''great cold.''


    Threedak snorted, her muzzle still wet with the priest''s blood.  She supposed it was something that the priesthood understood enough about astronomy to predict the coming winter, but other than that they served no real purpose to the tribe.  She didn¡¯t even use her position of honor to try and improve the standing of the tribe, instead focusing on maintaining what power she already had. It was a shame that such reverence was wasted on a collection of parasites.


    She moved on to the next corpse, one of the large scarred Dhajtel that had accompanied the priest out of her home.  Its recollections were murky, muddled and unhelpful. The priest had used her as an enforcer, but the confused Dhajtel had barely realized it.  Most of its memories were littered with vague promises and pronouncements from the priest about how the more freethinking tribeswomen were rebels or heretics.  As fearsome as the swamp tribe''s reputation had been among the surrounding tribes, it seemed like most of their might had been focused inward, on maintaining the power of their priesthood.


    Maybe she was being too harsh on her sisters Threedak mused.  Early human history was full of similar stories. Before their race unified behind a single government, it was a common occurrence for a charismatic leader to stoke the fires of animosity or irrational hatred for personal gain.  Human history repeated itself innumerable times with religion and national boundaries being most common targets when their leaders tried to draw attention away from their own corruption and mistakes.


    It was more or less the same story with less guile amongst the Dhajtel.  Really, the only difference was that the priests didn''t have to engage in as sophisticated of lies and propaganda to turn her people against each other.  Ignorance, instinct and hunger did most of the hard work for them.


    Threedak continued eating until both of her stomachs were past capacity.  She dragged her slow and bloated body back to Lament, heavy with the protein and memories of the swamp tribe, ruminating on their mistakes.


    When her daughters were born, she would have to find a way to strike a more harmonious accord with them.  Once they awakened their memories, they would all be much smarter than the average Dhajtel so the usual lies and mysticism wouldn''t be enough to control them.  Even if half truths and propaganda would work, that wasn''t the foundation on which Threedak wanted to build her society.


    She settled into her memories, querying the figment of Jon Reaves to try and determine how to structure her new tribe while she digested what remained of the last one.  Lament would need to be a meritocratic society, but Threedak refused to create a culture without purpose.


    That was the fatal mistake humanity made.  Allowing hedonism and self expression to rule the day at the expense of unity of purpose.  They became distracted and didn¡¯t prepare adequately for the possibility that terrors might lie in wait beyond the boundaries of their empire.


    Her daughters would be born knowing the dangers that waited for them as soon as they left the cradle of their planet.  There wouldn''t be time for them to grow complacent and introverted. Every action they took needed to focus on developing their world until the Dhajtel were ready to step into space and avenge humanity against the invaders.  Even if her daughters didn¡¯t share her desire for vengeance, Threedak suspected that the invaders weren¡¯t keen to share the galaxy with any other race.


    Mulling through Jon''s memories, Threedak quickly discarded free markets and democracy.  While such a system would spur innovation and produce great wealth, that was something for the far future.  Right now, she had thousands of years of cultural and technological innovation stored in her skull just waiting for her daughters to develop sophisticated enough tools to implement it.  At least for the time being, Lament would be a command economy with her as the ultimate ruler. Like a newborn whelp, the nascent Dhajtal society would need a firm but steady hand to guide it into the shape it must ultimately take.


    Chuckling, she anointed herself Queen Threedak the First, Queen of the Swamp and Lord of Lament.  Although feudalism certainly had its flaws, it granted its royalty the authority and control that she needed.  She could grant titles as needed to her daughters to reward them and delegate authority, but for now Lament would have a clear hierarchy with her firmly situated at the top.

 Chapter 5 - The First Year

    Threedak trilled warmly at her young as they crawled from the moist swamp soil.  The first thing they saw while blinking against the bright light of the morning was her form looming over them and offering scraps of hartden meat.  Each whelp was barely the size of one of her graspers and just about as intelligent. One by one they darted out and took the meat from her hand, and scurried off into the swamp.


    The part of her shaped by human memories and experience screamed that she should care for and rear her young, but that wasn¡¯t the way of the Dhajtel.  Until the end of their first year, they were nothing more than animals, unintelligent and ruled by instinct. Protecting and nurturing them would be a labor intensive fool¡¯s errand.  Her simple paddocks wouldn¡¯t be able to contain the agile and feraI whelps, especially if they tried to flee from her as a potential predator. She snorted, it wasn¡¯t an entirely illogical response.  In times of famine it wasn¡¯t unknown for Dhajtel to eat their males and young.


    She smiled toothily at her young as they disappeared off into the swamp.  In a year, her daughter¡¯s ancestral memories would awaken and they would realize their purpose.  Threedak had no hold over them after their birth, but she was sure that the weight of their human recollections would draw them back.  Once they sifted through their inheritance of reflections, her daughters would see that they had no choice but to join Threedak in her crusade to civilize their primative race.


    Turning, from the nesting ground she returned to Lament.  A grandiose name for what charitably might be called a compound.  To date, her encampment consisted of a simple grain farm, two paddocks of hartden, her house, a smoking hut to preserve meat, a storage shed, and a building she planned to turn into a forge.


    Threedak sighed, despite all of the skills passed on to her from her human benefactors she still couldn¡¯t get the forge hot enough to melt iron.  Whether it was the poor quality of the coal she excavated from the mountains or an inability to blow enough oxygen over the flames the result was nothing more than some slightly charred chunks of iron ore.


    Her difficulty in conquering iron made sense.  All of her inherited memories came from a society where day to day labor was performed by robots.  Even though she had access to the skills and techniques from the greatest that humanity had to offer, their knowledge of the bronze and iron age was purely theoretical or from half hearted hobby projects.  From them, Threedak knew what to do, it was the ¡®how¡¯ that drove her to frustration.


    Still, there had been a lot of progress.  After a couple of tries, she was able to make molds and cast a handful of spearheads, an axehead and a knife from bronze to supplement her stone tools, but her inability to work iron was holding her settlement back.  The knife and the axe dulled too quickly, forcing her to pound them back into shape and resharpen them so frequently that it slowed her work noticeably.


    Luckily, none of the other tribes came to raid the swamp in the intervening time.  The needle pistol was almost empty, and once it was out, she would be stuck with her two throwing spears, long spear and handaxe.  None of the other Dhajtel really knew how to use weapons other than stone or natural glass, but that didn¡¯t make her hopeful about her odds against an entire tribe.  She could only hope that the fear of the swamp tribe would keep the others away long enough for her daughters to grow up. Or for her to figure out iron. Even just iron pauldrons and bracers would go a long way towards keeping her safe.


    Threedak hummed to herself as she went to the smoking hut, a squat building made from crude bricks.  Outside the hut was a sheltered fire pit where she boiled the leather of the hartden hides to harden them into armor and containers.  She threw another log on the fire before using a stick to push out a pile of cherry red coals. One by one she picked them up with a flat rock and brought them into the smoking hut where they joined other embers amongst damp wood chunks from the swamp.  She waved a fan made of leaves a couple of times at the smoldering flame to make it flare up a little and then coughed as the wave of smoke assaulted the sensitive membranes of her throat.


    The walls of the hut were filled with with poles slotted into the walls, hanging heavy with hartden meat.  Unlike humans, the Dhajtel couldn¡¯t subsist on grain so storing food for the winter would be an issue. One that many Dhajtel tribes resolved via ritualistic cannibalism.  Until she managed to figure out refrigeration or find salt, this would be her primary method of preserving food. It didn¡¯t taste nearly as good as fresh meat, but she preferred it to starvation.


    She exited her hut and stared up into the sky.  The sun spent less time in the sky each day and soon winter would come.  Her storage shed was filled with grain for her hartden herds, and between their smoked meat and the herds themselves, Threedak was hopeful for the coming winter.


    The following months went more smoothly than expected.  Winter came and it was a mild one. None of the rival tribes moved during the winter, instead hunkering in place and sacrificing their weak and ill to appease the angels and end the accursed cold.  Threedak paced herself, relying on hunting and spear fishing as much as she could on the warmer days and her two herds of hartden survived the winter slightly skinnier but otherwise none the worse for wear.


    Spring came, and the swamp shifted from grey and brown to a slightly more green and brown.  Threedak hunted enough to lay another two clutches of eggs while adding to her hartden herds.  The abundance of grain allowed most of the hartden to give birth during their mating season, and Threedak ensured that only the largest of males mated with the sows.  It was a long term plan but eventually selective breeding would increase the size and hardiness of her herd.


    During the winter, Threedak wasn¡¯t able to range far enough to search for better coal so she still hadn¡¯t solved her iron problem.  Instead whenever she wasn¡¯t hunting she devoted herself to leatherworking. It took some time for her to figure out the correct heat and time to soak the hartden hides so as to layer and harden them, but by the time Spring came she had figured out  the trick to it.


    The armor she fashioned from the slaughtered hartden was crude and difficult to put on, but it would likely turn aside any weapon used by a rival Dhajtel.  Unfortunately, each hartden was a good deal smaller than Threedak, so making the armor consisted of boiling each hide individually and frantically molding it into the shape it would need before stitching them together with sinew and a bone needle.  She ruined several of the hides before she learned the trick for stitching them together while still supple just after the boiling. If she sewed too slowly, the leather would harden to the point where her graspers couldn¡¯t force the needle through.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Eventually, she fitted the ugly mess onto herself.  She couldn¡¯t twist far enough to get to her rearmost pair of legs and tail, but it loosely fit over her torso, graspers, middle legs and sides.  Combined with her shield, a circle of bronze with boiled leather stretched over it and soft worked leather loops for her grasper sewn into the back, she finally felt moderately secure against the hazards of the wilderness.  Threedak would be in trouble if she were to be flanked, but so long as she was attacked from the front, she was pretty sure that she could survive an encounter with a starvok, let alone a Dhajtel.


    The Spring faded into Summer and Threedak began to have some problems with her neighbors.  At first it was nothing much, a sighting of a scouting Dhajtel on the horizon that she would scare away with a full pouched bellow of challenge, but before long they began to arrive in pairs and linger just out of range of a thrown spear, watching her and Lament.  Almost begrudgingly, Threedak shifted her efforts from more productive pursuits to building a two story tower and a stave with a leather sling.


    None of the scouts came near enough to attack her, but if a tribe were to attack in force she wanted to be able to defend herself at range and with a height advantage.  She might be more accurate with a spear than a sling, but rocks were plentiful and cheap in a way that bronze spearheads were not. Of course, her decision to use a sling was helped by the fact that none of the wood from the bog was springy enough to make a proper bow. No matter how much she tried, the wood just splintered and cracked when she tried to bend it.


    The tower, little more than a square of crude bricks and mortar with an earthen ramp to the roof progressed quickly.  Her plan was to build a low barrier on top that she could fire sling stones over and stock the rooftop with enough stones and smoked meat to last out a siege.


    Finally, about a week or so after Threedak finished building and stocking the tower, the attack came.  For the last couple of days, a scout had hung around Lament almost constantly so Threedak had taken to sleeping in her armor.  While working in her smoking hut, she heard the deep bellows of challenge from outside.


    With a sigh she walked out and saw a quartet of Dhajtel standing at the edge of her encampment.  Two held spears while another two hefted heavy wooden clubs. Threedak checked to make sure that her handaxe was lashed securely to her armor before picking up her spear and shield.  Ignoring the challengers she walked toward her tower.


    The other Dhajtel whispered amongst themselves before the largest amongst them stepped forward brandishing a club.


    ¡°Why do you not run or fight?¡± She bellowed at Threedak.  ¡°We issue challenge but you do not fight. You do not run.  Explain?¡±


    ¡°I mean to fight you,¡± Threedak replied calmly, bringing her handaxe down on the cord of sinew that held the wooden door to the tower in place.  The door crashed down, blocking the only entrance to the tower. It had a handle on the inside, allowing her to exit, but it would prevent any of the attackers from easily accessing her.  ¡°I just wanted to choose the place of the fight. Now are you going to carry through with this or did your mothers¡¯ hatch you with weak shells.¡±


    The warrior bellowed back at her in rage, her simple mind unable to process the concept that Threedak might goad her into a trap.  She charged, straight into a stone from the sling. Threedak was fairly proud of that shot. She hadn¡¯t had much time to train with the weapon and although she could hit stationary targets with some accuracy, her current siege plan counted more on having a lot of rocks than any sort of real accuracy.


    The rock hit the warrior in the shoulder, breaking scales and stunning the Dhajtel that didn¡¯t even see it coming.  She paused, staring at the wound in confusion. Another rock embedded itself with a whir into the soft soil right next to her.


    Threedak frowned.  The weapon was tricky to get the hang of, but she would hardly be able to maintain her self-proclaimed title as queen of the swamp if she let herself be bested at such an early juncture.  Steadying herself, she swung the staff again, flicking her graspers to release the stone at just the right moment.


    This time the rock hit the confused Dhajtel in the forehead with an audible crack.  Her opponent sank to all six legs, dropping her club. Threedak took advantage of her opponent¡¯s apparent concussion to slam another rock into her right mid leg.  She stumbled to the ground, letting out a croak of pain.


    ¡°Witch!¡± One of the remaining three raiders blurted out.  ¡°She use her magic on Laspek! She hurt her without touching and without spear.  We need to leave before she hurt us without touching too!¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± a second attacker silenced the panicking Dhajtel.  ¡°The priest put Laspek in charge. We wait until Laspek say what to do.¡±


    Threedak flicked her membranes over her eyes in disgust as she released another rock at the injured Laspek.  In that moment she was glad that she had the figments of the humans to keep her company over the last year rather than the rest of her kind.  As lonely as she had grown, she suspected that having to deal with the simple-minded tribeswomen would have driven her to madness.


    The rest of the bandits turned expectantly to Laspek as Threedak pummeled her with rocks.  Laspek had long since lost consciousness, but Threedak simply wanted to make sure that the imposingly large Dhajtel was firmly dead before she shifted her aim.


    Finally, sure that the tribeswoman laying outside her storehouse was nothing more than a pile of protein, Threedak shifted her aim to Laspek¡¯s companions.  The remaining Dhajtel were debating what to do with the first insisting that they flee. It took Threedak another four throws before one of her rocks hit a survivor due to the long range, but that was all it took.


    ¡°Tangog speak truth,¡± her victim hissed, slapping her grasper over the broken scales that began leaking blood where the rock had hit.  ¡°She is witch. She hurt without touching. See?¡± She gestured at the wound.


    With that, the remaining Dhajtel fled, periodically glancing over their shoulders at where Threedak stood triumphant in her tower.  She smiled toothily at them. Today they could run away, but soon her daughters would arrive. Together they would wipe away the weak and superstitious locals, consume their memories and capture their males.


    Threedak nodded in satisfaction as she climbed down from the tower to collect her prize.  Laspek was bulky. Properly smoked she could provide Threedak with enough protein to lay another clutch of eggs and with weeks worth of food.


    Satisfaction.  That was a new emotion for her.  The life of a Dhajtel was always filled with crisis.  There was almost never enough food, and if there was, it was time to lay eggs, emptying out your caloric stores.  Now, there was planning and purpose. Her handful of buildings was inelegant and crude, but they were a clear stepping stone toward her daughters¡¯ eventual steps into space.


    That was something worth being satisfied about.

 Chapter 6 - Daughters

    Another couple of months passed after the attack on her encampment without incident. Threedak raised her herds of hartden and searched for purer coal to fuel her iron forge, but the surrounding tribes left her in peace. Every Dhajtel she encountered hurriedly ran from her. Occasionally they would beg for mercy from the ¡®witch of the swamp.¡¯


    She couldn¡¯t really tell whether to be proud or offended by the moniker. On one hand they left her alone. On the other, it was probably meant as some sort of pejorative. Regardless, it was more than a little amusing to watch others flee from her, especially given that most of them were larger than her. As a scavenger, she never had access to the same level of food that warriors and hunters did. Now that she could tap into the humans¡¯ knowledge, she suspected that malnutrition stunted her growth. She was lithe and skinny for a Dhajtel, hardly a threat without her superior weapons.


    Finally, one day as she was using a leather and sinew net to sift the eggs of bogfish from the swamp to fill the pond she¡¯d dug next to lament, the moment Threedak had waited all year for arrived. A juvenile Dhajtel, barely up to Threedak¡¯s knees skittered up to her on all six legs. She looked down at the visitor, recognizing her own coloration and scale patterns in her upturned muzzle.


    The interloper flicked out a dainty tongue, tasting the air around Threedak. Hesitantly her pouches puffed out, her scales iridescent in the morning light.  Threedak brought her nose close to the tiny Dhajtel, nuzzling it gently. It squeaked softly, scurrying back a foot or two before eyeing her up defiantly.


    ¡°Mother,¡± she chirped indignantly, her tiny lungs unable to generate the true bass rumble of an adult Dhajtel. ¡°My memories have awakened, there is no need to treat me like a helpless whelp.¡±


    ¡°But you are helpless, little one,¡± Threedak chuckled, the rumble from her vibrating neck pouches shaking her daughter. ¡°Soon you will grow into your memories and adult bulk, but until then your teeth are dull and you are too small to wield a knife or spear. A starvok could swoop down and gobble you up in one bite and there¡¯s nothing you could do about it.¡±


    ¡°There is no need to rub it in mother.¡± She bristled at Threedak, stomping her tiny legs and digging claws into the moist dirt of the swamp. ¡°I may be small now, but I am an adult. There¡¯s no need for you to tease me.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Threedak responded indulgently, ¡°what should I call you now that your memories have awakened?


    ¡°Bekai,¡± she raised her tiny head up, letting her scales catch the morning light. ¡°Mother, I must ask. I inherited your recollections of Mara Prentice and Mudit Singh. When I see the war with the invaders through their eyes, the sacrifices that they made¡­¡± She paused, membranes nictating over her eyes as her nostrils flared in distress.


    ¡°Yes my dear,¡± Threedak nodded somberly at her daughter. ¡°I have the last thoughts of ten more of the humans. Their hopes to survive and carry on their races¡¯ thoughts and culture only to be dashed when the invaders exited the wormhole behind them. I¡¯ve tasted the way their dreams were crushed. I can remember how each of them linked hands and began to pray as the shuttle tried to escape the invaders. None of them truly believed that they would survive the day, but each and every one of them tried to reassure their fellows. It was a beautiful final moment. One that we will memorialize as soon as our new society is stable so that all of our daughters and our daughters¡¯ daughters will be reminded of what came before.¡±


    ¡°I remember,¡± Bekai lowered her head. ¡°Humanity did nothing to provoke the invaders. Nothing to wrong them or to compete with them. They were peaceful. They didn¡¯t even have many warships, just a handful to ward off piracy. Humanity was never a threat. Do your other memories explain why the invaders attacked?¡± She gazed up at Threedak, hope on her face as she looked for some sort of reason or order behind the war.


    ¡°You are only missing more pain,¡± Threedak thrummed her throat pouches sadly. ¡°There isn¡¯t any reason behind the attacks. No one on the Ark knew why they came. Maybe there was someone higher up in the human government that knew those secrets, but they didn¡¯t survive the attack. As far as I know, it was senseless.¡±


    ¡°Will we avenge them?¡± Bekai asked, her membranes flickering as she let out a hum of sorrow. ¡°They sacrificed so much to escape their doom only to fall here. It wouldn¡¯t be right for us to simply take the gifts they offered without seeking to right that wrong.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t consider them gone,¡± Threedak crooned, resting her chin affectionately on her daughter¡¯s head. ¡°Before I consumed the humans, I was barely more than an animal. Their thoughts and personalities have expanded me, and through me my daughters into what we are today. Our forms may be Dhajtel, but in thought, at least partially, we are also human.¡±


    ¡°When we journey into space,¡± She glanced up at the morning sky wistfully. ¡°It will not be blindly. We won¡¯t make the humans¡¯ mistakes. We will be unified in purpose and prepared for the invaders. I am unsure whether to call what we do vengeance or a simple continuation of the war that the invaders started. Either way, my plan is to end them so that our daughters may live free.¡±


    Bekai hummed agreement, her tail swishing excitedly. Threedak picked up the net and bogfish eggs, guiding Bekai back to Lament. After depositing the eggs in the pond that would hopefully become a fishery, she showed her daughter around the encampment. Quickly the two of them got to work digging clay and drying bricks so that Bekai could make her own home. Given Bekai¡¯s memories of civil and metallurgical engineering, she took to the process like a kithsan to the air. Threedak was hopeful that Bekai¡¯s knack for planning and construction would allow her to take the lead on many of the projects that were slowing Lament¡¯s development. Certainly better bricks and the secret of smelting iron would be appreciated.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Over the coming weeks, three more of her daughters trickled into Lament. Kahtash inherited the memories of Ashley Koenig and Dennis Billings. She was a born soldier and leader with a calculating mind. Kahtash didn¡¯t speak much but as soon as she was introduced to Threedak and her sister she began working on developing lightweight and disposable javelins to aid in hunting and any future war.


    Five to six days after Kahtash appeared, Dahlass arrived from out of the desert. She was a bit more furtive than her sisters, but she manifested the memories of Jon Reaves and Stephen Igwe. With a little prodding, Thradeek convinced her shy daughter to take over the crops, fishery and one of the two hartden pastures. With any luck, when their small village developed further Dahlass would be the one to take over management and civil service.


    Finally, Pinrakt meandered in. Pinrakt was a dreamer, her personality formed from the memories of Brianna Rivers and Davis Brown, the Ark¡¯s artists. She tried to help with whatever projects were assigned to her, but more often than not she would wander off and observe nearby animals or a particularly interesting geological formation. It wasn¡¯t that she didn¡¯t want to help with Lament¡¯s development, it was just that the mundane but necessary tasks couldn¡¯t hold her attention.


    Threedak passed on Rivers and Brown because she knew that a society needed art to glue itself together. Even the martial culture she intended to found would need someone to record the history of humanity for their daughters to learn. As generations passed, the ancestral memories would fade even if the Dhajtel were able to keep their skill sharp. They would need symbols to coalesce. Without them, the Dhajtel wouldn¡¯t be able to maintain the unity of purpose required in order to make the sacrifices it would take to face down the invaders.


    That winter was a harsh one, but with the help of her daughters, Lament survived without any great hardship. Kahtash developed a spearthrower, allowing her to bring down larger game at a distance. Dahlass fashioned wicker live traps which they used to capture kithra, smaller game fowl that they began domesticating for their meat and eggs. Through experimentation Bekai figured out the correct mixture of minerals to add to the swamp clay in order to make higher quality bricks. More importantly, she figured out the trick to mortar. In addition to the four one room houses built around the main fire pit to ward off the cold, Bekai was well on her way to building a better forge, one hopefully able to generate the heat needed to smelt iron. Pinrakt? Well Pinrakt helped where she could. She did create some very beautiful sculptures from clay, but even as her mother Threedak was hard pressed to argue that Pinrakt directly helped the enclave¡¯s survival.


    The next year was one of great progress. As their foodstocks grew, Threedak and her daughters sought out males, breeding with the animalistic vermin before driving them away from Lament. She knew that if they were allowed to stay they would just laze about and eat all of their food. The tiny creatures were simply unable to process the concept of planning, making their presence an active detriment at all times other than mating season.


    Threedak watched on with great joy as her daughters awoke their memories and returned to Lament, causing it to quickly swell in size to 11 individuals. Each of her daughters had a different combination of memories and quickly found a slot in Lament¡¯s society where they could be the most useful. Each and every one of them knew what awaited them beyond the horizon, and that fearful knowledge forced them to work harder than any words of encouragement that Threedak or her daughters could provide.


    Despite the number of daughters that began arriving in Lament, Threedak stayed closest with her first born. Bekai slipped into the role of lead builder, in charge of planning, construction and the forge. Kahtash was the lead hunter and soldier, in charge of driving away rival tribes and ensuring that plentiful game flowed into Lament so that a new generation of eggs could be laid. Dahlass led the way on agriculture, occasionally providing guidance to Threedak on matters of governance and dispute resolution. Pinrakt was the village¡¯s only artist, but she finally found a project with which to occupy herself, working long hours in the seclusion of wooden work hut she had attached to her home.


    By far the biggest gains however came from Threedak and Bekai experimenting with the new forge. Working the bellows with Bekai, she was finally able to blow enough oxygen onto the impure mountain coal to melt iron. The first thing they made was an anvil and hammer with which to fashion future creations. The second was a pick with which to mine the minerals their growing village would need. Threedak had been able to find some small veins on the surface in her previous explorations, but if they truly intended to develop an industrial society mining deep into the mountains would soon be a necessity.


    Another winter came and went. Nothing but joy and satisfaction filled Threedak¡¯s heart as she surveyed the village of Lament. Her daughters had built her a new home from the advanced bricks to honor her knowledge of all human fields as well as her position as Queen of the swamp. That home was two stories with a ramp to the roof allowing her to bask in the sun while gazing down upon the bustling collection of buildings.


    Her head perked up as she heard the scraping of legs on the ramp. Behind her, Kahtash exited the ramp onto the roof. Her daughter wore armor of boiled leather with small bars of metal capable of chipping a claw or tooth embedded in it. On her head was an iron helmet, polished until it shone brightly and topped with the rich black plumage of a kithra that flowed in the afternoon wind.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Kahtash said simply, lifting her torso up and removing the helmet with her graspers.


    ¡°Kahtash,¡± Threedak replied, a very human smile on her muzzle as she turned to her daughter. Two years in and Kahtash already outsized her by almost twenty percent. It just went to show how essential proper nourishment was during a Dhajtel¡¯s growth phase. ¡°What brings you here my daughter.¡±


    ¡°Lament is growing,¡± Kahtash voice was steady and measured. She didn¡¯t speak often, but when she did it was never without reason. ¡°Bekai is providing the hunters with iron weapons but it is becoming harder for our collectors to find the materials she needs to create them. Soon we will need to expand. Let me take some of our sisters and clear out our neighbors. We will make them surrender to your will or bring them here so that you may consume them.¡±


    Threedak only thought for a second. She remembered how the tribeswomen from the swamp tribe and the raiders both attacked her without cause. As much as she would like to call all Dhajtel sisters, that simply wasn¡¯t the case. On this brutal world, there could only be unity through power. Finally, Threedak and her daughters had that power.


    ¡°Do as you see fit my daughter,¡± her smile morphed into a fang filled grin.

 Chapter 7 - Conquest

    ¡°Mother,¡± Bekai¡¯s tail flicked in distress as she spoke hurriedly.  ¡°You can¡¯t fight. Kahtash can handle the war on her own, there¡¯s no need for you to get involved.  You¡¯re too important to all of us to risk in combat.¡±


    Kahtash nodded solemnly in agreement.  Nearby, Dahlass looked upset and agitated but didn¡¯t voice her concerns.  Pinrakt was her normal self, present at the meeting of Lament¡¯s leaders but barely paying attention as her tongue flicked out and tasted the night air.


    ¡°Daughters,¡± Threedak¡¯s head bobbed as she acknowledged their concerns.  ¡°Our tribe is not yet large enough that we can afford to have a queen that rests on her laurels.  I¡¯ve fought and killed more Dhajtel than anyone else here. I will keep myself safe and do my best to ensure the safety of my daughters.¡±


    ¡°At least let me outfit you for proper armor,¡± Bekai shuffled back onto her hind legs, reaching out plaintively with her graspers.  ¡°I¡¯m not capable of anything truly complex yet, but my apprentices and I have almost perfected our new blast furnace. From there it¡¯s just a matter of figuring out the correct coke mixtures and we¡¯ll be able to make steel for you.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate the concern,¡± Threedak responded, shifting her bulk upon her couch.  ¡°Truly I am blessed to have daughters who care for me as much as you do, but I do not see the need to delay.  My leathers have protected me since before you hatched. There is no need to delay operations just to replace them.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Bekai turned her head to Kahtash.  ¡°Sister, tell Mother that we have time to make her a set of armor.  Talk her out of this foolishness.¡±


    ¡°Bekai is right,¡± Kahtash¡¯s deep voice filled Lament¡¯s amphitheater of governance. ¡°Right now we are only sending out scouts to figure out the position and numbers of the surrounding tribes.  We won¡¯t be ready to actually attack until spring at the earliest. Your leadership and help would be appreciated Mother, but there¡¯s enough time to prepare.¡±


    ¡°Listen to Kathash and Bekai,¡± Dahlass flicked her tail as she spoke, visibly nervous.  ¡°No one is as key to the tribe as you Mother. The idea of you being hurt or killed in combat makes me physically ill.  We need your presence to keep us steady. Even if we would still have you as a memory figment, it wouldn¡¯t be the same.¡±


    Threedak paused, letting her daughters¡¯ words flow over her.  The torches of the amphitheatre lit the five couches of governance, padded constructions of hartden fur, kithra feathers and wood.  Her couch, that of the executive, sat on raised dais of bricks with the couches of industry, military, administration, and the arts sitting a step or two below her.  Behind them in the darkness her other daughters sat on the nearby hills, observing the proceedings.


    The amphitheatre of governance had been Dahlass¡¯ idea, one that Threedak heartily endorsed.  As the Queen of Lament, she had final say in any proceedings, but she couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once.  Instead, her first born served as representatives of the various elements of Lament¡¯s society and advised her in weekly public meetings.  The process didn¡¯t dilute the concentrated executive power that Dhajtel society would need to survive the coming years, but at the same time it kept all of her daughters involved and invested in the process of governance.


    ¡°Fine,¡± she agreed, inclining her head toward Bekai¡¯s couch.  ¡°I will participate in the attack but it will be delayed so that I might be better outfitted.  I would see my next generation of daughters arrive from the swamp before we set out anyway. It just wouldn¡¯t be right for them to join Lament without me being the first Dhajtel to welcome them to our fold.¡±


    ¡°In my absence,¡± Threedak continued, speaking over the murmur of agreement from her daughters, ¡°Dahlass shall be the executive.  She runs most of the day to day of Lament anyway so putting her in charge won¡¯t be a major change for any of your routines.¡±


    ¡°But Moth-¡± Dahlass squeaked, her tail thrashing dangerously.


    ¡°But nothing Daughter,¡± Threedak interjected, chuckling at her distress.  ¡°You¡¯ll need to learn to speak up for yourself at some point. I know that you¡¯re shy, but you are more than capable.  Your ideas and counsel has aided me immeasurably. It¡¯s simply time to force you to the front so that Lament as a whole can benefit from your wisdom directly.¡±


    Dahlass¡¯ eyes flicked from side to side, seeking support from her sisters only to find Bekai and Kahtash nodding in agreement.


    ¡°It¡¯s the right choice Sister,¡± Bekai flicked her tongue at the nervous Dhajtel.  ¡°I¡¯m too headstrong to lead. When I get an idea I worry at it like the last piece of meat on a bone until I come to a resolution.  It¡¯s a good trait in a crafter or a scientist, but I recognize that it makes me a bit disagreeable and prone to distraction. Kahtash leads in her own way but she isn¡¯t equipped to fashion and design an army.  Pinrakt¡¯s head is in the clouds working on her secret project.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Dahlass sputtered helplessly, before leaning back into her couch.  ¡°Fine. It makes sense. I just don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Threedak finished for her daughter, smiling warmly at her.  ¡°The plan has always been to make you my second. Your hesitance has only confirmed that.  Any Dhajtel that would jump at the opportunity, snapping at scraps of power, wouldn¡¯t be fit for the role.  Lament needs a firm hand, one that will rule it without corruption or self-interest. It will be easier to develop the steel your spine will need than to hammer the right mindset into a stronger personality.¡±


    Dahlass signed in defeat as Threedak looked on, the glow of maternal pride in her chest.  All of her daughters had grown and accomplished so much. Soon another round of daughters and the first of her granddaughters would join Lament.  Soon the City would be growing exponentially as her granddaughters and great granddaughters began joining en masse.  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She glanced briefly up to the stars in the night sky.  Where once they seemed full of wonder and awe, completely beyond reach, tonight they were just a little closer.  They may not be far down the path, but Lament was firmly moving toward a future of science and industrialization.


    The winter was bitterly cold but blessedly short.  Kahtash¡¯s hunters couldn¡¯t venture out to gather fresh meat in the biting cold, so Lament had to rely more on its game stock than Threedak would have liked, but before long the winter was over and Bekai was fitting her with an outfit made from soft worked leather to wear under her new armor.


    The armor itself was made from interlocking plates of steel, leaving her joints largely exposed.  Bekai was incredibly apologetic about her inability to finely work the metal enough to create proper joints, but Threedak was more than happy.  The entire process was a testament to Bekai¡¯s accomplishments and care. After years of laboring on her own to create Lament, it felt good to let her daughters fuss over her for once.


    In what seemed like a flash, Threedak found herself standing in the desert night next to  Kahtash and five of her hunters. Each of them wore leather armor with metal bars embedded in it, darkened with soot from Lament¡¯s fires.  All but Threedak had spearthrowers and quivers with six iron tipped javelins as well as heavy spears that required both graspers strapped to their backs.  Threedak felt a little out of place with the sword that Bekai forced upon her and her stave sling, but together they would be more than enough for the trial ahead.


    Threedak gazed down at her former tribe as they huddled around their cave entrance tearing at the remains of some desert scavenger.  They didn¡¯t even bother to post a sentry as all of them frantically tried to consume as much meat as possible. Periodically the feral Dhajtel would snap at each other as each of them tried to ensure that they ate enough to sleep with a full stomach.  The only exception was the tribal priest who sat to the side, leisurely consuming almost half of the total meat, a daughter beside her.


    Threedak snorted in disgust.  Even years later, the tribe continued its same backward patterns.  None of the Dhajtel but the priest received enough food and few if any of them survived long enough to lay more than a couple clutches of eggs before being consumed by the tribe.  There was no growth or challenge to the priests, just a steady continuation of their line at the expense of the rest of the tribe. Their way of life was a dead end, one that would hold the Dhajtel back and impede their growth if allowed to continue.


    She puffed her throat pouches to their maximum size before letting out a bellow of challenge that reverberated through the empty desert night.


    ¡°Meerlaj!¡± She shouted, her voice startling the feasting desert tribe.  ¡°I issue you a challenge. Lament claims this desert. Give us your memories and the rest of your tribe may survive as part of Lament.  If you fight, the result will be the same. You will just waste my time and patience.¡±


    The old priest squinted her eyes into the desert night, trying to make out where Threedak stood on the nearby dunes.  Around the priest, the twelve other members of the tribe dropped their food and frantically scrambled for their weapons, a motley collection of stone tipped spears and clubs made from animal bones.


    ¡°Show yourself interloper,¡± Meerlaj¡¯s aged voice croaked in reply.  The priest stood on her hindmost pair of legs, balancing herself with her tail.  Clearly she was trying to impose the attackers with her bulk. Admittedly, she was huge.  Fattened on the years of labor and sacrifice from her tribe. ¡°The will of the desert will drive you away.  If you leave now, we won¡¯t pursue.¡±


    ¡°Enough of this,¡± Kahtash mumbled, chopping her arm down toward her hunters.  ¡°The priest rambles and puffs her pouches at Mother. Silence her.¡±


    Silently, five spears traced through the night sky toward the confused camp of the desert tribe.  They were far enough away that even the experienced hunters couldn¡¯t all hit, but two of them did.  Meerlaj suddenly sprouted two shafts, collapsing to the sand with a warble of surprise, her tail thrashing in agitation.


    The rest of the tribe paused, staring at their dying leader dumbly before they tried to make out the source of the attacks.  Their answer came in the form of another wave of spears, the wooden throwers whistling slightly in the still night air as the hunters spun them to propel their payload at their waiting opponents.  Another two Dhajtel fell to the sand, spears sticking out from them as they writhed.


    One of the desert tribeswomen pointed at the dune the hunters stood on and exclaimed with a trumpet of alarm.  They charged, only for another three to fall as a third wave of spears landed amongst them. The remaining eight, puffing with exertion from climbing the shifting sand of the dunes at full speed reached them.


    Threedak swung the awkward sword.  It wasn¡¯t balanced nearly as well as the blades from her human memories, but she would never tell Bekai that.  As far as her Daughter was concerned, the weapon was perfect and her armor fit perfectly and without chafing. She was simply too proud of how far Bekai had come to ruin her elation with minor complaints.


    The blade cut through the spear thrusting toward her, the mismatched and untreated wood no challenge for even the simplest of steel.  Her opponent gaped at her for a second, eyes nictating in wonder as she stared from the broken spear to Threedak and back again.


    Threedak didn¡¯t give her an opportunity to regain her wits, instead thrusting the sword forward through the tribeswoman¡¯s chest.  The scales only resisted the sword for a second before the hilt of the blade slammed into her torso. She tried to bleat in surprise, failing as her collapsed lung struggled to fill her pouches.  Threedak withdrew the sword before slashing downward. The blade bit into her opponent¡¯s neck, eliciting a fountain of blood as the injured Dhajtel fell to the sand.


    She rocked forward with a dull clang as a club struck her in the back of the head.  Threedak spun around, locking her eyes with the tribeswoman behind her. The Dhajtel scurried backward, dropping the club.  Idley she noted that the club appeared to be carved from the femur of a starvok. She kicked the weapon aside with her middle legs as she stalked toward her assailant, sword in a guard position.


    ¡°Mercy,¡± her opponent squealed, throwing her body flush to sand in submission.  ¡°I beg, mercy!¡±


    Threedak stopped, her blade still pointed at her surrendering foe.  The three other surviving members of the desert tribe capitulated around her.  Of her daughters, only one had a cut on her forearm from one of the tribeswomen¡¯s spears.  Other than that, the desert tribe was subdued without any further difficulty or casualty.


    She paused on the dune to observe the nine bodies littering the sand, crooning to herself.  Lament¡¯s first conquest was complete. Her daughters would eat well this week.

 Chapter 8 - Unity

    The Iron Age rolled over all neighboring tribes, crushing them under the weight of historical inevitability.  In between conquests, her daughters were outfitted with the same rigid metal armor Threedak wore. Despite Bekai¡¯s greatest efforts, Lament¡¯s smiths still weren¡¯t able to make steel suitable for chainmail, forcing their tribe to choose between wearing the restrictive suits or leather.


    The plate made sense for Threedak, she never was able to figure out the trick behind the spearthrowers, but for the rest of the hunters  the plate forced them to choose between melee or ranged combat. The plates of the steel armor simply interfered too much with a soldier¡¯s graspers to let them use the weapons properly.  Until the smiths could make chain sleeves for their armor, ranged soldiers needed to make due with leather pauldrons and bracers. The tribe¡¯s leatherworkers were able to mould the armor with enough finesse that the ranged weapons could be used even if the soldiers still grumbled about the chafing.


    It was better than more injuries.  Over the year, Threedak had seen too many of her daughters suffer broken from broken graspers and deep spear wounds in the limited areas uncovered by armor.  Kahtash would always tell her that injury and casualties were an inevitability in warfare, but it was different for Threedak. Each and every one of the injured Dhajtel was one of her daughters.


    The worst was Talma, one of Kahtash¡¯s original hunters.  On their third excursion, while subjugating a tribe dwelling in a mountain valley, she suffered a deep spear wound in her shoulder.  Talma shared some blame in the injury, having not secured her barred leather pauldron in place due to ¡®chafing,¡¯ but her injury unleashed an anger in Threedak that was utterly alien to her.


    For the first and only time, she refused the tribe¡¯s surrender, letting out great booming shouts of rage from her neck pouch as she slew Dhajtel after Dhajtel.  Finally she stood, amidst the corpses of the tribe, her blade slick with their blood as her daughters looked on with concern. Tenderly, she approached Talma and staunched the flow of blood from her shoulder while the soldiers collected the dead.


    The next day, infection set in.  The accursed spear woman had coated her weapon¡¯s head in excrement.  Threedak gnashed her teeth, wishing she could kill and devour her once more.  Instead, her only option was to stand, crooning, over her daughter¡¯s thrashing form, keeping her cool with a wet rag made from softened leather and feeding her herbal tea made from roots and tree bark.


    Over the following days, Threedak cared closely for her daughter.  The tea brought down her fever and Threedak fed her by grasper like she was a whelp.  Every time she looked down into Talma¡¯s clouded eyes, her hearts ached. Their tribe needed proper medicine.  Wang Xinyue¡¯s memories helped Threedak understand germ and virus theory, but Dhajtel and human anatomy were just too different for the human knowledge to truly aid her.


    Eventually Talma recovered, but Threedak put her feet down.  All expeditions were put on hold until the tribe¡¯s warband could be outfitted in heavier and more robust armor.  Conquest was important, but Threedak refused to sacrifice any of her daughters to achieve it. Lament was so much stronger and larger than all of her neighbors that even if they could conceive of banding together, it would almost certainly be insufficient.


    Finally, the warriors were ready for their final planned conquest.  A mountain tribe, almost two days march from Lament that numbered almost 50 Dhajtel.  The tribe managed to reach that number by dwelling in a particularly rich valley, filled with plump, slow game and absent predators other than the Dhajtel themselves.  Kahtash and Dahlass wanted to claim the valley for Lament as it had great potential to feed her growing clan.


    Threedak¡¯s forces consisted of herself, Kahtash armed with a prototype crossbow,  and eighteen other Dhajtel. The remaining Dhajtel were a combination of her daughters, granddaughters, and the slightly confused tribeswomen conquered in previous campaigns.  Many of the more skilled members wore the hybrid leather and steel armor so that they could use spearthrowers, but the rest held long steel-tipped spears with thick shafts and wore heavy front line armor that resembled Threedaks


    The pressganged Dhajtel were more compliant than Threedak originally expected.  More than anything, they were happy to have survived their capture. None of them could make sense of the drive and unity of purpose that fueled Lament, but they were more than willing to do hard labor in exchange for food.  As far as Threedak could tell, farming or mining in exchange for food was actually an improvement for their average prisoner given how frequently they would go without when their tribal hunts failed.


    The march to the Mountain tribe went relatively smoothly.  The only starvok that approached their column was quickly crippled by Kahtash¡¯s crossbow and finished off by the long spears of their infantry.  The warband¡¯s teamwork was far from what Threedak¡¯s human memories would find acceptable, but their days of drilling were still evident. A glittering ring of spears surrounded the injured behemoth without flinching as it roared and swung its great paws.  Each time it would turn its attention in one direction, a Dhajtel would dart in from another, her four legs propelling her forward as she sunk a spear into the creature¡¯s hide before retreating.


    Even if Threedak wasn¡¯t satisfied with their progress, Kahtash was.  They ate well that night, the grease and fat from the starvok¡¯s great ursine bulk causing the scales around their muzzles to glisten as they sat about the campfire telling stories from their memories.  The newcomers listened in awe as her daughters told them about humanity¡¯s gleaming cities and the end of hunger. Threedak nodded from beside Kahtash. She didn¡¯t hold the same love for her common subjects that she did for her daughters, but they were coming to understand the importance of Lament¡¯s mission.


    On the dawn of the third day, her forces stood tall on the steep incline just above the Mountain Tribe¡¯s encampment.  With a nod of her head to Kahtash, Threedak¡¯s daughter fired the crossbow into them as they began to stir with the sun¡¯s first light.  The first bolt missed everything, instead tearing through the mat of branches one of the tribeswomen was using to keep the sun and rain off of her.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The primitive winch squeaked as Katash reloaded the weapon.  No other sound disturbed the morning but the chatter of wildlife and the occasional whuff of an exhaling Dhajtel.  The second bolt struck a tribeswoman in her lower back, sinking through her scales in a flash. The wounded Dhajtel screamed in agony, trying to spin and identify where the attack came from.  Around her, the other Dhajtel woke up in a hurry and surrounded their injured companion.


    A third bolt landed in the camp, pinning another Dhajtel¡¯s leg to the ground.  Threedak stepped forward, her pouches billowing as she let out a bellow of challenge.  Feeling the gaze of all on her, Threedak climbed atop a nearby rock, addressing the tribe below her.


    ¡°Throw aside your weapons,¡± she shouted down at them.  ¡°Surrender now and your lives can be spared. Our tribe will treat you well and together we will rule over this planet. ¡±


    Predictably, the mountain tribe began charging up incline toward their forces.  The twelve soldiers from Lament wearing heavy plate and wielding large spears set themselves in front of the hunters.  Threedak stood firm behind her soldiers, sword held in both graspers and a smile upon her muzzle. Kahtesh spent most of the previous day picking the site for their battle, and Threedak had to agree with her selection.


    The charge was doomed from the beginning.  Before the mountain tribe made it halfway up the hill face, another crossbow bolt landed amongst them missing them all.  Shortly thereafter, Lament¡¯s hunters launched a volley of spears, dropping two of their enemies. After a matter of seconds, another wave of spears landed amongst them.


    Although the spearthrowers didn¡¯t have anywhere near the range of a crossbow, Kahtash prided herself on the speed with which her hunters could throw their spears.  The only real limiting factor was the number of light spears they carried. Kahtash ensured that her hunters had no fewer than 30 on hand. More than enough to keep the air filled with spears for the entirety of the battle.


    The climb took its toll on the mountain tribe, leaving them puffing for breath, and barely able to move at a jog.  Many of them had already fallen to all six legs, dropping their weapons as they struggled for purchase on the steep incline.


    The rain of spears killed almost half of the Dhajtel before they reached the crest of the hill, the fallen bodies slowing their companions further.  The survivors ran into a semicircle of flashing steel as the spears from the front line darted in and out of their charging foes. Their companions climbed over the dead, frantically trying to reach and silence the spearthrowers that had claimed so many of their kin


    One of the mountain tribeswomen made it around the side of the spear line only to meet Threedak¡¯s sword.  For the rest, any hope of victory disappeared in another series of spear thrusts that easily split through unprotected scales.  The handful of remaining Dhajtel began to surrender, throwing down their crude weapons.


    Threedak watched with satisfaction as Kahtash took over the aftermath of the victory.  The last true bastion that could stand against Lament had fallen and their society gained nine new members.  All without any injury or cost beyond a handful of broken spears.


    Together they collected the bodies of the fallen and brought them back to Lament.  The journey back took place without interruption, with each day easier than the last as they ate their cargo.  Finally the war band returned to Lament, Dhajtel lining the narrow streets, throat sacks expanding and croaking in adulation.  Dahless approached Threedak as she led the column of soldiers, wringing her graspers nervously.


    ¡°Mother,¡± she bobbed her head, a short jerky movement.  ¡°While you were gone, Pinrakt finished her great work. She asked that we unveil it to celebrate your and Kahtash¡¯s victory.  I understand if you are tired-¡±


    ¡°Of course we will see it!¡± Threedak shouted, throwing her graspers up into the air.  ¡°How could I delay the debut of one of my daughters¡¯ creations? Lead the way Dahless, let me see what my sweet Pinrakt has created for Lament.¡±


    Dahless motioned with a grasper.  Threedak and the entire village followed her.  In front of her home stood Pinrakt and Bekai, flanking something covered in a large mat of woven grass.  Bekai noticed their approach and poked Pinrakt with a grasper, awakening her from whatever daydream consumed her.


    ¡°Oh,¡± Pinrakt spoke distractedly.  ¡°You¡¯re back Mother.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Threedak replied, chuckling slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯ve spent the past years sifting through my memories and dreams,¡± her Daughter¡¯s eyes were still unfocused.  ¡°It took me at least a year to develop the tools I would need to finish the project, but I needed something to capture what it is that we¡¯re trying to accomplish.  The melange of our culture and humanity. I¡¯ve started and stopped at least four times, but I think I¡¯ve finally accomplished something worthy of what we hope to accomplish.¡±


    For a second, silence filled the clearing outside of Threedak¡¯s home.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Pinrakt shrugged her shoulders, motioning a grasper toward Bekai.  ¡°That¡¯s the speech. You should unveil it now.¡±


    Bekai pulled at the rope woven from braided plant fiber, causing the mat to fall away.  In the clearing stood a pair of figures lovingly crafted from the hard brown stone of the nearby mountain.  A human and a Dhajtel, standing side by side with the Dhajtel¡¯s torso in the air, a grasper gently placed on the human¡¯s shoulder.  Together they stared up into the sky, the human¡¯s face set in a look of sorrow, a single tear carved delicately from stone rolling down his face.  The Dhajtel¡¯s muzzle was carved partially open, wonder filling its eyes.


    Threedak circled the carvings, the clearing still.  None of Lament¡¯s Dhajtel dared to interrupt her moment.  As she took in the carving, she noticed more and more details.  Despite his sorrow, the human¡¯s back was straight and his hands were clutched into defiant fists.  The Dhajtel¡¯s tail was subtly and protectively curved around the much smaller being.


    She stopped, and let out a deep and mournful crooning note, tears flowing freely down her muzzle.  A second later, the Dhajtel all joined her. Threedak approached Pinrakt, and placed her hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°Daughter,¡± Threedak¡¯s voice was heavy with emotion.  ¡°It¡¯s beautiful. It joins our history, destiny and sense of purpose into one coherent whole.  It asks us to not forget humanity¡¯s past while always looking forward to the future. It might have taken you years to craft it, but each stroke of your chisel was worth it to produce this masterpiece.  Tell us all, what do you call it?¡±


    For a second, the distance faded from Pinrakt¡¯s eyes.  She returned her Mother¡¯s gaze before bobbing her head slightly in appreciation.  ¡°Unity¡± she replied, her voice bright with conviction.

 Chapter 9 - Nation

    Threedak stood on the wooden platform, a crowd of Dhajtel behind her. In her grasper, she held a hand blown bottle, still dark as the desert sand it was forged from. The bottle itself contained a foul brew fermented from the grain used for the hartden herds that now occupied most of the grassland between the swamp and desert. She couldn¡¯t stand the stuff and most of her daughters agreed with her, but the influx of new Dhajtel from their conquests loved it.


    ¡°Lament,¡± her voice echoed throughout the quiet crowd. ¡°My line knows the importance of why we are here today. For the remainder of you, rest easy knowing that today we step into a wider world. No longer will traveling to and from the mines of Sask, laden with ore and the fruits of industry bow your backs. No longer will the trip to the pastures of Vale take days. Soon travel will be safe and easy. Seeing your sisters and daughters will be but a matter of hours. Communication between the cities will be quick and efficient. As of this moment we are no longer five allied tribes, but one united nation.¡±


    She swung the bottle, shattering it against the side of the crude train. A meaningless human ritual, but one that felt right for the moment. Over the past three years, Lament had expanded to the point where one city no longer made sense. Its location provided it with a little bit of access to everything, but Lament would never truly be able to specialize.


    Instead, the Dhajtel had built villages in nearby areas to take advantage of the resources that they had in abundance. Sask was the first to be built, next to a pair of iron and coal mines it served as their main source of industry and raw materials. Next was the community of Vale, built in the last mountain valley to be conquered, its fertile fields fed great herds of hartden and kithra. Both of the other cities were almost one third the size of Lament, numbering one hundred twenty and one hundred twelve in the last census respectively.


    The other two villages, Crest and Oasis were more waypoints than anything. Crest was a series of caves carved into the hard mountainside roughly halfway between Sask and Vale. The town consisted of fifteen Dhajtel operating a pair of hotels, a warehouse and a minor but growing lumber/fur trapping industry. Oasis only had twelve Dhajtel, but that was fairly appropriate of its current role as the halfway point to nowhere. Kahtesh assured Threedak that Oasis stood roughly at the halfway point across the great desert, four days on foot for a seasoned hunter. The hope was that it would serve as a place for caravans to reprovision once a city was established in the plains and thick forests on the other side of the great desert.


    Threedak waved a grasper at the crowd, briefly flicking her tongue out to taste the air and regretting it. Everything tasted of the heavy, dank brew. She nictated her membranes across her eyes in distress while trying to otherwise remain outwardly cool and collected. Over half of Lament¡¯s three hundred and fifty Dhajtel were gathered to see the train¡¯s christening. Some out of excitement to see Threedak, others for the historic moment, and still others for the free roast hartden meat and grog that would be handed out by government employees as part of the celebration.


    Free. She snorted as she shifted uncomfortably under the crowd¡¯s steady croaks of adulation. After the famine, Dahlass convinced her that their society had grown too large for goods and services to solely be traded in exchange for promises and social currency. Reluctantly, Threedak agreed and they began minting currency. The ¡®Dak¡¯ as Dahlass and Pinrakt named the intricately carved starvok ivory coins, much to Threedak¡¯s chagrin, quickly caught on.


    Still, after the famine something needed to be done. Too many of her daughters were seeking to experiment and expand upon their tribe¡¯s knowledge. There weren¡¯t enough Dhajtel engaged in the hard and unglamorous work of mining, farming or herding. Then a long winter settled over the world and there wasn¡¯t enough food to go around. Sask in particular was hit very hard. Vale and Lament didn¡¯t have the spare food to transport out, and Sask was entirely dependent upon imports and trapping to survive.


    A full quarter of the city died over the winter, giving their lives so that their sisters could consume them and survive. Even in Lament and Vale, dozens of Dahjtel didn¡¯t make it through the winter. It took days of Dahless exhorting her for Threedak to agree to ration their hartden herds. Dahless was right, if everyone was fed there wouldn¡¯t be enough breeding stock to sustain the herds come spring.


    In her years of prosperous reign, Threedak considered that winter to be her only true failing. Her daughters died one after another, and it was completely within her power to save them at the cost of their nation¡¯s future. She wept over each and every one. Often she was the only Dahjtel present when they let out their last shallow, rattling breaths as the famine took them.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Threedak insisted on eating the first bite of each of her daughters that died of hunger in Lament. It was an act of self-flagellation. There was enough meat for her, but each death weighed on her. She needed to taste their memories, their sorrow and the hopelessness of their last moments. Even a year later, she still remembered each and every moment of those terrible months.


    ¡°You¡¯re moping again mother,¡± Bekai approached her from behind, slapping a grasper on her shoulder. ¡°We aren¡¯t to where the humans were. We can¡¯t control the weather and we can¡¯t grow food from nothing. You need to stop holding yourself responsible for what happened.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± she replied, looking up at her daughter. It was strange how after only a handful of years most of her daughters were larger than her. Proper nutrition worked wonders.


    ¡°The train will speed things up immeasurably,¡± Bekai assured her. ¡°The cities that can farm will be able to devote more land to farming while Sask and Crest can focus on industry. Specialization and interconnectivity will only accelerate our society¡¯s growth. Before too long we¡¯ll be able to produce simple electronics. At that point hunger will be on its final legs.¡±


    ¡°I just worry about you,¡± Threedak locked eyes with Bekai. ¡°It feels like you and Dahless are slipping away.¡±


    She raised her hand to forestall the inevitable objection. ¡°I know Bekai,¡± she continued. ¡°Sask needs your attention. It¡¯s the hub of our burgeoning industrial sector and it needs you there on site to ensure that things go smoothly. I¡¯ve seen the reports of all the marvels you and your smiths have in the works. The same goes for your sister. The farms surrounding Vale need her attention so that we can avoid another famine. It all makes sense. I just don¡¯t have to like it.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll come back to visit,¡± she promised Threedak, pulling her Mother¡¯s head close with a clutching grasper. ¡°It¡¯s no fun to invent things and not have anyone else to show them to. Plus, other than my smiths I think you¡¯re the only one who actually understands what I¡¯m doing.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Threedak¡¯s muzzle curved into a sad smile. ¡°I know how close you are to putting together a coal generator and simple batteries. Before long we¡¯ll be able to convert to cleaner power and start work on proper factories. It¡¯ll just be lonely without you and your sister here.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Bekai gently placed a grasper on either side of Threedak¡¯s muzzle, guiding her Mother¡¯s gaze back toward her. ¡°You won¡¯t be alone. Kahtesh and Pinrakt will still be here. Plus, you have an entire society to rule. You¡¯ll be so busy you won¡¯t even notice that we¡¯re gone.¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s only a matter of time before Kahtesh relocates to Oasis,¡± Threedak sighed. ¡°She keeps talking about how her soldiers will grow soft from city living. Every time I speak to her she¡¯s always putting together another training plan to toughen them up and prepare. Apparently there¡¯s natural sulfur in some of the springs near Oasis. She¡¯s already putting together plans to make black powder weapons.¡±


    ¡°Pinrakt will be here,¡± Bekai responded. ¡°Her and her apprentices are wrapped up in the mosaic they¡¯re installing in the walls of the new palace. Even if the rest of us aren¡¯t around, she¡¯ll be there to keep you company.¡±


    ¡°You know better than that,¡± Threedak chuckled. ¡°When Pinrakt gets wrapped up in a project she loses all track of time. It¡¯d be more effective for me to talk to a hartden than try to get an answer out of her while she¡¯s trying to get the perfect tint for the glass shards she¡¯s putting onto the wall.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t change anything,¡± she sighed, stopping her Daughter from another inevitable attempt to cheer her up. ¡°This is as it should be. My daughters are full grown, each shouldering their own responsibilities across our young nation. I¡¯ll miss having you here with me, but that would involve turning our backs on the Dhajtel¡¯s collective destiny. We will never be able to claim our birthright in space without progress, and the quickest path there is for each of you to do what they are best at.¡±


    ¡°Dahless will continue to handle our food supplies and economy,¡± Threedak turned from her daughter, staring off toward the nearby mountains. ¡°You will push our understanding and technical capacity. Kahtesh will make sure that we are able to withstand and trial, internal or external. Pinrakt will stay here in the capital, home of our administration and culture and nurture the next generation of artists and dreamers.¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± Threedak didn¡¯t turn from the mountains, her daughters¡¯ presence heavy behind her. ¡°Let a mother grieve as her daughters leave the nest.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± Bekai¡¯s muzzle opened and closed. The crowds cleared the train station behind them, heading to the celebratory barbeque.


    ¡°I only have one request,¡± Threedak turned back to face her daughter, the ghost of a smile exposing her sharp teeth. ¡°As soon as we have electricity, expedite developing the telegraph. I want to be able to hear from all of you as you take up where I have left off, molding our race into what it will need to be.¡±

 Chapter 10 - Industry

    A decade changed the face of the planet immeasurably. Threedak sat on the roof of her two story brick house, sunning herself. By now, rather than towering over the entirety of Lament, it was a truly modest residence. Despite her daughters¡¯ insistence she refused to move into another building. Bakai, Kahtash, Dahlass, and Pinrakt had all personally labored with her to build her home in their first year together and that meant more to her than any ostentatious show of wealth.


    ¡°Queen Threedak,¡± a voice respectfully called from the promenade below.


    ¡°Yes Bahwel?¡± She replied, stirring from her rest. Bahwel was one of Kahtash¡¯s daughters and helped her with her day to day tasks as a sort of cross between an Aide de Camp and a bodyguard. She was almost fifty percent larger than Threedak and extremely skilled with both the pistol and cutlass.


    According to Kahtash, the application process to work as Threedak¡¯s assistant was brutal. All of the applicants were forced to go through a battery of combat, etiquette and management tests until only three remained. Bahwel and her two associates, Lindash and Istall, were all graduates of the elite special forces academy that Kahtash had set up in Oasis. Threedak had seen them in the firing range and sparring on the gym mats. She believed their accolades. Even back in her glory days when she led the conquest of the surrounding tribes any one of them could have easily wiped the floor with her in under a minute.


    ¡°An hour has passed my Queen,¡± Bahwel answered. ¡°You said that you wanted to tour the new factories after your nap and asked that I wake you.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Bahwel,¡± Threedak stood up, shaking the sleep from her limbs. ¡°I will be down shortly. Please let the others know that I¡¯ll be ready to leave on time.¡±


    She walked down the ramp to the second story of her house. On the table next to the crude personal computer that was Bekai¡¯s last birthday gift to Threedak sat her bag. Some Dhajtel wore clothing like the humans, but that had never made sense to her. Maybe in regions with inclement weather, but this close to the great desert clothes were a luxury. The bag, a simple leather affair that hung over her shoulder was her one nod toward human efficiency. Maybe it was just because she remembered her first days near the swamp, carrying wet clay by grasper to make the bricks for the first house, but she refused to leave her home without it.


    Threedak exited her house just under a minute later. Much to her guards¡¯ chagrin, she still refused to wear any sort of armor or protective gear. They constantly lectured Threedak on her safety, but she hardly saw what there was to fear. Dhajtel society was consumed with a sense of purpose. Everyone knew their place and what needed to be done to fulfill their destiny to seize the stars back from the invaders. Her people saw her as both a leader, and the living symbol of that purpose. Harming her would run completely counter to what their whole nation stood for. As far as she was concerned, the guards were mostly there to keep the adoring fans away from her while she performed vital duties.


    Bahwel led the way to her residence¡¯s gate, an imposing edifice of stone lined with steel spikes built into the roughly twenty foot wall surrounding her home and the nearby gardens. She didn¡¯t know the names of all the guards that patrolled that wall, only Bahwel, Istall and Lindash were actually allowed to approach within a hundred feet of her house, but Threedak knew that there were at least ten to fifteen on duty at any given point in time. She kept telling Kahtash that she was overreacting, but her daughter would hear none of it. The rest of her sisters agreed, and even though Threedak had the power to overrule their decision, she didn¡¯t. She just couldn¡¯t bring herself to force the issue when her daughters fussed over her like this


    Istall and Lindash fell on either side of her, forming a triangle with Bahwel at the point. Bordering her house, only a short walk away stood the capitol building, a four story complex with three wings made from beautiful rose veined marble. Threedak still preferred the old amphitheater of governance. There was something intimate about meeting with her four closest daughters under the torchlight while the rest of Lament watched on that the current system of bureaucrats and ministers lacked.


    They would still meet quarterly or in emergencies to make truly important decisions, but for the last three years the meetings had all been televised. Even if she got to see all of her daughters in person, it lacked the splendor of meeting under the torchlight and open stars. Plus, Threedak hated the way the television makeup made her scales look. She always ended up blotchy and off color even if no one would dare to say it to her face.


    She kept walking past the capitol. It was almost a second home given how much time she spent working there. Her office even had a sleeping couch for when she spent long nights going over the reports from all over the empire. She snorted. Empire really was the only word for it. As of last year there were over 40 regional cities and three million Dhajtel under her banner. Truly a testament to their farming techniques and their species potential for logarithmic growth.


    Their entourage arrived at the large government ground car parked outside the capitol, and after a brief search by Lindash for explosives they piled in. More tank than car, it was almost fifteen feet long and eleven wide with plenty of room for four to five Dhajtel to relax inside, especially with Istall in the driving chamber and Lindash manning the vehicle¡¯s autoloading cannon. Bahwel rode in the interior with her, discussing the figures on the new strain of hartden that their scientists were trying to engineer during the ride to their destination.


    Finally, after almost forty five minutes of weaving the car through well-wishers and Lament¡¯s interminable sprawl, they arrived at the new factory. Located at the edge of town and powered by a combination of hydroelectric and solar power, it was Bekai¡¯s current pet project. Once it was running at full capacity, it would be able to produce solar panels, the batteries used by Dhajtel in everyday life, and vehicles. According to Bekai, it would be capable of churning out ten tractors or twenty ground cars per day.


    Bekai was proud of her designs. Entirely electric and packed with capacitors the ground cars would be able to run for almost two hours at a time without recharging, but that was more than enough to get anywhere in Lament, let alone another smaller city. Once the factory opened and the ground cars began shipping out to the far flung cities of the empire, Dhajtel society would take an important step toward modernity while avoiding the nasty period of fossil fuel dependency that plagued humanity.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Threedak and all of her daughters agreed. None of them wanted to recreate the periods of expansion and turmoil that wracked Earth in their futile attempt to claim more and more of its dwindling natural resources. After all, who would want to suffer through four world wars and six cold wars when clean power was so close at hand?


    It was all a stopgap anyway. Bekai was only one or two generations of tools and equipment away from developing the house sized fusion reactors that finally freed humanity from their dependency on oil and coal. Cold fusion was fairly simple anyway. It really was a wonder that humanity wallowed around for centuries fighting over fossil fuels when they just could have focused on the way they manipulated hydrogen atoms and solved everything.


    Bahwel led the way out of the groundcar, clearing the factory¡¯s parking lot of adoring Dhajtel. It really was a shame that Bekai couldn¡¯t be there, Threedak would have loved to see her daughter again but she was wrapped up in important work.


    She paused just outside the groundcar, waving her graspers at the crowd as Istall climbed out after her. Almost fifty of her subjects stood, some holding signs with personalized messages celebrating her arrival while others had placards with the silhouette of the Dhajtel and Human of Pinrakt¡¯s ¡®Unity¡¯ sculpture. Years ago she had declared it the official symbol of the empire, a decision her people took to with great gusto.


    Threedak began walking toward the factory, waving constantly to well-wishers. Suddenly a grasper pushed her to the side, throwing Threedak to the ground.


    ¡°GUN!¡± Istall screamed, her sharp voice silencing everyone. Time seemed to slow as Threedak hit the concrete, her scales barely holding up as her bulk skidded across the smooth but hard surface.


    Then she heard the gun shots. Before her horrified eyes, Istall jerked, her armored vest taking two shots from the crowd before a third caught her in the side of the head, dropping Istall''s lifeless corpse to the ground. Instantly Threedak knew, those shots had been meant for her. Without Istall¡¯s quick reflexes, she would be dead on the pavement rather than merely nursing bruised and scraped scales.


    The crowd began fleeing almost immediately, leaving two Dhajtel standing defiantly. One, holding an old military revolver, and the other carrying one of the blasting charges frequently used by Sask¡¯s mines.


    Bahwel¡¯s handgun barked back, causing the gun wielding Dhajtel to hiss in pain and drop her gun while trying to reload the firearm. Then, the groundcar fired, its cannon almost cutting the other Dhajtel in half before the blasting charge exploded, stealing the breath from Threedak¡¯s lungs and throwing Bahwell to the ground. Luckily, the terrorist hadn¡¯t been close enough to cause any serious damage, but the force of the explosion left a crater in the parking lot and shattered many of the factory¡¯s windows.


    Threedak climbed to her feet with Bahwel¡¯s help, her guard using one arm to steady the queen while training her handgun on the stunned Dhajtel she¡¯d injured earlier.


    ¡°My Queen,¡± Bahwel slurred, her eyes foggy and possibly concussed according to the whispers of Wang Xinyue. ¡°Get back to the groundcar, we need to leave as soon as possible. We have no idea if the rebels have reinforcements.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Threedak shook off the grasper on her shoulder. ¡°Before we go, I need to know why and that survivor will answer that question, either in life or in death.¡±


    Bahwel stared at her blankly, struggling to process Threedak¡¯s words as she looked at Istall¡¯s still body. Threedak felt remorse. Both that Istall had died, and that she had never gotten to know her granddaughter better. She had exchanged pleasantries with the skinny Dhajtel more times than she could count, but she never really remembered asking her about herself. Where she lived, how many young she had whelped, what her hobbies were. Threedak couldn¡¯t answer any of those questions. Istall was basically a stranger, and despite that she had died for her.


    Threedak walked over to the stunned and injured Dhajtel and reached down, picking up the abused revolver and a handful of shells. Bahwel trailed behind her, perplexed but trying to support her queen. Threedak slid two rounds into the revolver with practiced ease and drew back the hammer.


    The Dhajtel on the ground looked up at her, confusion evident in her pain addled eyes. Without hesitating, Threedak aimed and pulled the trigger, blowing a hole through one of her enemy¡¯s graspers. The Dhajtel hissed in pain as Threedak shifted her aim and pulled the trigger once again, ruining the other grasper. She tossed the weapon aside casually and slid down to all six legs so that her muzzle would be closer to her foe.


    ¡°Why,¡± she hissed, her exposed fangs less than a foot from the terrorist¡¯s neck. ¡°I have given everything for my people over my entire life and asked for little in return. So I ask again. Why would you do such a thing?¡±


    ¡°Tyrant,¡± the injured Dhajtel spat back, blood flecking her maw. ¡°You and your line rule over all of us. You create wonders and go back to your mansions. You live every day content, proud and full. What about the rest of us? We¡¯re dying in the mines of Sask, hungry after long days working in the fields, or crushed by poorly secured machinery in the factories that keep you fat and full of eggs.¡±


    ¡°All jobs are meritocratic,¡± Threedak replied, pouches flexing as a warning baritone entered her voice. ¡°I¡¯ve made sure of that. If you don¡¯t want to work in a factory, learn another trade. No one will stop you from bettering yourself.¡±


    ¡°No one?¡± the terrorist laughed, a terrible gurgling sound betraying a collapsed lung. ¡°How can those of us that were conquered compete with your daughters in a meritocracy? Our mothers pass onto us what skills they can, but none of us have access to your human memories. At best we awaken knowing how to do the same menial skills that trapped out mothers.¡±


    ¡°Your meritocracy and sentiments are worth less than nothing,¡± she spat a great gob of blood and saliva that splashed against the side of Threedak¡¯s muzzle. ¡°You¡¯ve created a system that¡¯s only fair to you and yours and we reject it. One of your great grand daughters got drunk and told us the truth. About a great human named K¡¯arl Max that taught us what to do with oppressors like you. This time we might have failed, but soon Dhajtel the world over will rise up. After all, we have nothing to lose but our chains.¡±


    Without responding, Threedak leaned forward and ripped out the Dhajtel¡¯s throat. Chewing slowly, she sifted through her victim¡¯s memories. Truly the rebels were idiots, not even organizing themselves into cells or using fake names. Three bites later, all Threedak had access to all of their secrets. Names, locations, supplies, sympathizers. Everything.


    ¡°What a fool,¡± she spoke sadly, looking down at the new still revolutionary. She hadn¡¯t even had it that bad. As far as Threedak could tell, her only real complaint was that she had to work for approximately half of each day at her job as opposed to the one third of the day her compatriots were set to demand.


    ¡°Come Bahwel,¡± Threedak turned and walked back toward the groundcar. ¡°I¡¯ll need to get in touch with your mother. We have a revolution to crush.¡±

 Chapter 11 - Suspended Among the Angels

    Threedak stood in her office, graspers crossed, staring out the floor length window at the strand of iron and gossamer running from the great desert into the sky above. Below her pleasantly air-conditioned office, gleaming skyscrapers of steel and glass jutted up from what used to be the swamp. These days, Lament resembled a human city more than anything. The only reminder of its humble past was her residence, nestled amongst the concrete and bustle of the two hundred thousand Dhajtel that lived there.


    ¡°Queen,¡± Dormah, her personal doctor, interrupted her thoughts, an irritated buzz in her voice. ¡°I must object. We both know that your condition isn¡¯t stable. The elevator is only in its early phases and there haven¡¯t been any studies as to how well the radiation shielding works. For all we know-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Threedak interrupted, not taking her gaze from the ribbon of metal stretching past the horizon. ¡°I¡¯ve worked for years chained to this planet, knowing that my birthright is just out of my graspers reach.¡±


    She turned away from the window, taking in the exasperated cock of Dormah¡¯s head as the larger Dhajtel stood hunched over Threedak¡¯s desk, her graspers all but digging into its rich wood. Maybe her daughters would have preferred a doctor that would just advise her, but Threedak had long ago learned that a yes-Dhajtel was of little use. As an absolute monarch, she had the power to do anything she wanted, but it would hardly be responsible to simply surround herself with sycophants. As annoying as it could be at times like this, she needed advisors that didn¡¯t have a problem with aggressively trying to change her mind.


    ¡°I tamed the first hartden and laid the first brick in this city,¡± Threedak continued, flicking her tongue out and tasting the sterile air of her office. ¡°I¡¯ve read your reports on my health just as closely as I¡¯ve read Bekai¡¯s reports on the orbital elevator. I know the risks, but it is time for me to claim my birthright. Even if I won¡¯t be ruling from orbit, traveling there is an important symbol for our entire race. A definite sign that the Dhajtel have taken their first faltering steps into a larger galaxy.¡±


    ¡°But your exposure-¡± Dormah leaned back from Threedak¡¯s desk and threw her graspers up in frustration only to be interrupted by a chime from the office¡¯s intercom.


    ¡°Kahtash is here to see you my Queen,¡± Bahwel¡¯s voice spoke evenly and professionally from the metal grill in Threedak¡¯s desk. ¡°She should be at your office momentarily.¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Threedak cut off Dormah, her ocular membranes snapping shut decisively. ¡°You have made your objection. I have decided to proceed anyway. The time for discussion is over. You know my standing orders regarding letting my daughters know about my condition. I trust that I don¡¯t need to reiterate that not a word can be leaked to them or to anyone else.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Dormah sighed in defeat. ¡°I only speak because I care. I don¡¯t have any desire to instill a panic, but I worry that you refuse to see the seriousness of the situation. Regardless, if you are going that means that I will have to go with you. If you¡¯re going to put yourself at risk, it¡¯s up to me to do what I can to mitigate the foolishness of that risk.¡±


    The door to the office opened and Kahtash stepped through. She stood tall in the doorway, a stylish uniform of kinetic resistant microfiber adorned with medals and weapons. Threedak¡¯s muzzle pulled up into a smile. Her daughter looked every inch the noble and imposing warrior-commander of Dhajtel armed forces.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Kahtash inclined her head, eyes flicking briefly to take in Dormah¡¯s presence. ¡°I¡¯ve come to try and talk you out of this foolishness.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Dormah called over her shoulder as she made her way to one of the office¡¯s overstuffed reclining couches. ¡°She won¡¯t listen to me. Maybe you¡¯ll have better luck.¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be any convincing,¡± Threedak replied, shooting a stern look at Dormah. ¡°I will follow your instructions regarding my safety, but this is one spot where I am going to put my feet down. I will be going into space.¡±


    ¡°But what if some dissident group tries to strike you?¡± Kahtash asked heatedly, her tail twitching briefly. ¡°The Cult of K¡¯arl Max is still demanding ¡®absolute equality,¡¯ whatever that means. I¡¯ve been hunting down their cells one by one, but they¡¯ve wised up since their first attempt on your life. Their leadership has started using melodramatic pseudonyms and no Dhajtel knows more than four other rebels. They haven¡¯t been able to manage more than petty vandalism in years, but I think they¡¯re just biding their time.¡±


    ¡°Then individually pick every Dhajtel operating the elevator and working my security detail,¡± Threedak chuckled. ¡°There is no need for me to interact directly with the public. We can simply broadcast my journey and stream it worldwide. Shut down the entire city for a day if you need to.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just the Maxists,¡± Kahtash fretted, her tail again thumping against the office¡¯s hardwood floor. ¡°The male rights groups are becoming more and more active. Apparently they want you to issue an order that men be cared for in the creches alongside our daughters.¡±


    ¡°I suppose this is what I get for listening to them,¡± Threedak snorted. ¡°I order an end to eating males post breeding and suddenly they ask for both moons. If they want to spend the dak to build and fund preserves for men, I won¡¯t stop them, but I¡¯m not spending tax money on this when the invaders could be on our doorsteps.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Dormah interjected, her head perking up from where she was resting on the couch. ¡°They want men to be raised in the creches? Males are absolutely feral! If you¡¯re not in season they¡¯re just as likely to bite you as interact with you. Many in the biology community are still trying to get a handle on the extent of Dhajtel dimorphism. Outside of their reproductive organs, men are barely the same species as the rest of us.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°They only have four legs,¡± Kahtash agreed, shaking her head. ¡°No graspers and they grow to be barely two feet long. When my mind isn¡¯t clouded by mating pheromones they seem about as Dhajtel as a hartden. About as smart too.¡±


    ¡°No more concessions for the males¡¯ rights groups,¡± Threedak responded decisively. ¡°They can do what they want, but every man I¡¯ve seen wants to run free and scavenge in between mating seasons. Cooping them up in a creche would be counterproductive, and frankly I think it would be cruel to them. Even if a couple men die to natural predators or starvation it¡¯s better than turning them into housepets.¡±


    After some discussion and planning they broke for the evening. The next morning, a Dhajtel with a camera joined Threedak and her security cordon as they traveled to the orbital elevator. The streets of Lament were cleared with occasional glimpses of police forces restraining crowds of well wishers seeking to catch a glimpse of Threedak. It was a shame that she couldn¡¯t greet them directly but after the first incident with the Maxists, Threedak and her daughters had become much more careful with her safety.


    About an hour later, the motorcade reached the edge of the city where it was joined by a trio of walkers. A recent collaboration by Bekai and Kahtash, the walkers consisted of an armored body with a quartet of ¡®legs¡¯ that folded under it to reveal heavy duty wheels. On even terrain, it would function as an 8 wheeled armored car or tank, but on uneven terrain it could lift itself up and walk several feet off the ground on the legs. The leg form wasn¡¯t anywhere near as fast, but it allowed the walker to gain a level of maneuverability that traditional wheeled and treaded vehicles couldn¡¯t match.


    Threed had seen footage of the walkers traveling at high speed on their wheels, leap into the air and land on their now extended legs before converting to a loping run without interruption. The added mobility allowed the walkers to operate in deserts, cities and hilly terrain that otherwise would have forced a traditional vehicle to stop. Kahtash was particularly proud of their ability to ¡®lean¡¯ forward or sideways, allowing them to utilize cover when firing their main cannon.


    Whether it was the impressive security apparatus or Kahtash¡¯s crackdowns, their drive to the elevator was unhindered by terrorists or protestors. The elevator ride itself was fairly uneventful. They steadily accelerated upward at about half the planet¡¯s standard gravity. Threedak felt slightly heavy and out of sorts, but other than that no real ill effects as her entourage gathered in a corner of the cavernous elevator. Soon multiple elevators would be running at all times, powered by compact fusion reactors at a fraction of the cost of chemical rockets, shipping goods and Dhajtel into orbit where the homeworld¡¯s shipyards were beginning to take shape.


    Threedak looked out the window as the world diminished beneath her. The massive cities, mines and factories around Lament began to fade away. It was hard to believe that already there were over twenty five million Dhajtel living and working toward their race¡¯s destiny at this very moment.


    What a difference twenty to thirty years of development made. According to their historians, before Threedak took charge of their race their race only numbered between three hundred and four hundred thousand spread out over the surface of the entire planet. Logically, it made sense. Keeping large consummate carnivores like the Dhajtel fed was a daunting task, one that didn¡¯t let any known Dhajtel die of old age. The competition for meat was simply too brutal for any one tribe to expand or any individual Dhajtel to truly grow old.


    In the last ten years, Dahlass had solved that problem. Lab grown meat didn¡¯t taste anywhere near as good as hartden, kithra, or even other Dhajtel, but it was much quicker and cheaper to make. Every city had great vats of the flavorless stuff, eagerly soaking up all of the nutrients and carbohydrates their farmers could provide. In return, there was enough meat to comfortably feed their burgeoning populations.


    The rich still ate hartden or kithra, and as humble as she tried to remain, Threedak was partial to actual meat. The lab grown version had an awful texture and a bland flavor that no amount of seasoning could fix. Ironically, it was one of the Maxists¡¯ major demands. An end to lab made meat. They didn¡¯t seem to understand that without the lab grown meat, Dhajtel society would collapse. There were simply too many of them to feed with traditional pasture raised hartden.


    She closed her eyes for a nap. To her, the Maxists were more joke than threat. She didn¡¯t have anything against Karl Marx himself. His focus on the course of history seemed a bit peculiar and poetic for Threedak¡¯s taste, but many of his economic theories and sociological analysis of class structure were far ahead of their time. The Maxists on the other hand, bastardized more than his name.


    None of them inherited the memories of Igwe or Reaves. They didn¡¯t even know what Marx had written. Instead they just gave rambling speeches and printed poorly edited pamphlets about the importance of equality. Even their conception of equality was baffling. All Dhajtel were given healthcare, education, and enough food to survive. Any that wanted more than the basics would have to work in exchange for dak.


    To the Maxists, that was unacceptable. As far as Kahtesh¡¯s spies had been able to tell, they wanted a society where all Dhajtel were simply given whatever they wanted and work was optional. In short, they were a collection of violent idiots. Exactly what the Dhajtel needed while gearing up for the existential threat presented by the invaders.


    She drifted off to sleep only to be awoken some time later by the elevator¡¯s changeover alarm. Like the rest of the Dhajtel she walked over to a nearby wall and grabbed on to the rungs embedded in it. About a minute later the elevator began slowing down. Threedak felt her body becoming lighter as the acceleration slowed to a stop. For a brief moment she was weightless and then the elevator began decelerating.


    Slowly, with a grace born of Ashley Koenig¡¯s painful memories of the same phenomena, Threedak twisted in the air, her grasper still on the wall. Her legs touched down on what used to be the ceiling. On the other end of the elevator, their tightly packed equipment shifted slightly as ¡®gravity¡¯ appeared to reverse itself.


    Threedak walked over to the window. They were close now. Angel station hung in geosynchronous orbit over the great desert, connected by the tether of the elevator to the planet below. It had taken years to assemble the station and connect it planetside via insane lengths of highly resistant cable, but finally it was done.


    The Dhajtel could easily access space without the risk or expense of rockets. It was only a matter of years before the other three equatorial stations were online and their orbital industry could begin in earnest.


    Threedak smiled. It had taken time and blood, but her people were on the threshold of their birthright.

 Chapter 12 - To Seize Destiny

    Threedak sat in her command couch buried deep in the bowels of Meridian station, pouring over the hovering 3D map of the space near Dhaj.  The planet¡¯s belt was near complete, a series of stations and shipyards connected to a giant rail transit system capable of rapidly moving goods and passengers from one point to another.  Perhaps more importantly, the belt was almost completely covered with solar panels and capacitors. Without atmospheric interference, direct exposure to Dhaj¡¯s sun generated a huge amount of power that was invested almost immediately back into the empire¡¯s insatiable industrial machine.


    Both of Dhaj¡¯s moons were riddled with mines, periodically taking advantage of their lower gravity to spit large chunks of purified metal into orbiting nets via mass drivers.  From there, cargo vessels dragged the metal past the collection of captured comets being mined for hydrogen to fuel the growing fleet of Dhajtel vessels, and to the shipyards themselves.


    Even from Meridian station, the shipyards glowed, a million whiteblue fireflies as welders flickered in the darkness.  From tankers and cargo ships, to the two kilometer long skeleton of the first Dhajtel capital ship, work continued at all hours.  Already almost one million Dhajtel lived in various stations of the belt, and with each day that number only grew.


    Threedak waved a grasper, zooming the hologram in on the lunar mines.  Despite heavy automation, each moon had almost fifty thousand Dhajtel excavating literal tons of metal on a daily basis.  Already Bekai estimated that it would only be a matter of decades before the moons were completely stripmined of heavy metals at which point it would be time to move out of Dhaj¡¯s orbit in search of new sources of metal.


    That was why her daughters had ended up in one of their rare disagreements.  Threedak sighed, waving a grasper through the hologram and causing it to disappear.  She turned her gaze to where Kahtash, Bekai, and Dahlass stood in her office. None of them so much as glanced at each other, instead fixing the entirety of their attention on her.


    ¡°So,¡± Threedak began with a dry chuckle that quickly lapsed into a short bout of coughing.  ¡°It sounds like your dispute is over how fast we should expand and what the expansion should look like, is that right?¡±


    ¡°Yes Mother,¡± Bekai took a step forward, wobbling slightly in the faux gravity created by the habitat¡¯s constant spinning.  ¡°We¡¯ve all agreed to avoid exploiting Dhaj any more than necessary, but as things stand we will need new sources of hydrogen, exotic elements, and heavy metals sooner or later.  We have enough cargo vessels to start putting together new mining and industrial colonies on nearby asteroids or moons. We¡¯ve even started putting together a pair of O¡¯Neil Cylinders that we could put in orbit around one of the nearby gas giants.  From there it would be a flick of the tail to start exploiting its moons and atmosphere.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Dahlass shot a quick glare at her sister.  ¡°Even if we have the technology to start exploiting nearby planets, we shouldn¡¯t run the risk of cultural drift.  If the colonists can¡¯t quickly and easily communicate with the rest of the species back on Dhaj it¡¯s only a matter of time before we lose our greatest asset, our identity.¡±


    ¡°What we really need,¡± Dahlass turned to Threedak, speaking with an uncharacteristic intensity, ¡°is some way of maintaining our unity.  I propose we create something like the old human internet. A repository of knowledge and culture that every Dhajtel can access regardless of where they are stationed in the system.  We would be able to exchange everything from films and music to research and schematics at the speed of light. The entirety of our civilization would always be within your graspers at only a couple minute¡¯s notice.


    ¡°It will be expensive and take time,¡± Dahlass was fervent, a hint of fire in her eyes, ¡°but we can create a network of interconnected satellites orbiting the sun.  The satellites would serve triple duty as transmission stations, receivers and data repositories. They would be a distributed network, even if the satellite you sent a query to didn¡¯t have the exact information you needed, it could quickly acquire that information from one of its sisters.  Without the network, we would only be able to communicate with each other when Dhaj has a line of sight on the colony.¡±


    Threedak finally turned to Kahtash.  Her last daughter was silent through both of her sisters¡¯ pitches, but she shook her head the entire time.  Threedak waited a second for her to speak before motioning with a grasper to spur her overly taciturn daughter into action.


    ¡°Both of their plans are sound ones,¡± she spoke curtly, her voice slightly clipped.  ¡°Every day our need for materials grows and securing more needs to be a top priority.  At the same time, the persistent threat caused by the Maxists demonstrates Dahlass¡¯ wisdom.  Just two months ago the bombed a hydrogen refinery just down the coast from Hope City. Over twenty lives were lost.  But-¡±


    Kahtash paused, collecting herself slightly, clearly uncomfortable with making such a verbose speech.  ¡°We can¡¯t defend ourselves,¡± she continued, building up speed as she forced herself to keep speaking. ¡°We only have a handful of screening vessels and a pair of torchships.  That isn¡¯t even enough to properly protect Dhaj, let alone cargo ships and far flung colonies.¡±


    ¡°Kaht,¡± Bekai interrupted, throwing her graspers in the air.  ¡°What is there to be afraid of? I know we¡¯ll need to build warships eventually, but for right now our priority needs to be expansion.  In a decade this system needs to be the backbone we can lean on when journeying out into the galaxy itself.¡±


    ¡°You forget,¡± Kahtash replied, speaking slowly with a slight frown on her face.  ¡°We don¡¯t know where the invader ship that shot the Ark down went.  It might have returned to its home, but it also might be somewhere nearby.  We know that it was a dangerous journey here. There¡¯s a good chance that it was severely damaged and couldn¡¯t risk the jump home.  Personally, I don¡¯t want to risk running into the invaders while unprepared. Even if the risk is small, and it requires us to slow our pace of expansion, caution seems to be the correct plan at the moment.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°It would be possible to use the navy as a unifying force,¡± Dahlass interjected hesitantly.  ¡°My project could wait a decade or so if we focus on imperial service. Maybe we make colonial postings only available to those who have served in the navy as an effort to ensure that our sense of unity is imprinted on any colonies we found.¡±


    ¡°How many ships do I need to build Kahtash before we can continue our expansion,¡± Bekai glared heatedly at both of her sisters.  ¡°Twenty new ships? Forty? Just give me a number and I¡¯ll make it happen. Those Kithra class screeners only take about six months of slip time.  I can juggle a couple queues around for cargo and passenger construction and we¡¯ll be ready to go again in a year or two tops.¡±


    ¡°It isn¡¯t just screeners we need Bekai,¡± Kahtash replied coldly, clearly put out by her sister¡¯s dismissive tone.  ¡°Our current fleet organization chart calls for one capital ship, four torchships, and twenty screeners to protect Dhaj.  I would recommend at least two patrol and protection units consisting of one torchship and four screeners each. Anything less than that would be a gamble and put our daughters at risk.¡±


    ¡°Torchships and Capital ships!¡± Bekai¡¯s tail twitched uncontrollably.  ¡°Those take years! You¡¯re asking for almost half of my slips for five years.  It¡¯s like you¡¯re trying to crack open my eggs and leave the yolk to rot in the sun!¡±


    ¡°Bekai,¡± Threedak interjected sternly.  ¡°Language! I know you¡¯re excited, but there¡¯s no need to become vulgar during a planning meeting.  Now let your sister speak.¡±


    ¡°Thank you mother,¡± Kahtash inclined her head at Threedak.  ¡°We need the torchships because of their more efficient engines.  Screeners are fast and agile, but their fuel efficiency is rotten.  Theoretically they can travel around the solar system on their own, but most of that involves putting them on ballistic courses and waiting months for them to get to their targets.  Plus, none of them carry the armor needed to properly slug it out with kinetic weapons and missiles. A torchship might be slower to accelerate, but their heavy fusion engines will get them where they need with fuel to spare.  As for the capital ship-¡±


    Kahtash lifted her graspers in a very humanlike shrug.  ¡°It¡¯s basically a gigantic torchship. I just want the Empress Threedak on hand in case we actually hit a snag.  After all, overwhelming firepower is the best kind of firepower.¡±


    ¡°Kahtash,¡± Threedak tapped the fingers of her grasper on the table in front of her couch.  ¡°What did you say that our empire¡¯s first capital ship is going to be named?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re unanimous on it Mother,¡± Kahtash replied implacably while Dahlass squirmed and Bekai smiled.  ¡°Even Pinrakt designed its coat of arms. The Navy high command is in agreement that the flag vessel of the home fleet will always be the Empress Threedak with the name being passed on to new ships as larger and better warships become available.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she growled, her neck pouches swelling and deflating as she tried her best to stare her daughters down.  ¡°We build the ships Kahtash requested while preparing essential infrastructure for colonies. I want us to be ready to mine as soon as we¡¯re sure that Dhaj is safe.¡±


    Five years passed in the flick of a membrane and a  flurry of activity. In the meantime the Maxists grew from a joke to a persistent annoyance.  In part, the lack of expansion forced more and more Dhajtel to live in the stations and shipyards of the belt.  Even with their race¡¯s imprinted unity many began to grow disaffected with the stagnant conditions and low gravity that tore at their bodies.


    Finally, the first colony fleet launched.  Every worker on the belt got a full day off devoted to fermented grain, music and general revelry.  It¡¯s true that they already had colonies on Dhaj¡¯s moons, but this was different. The Dhajtel were about to permanently step out of their orbit.  Yet another step toward seizing their collective destiny.


    After the first day, some of the expedition¡¯s shine wore off for the common Dhajtel, but Threedak was still riveted to the hologram in her office.  Almost hourly, she checked for updates as the torchship, with its four screeners magnetically sealed to hardpoints on its flanks, led a collection of mobile construction vessels, transports and freighters to Hector, a moon orbiting Gabriel, the nearest gas giant to Dhaj.


    Hector had been selected for two major reasons.  Firstly, it had low enough gravity that a landing craft could begin the process of settling it without too much difficulty.  Secondly, most of the moon¡¯s surface was covered in ice. At some point, Gabriel¡¯s gravitational forces tore apart two to three of its other moons creating a mineral rich belt of asteroids around the larger planet.  Hector would serve as an ideal central resupply depot for a fleet of mining vessels that would come in a later wave, intent on exploiting the bounty of mineral wealth orbiting Gabriel.


    Soon the plan was to move on to the planet''s other moons, one of which was almost half the size of Dhaj.  Achilles would likely need an elevator just like Dhaj, but early experiments indicated that its rocky surface was rich in trapped deposits of oxygen and nitrogen.  With thirty to fifty years of terraforming and a huge amount of greenhouse gases, Dhajtel would be able to walk its surface with little more than thick coats and supplemental oxygen.  It wouldn¡¯t be an absolutely perfect new home for the species, but it was no more hostile than what a mountain climber faced while hiking.


    Still, that was all in the future.  For now, Threedak¡¯s eyes remained glued to the green triangle that represented the torchship and the series of circles that signified the civilian vessels as they grew ever closer to their prize.


    Then, a yellow triangle flickered to life on the map.  An unknown contact. Threedak frowned, staring at the blob of light as if willing it to try and reveal its secrets.


    It was a full planet out, near one of the moons orbiting Michael, another gas giant.  Another yellow triangle sprang into being beside it.


    A third triangle appeared.  She hissed, drawing breath in suddenly through her sharp and gleaming teeth.  Three ships in her solar system. She stood and began pacing, her legs padding quietly against the metal floor as Threedak repeatedly wrung her hands.


    ¡°Identity confirmed,¡± Kahtash¡¯s voice erupted into the silence from Threedak¡¯s projector as all three triangles suddenly turned crimson.  ¡°Unknown vessels are invaders. I repeat, we have encountered the invaders.¡±

 Chapter 13 - Unwelcome Guests

    Threedak gripped the rests on her couch and leaned toward the hologram.  A flick of her graspers later and the technical data on the torchship popped up on the display.  Inside her head, the hazy figment of Dennis Billings screamed concerns and advice at her, pacing back and forth nervously.  His memories detailed the deficiencies of the human ships her navy was based on when compared against the invaders.


    Mostly it was a matter of efficiency.  The invaders, like the Dhajtel, could survive higher rates of acceleration than the squishy humans making their screening vessels faster and more maneuverable.  Her analysts still predicted that the invaders would hold a slight edge over the more agile Dhajtel vessels, but it would be a near thing. Other than that, the invaders just seemed slightly better at everything: their lasers fired a hair quicker at a bit higher of a wattage than the comparable human weapons, their kinetic drivers fired faster and larger shells, and perhaps most disturbingly, their ships dispersed and radiated heat much better than any human vessel.


    In a long fight, that ability to disperse heat might be the difference between victory and defeat.  Engines and weaponry produced an immense amount of heat, and unfortunately, vacuum was one of the best insulators in existence.  Every ship in the navy armored radiators to help prevent heat buildup, but as the ranges between vessels closed, even an armored radiator became an easy target.  It was standard practice to make the radiators retractable so that combat vessels could hide them in armored bays in order to prevent them from immediately being melted off the side of a ship via laser fire.


    Unfortunately, a retracted radiator didn¡¯t work.  Ships could still shunt excess heat into substances like water and eject that water into space.  In fact, many military ships used puffs of superheated steam for maneuvering thrusters rather than inert gases for exactly that reason.  Still, both Kahtash and Threedak were concerned that their ships had a shorter combat window at full effectiveness than their enemies.


    ¡°This is Imperial command to Captain Laksheer of the Ashley Koenig,¡± Kahtash¡¯s voice spoke again from the intercom.  Threedak felt some calm slip over her as she heard her daughter''s voice, clipped and professional.   ¡°You will order the rest of your convoy to return to Dhaj. Then you will advance to meet the enemy, detaching screening vessels at an appropriate distance.  Do not set a course to match, and do not engage in a direct intercept, try to accelerate past them.¡±


    Threedak waited, her tail flicking nervously in the sterile, climate controlled air of her office.  After just over a minute of lag, the time it took for Kahtash¡¯s orders to travel to the Ashley Koenig, Captain Laksheer to listen to them and respond back, the response came.


    ¡°Acknowledged Admiral Kahtash,¡± Laksheer was a smaller Dhajtel, almost cobalt in color as Threedak recalled her.  Her voice was high pitched and warbled slightly as breath passed her neck pouches when she was agitated. Right now, her voice was almost indecipherable through the high pitched buzz.  ¡°Please confirm that you want us to accelerate past the enemy ships. Holding range and maneuvering defensively would let us maintain an optimal engagement envelope.¡±


    ¡°That is confirmed Captain,¡± Kahtash replied immediately, her voice as calm despite the panic beginning to fill Meridian Station.  ¡°You appear to be outnumbered three to one by the invaders. If they truly have three torchships your chances of winning a toe to toe battle are minimal.  Your only chance at getting out of here alive is to get enough momentum that they cannot pursue you as you fly past them. At this point your primary objective is drawing the enemy away from the convoy.  The Ashley Koenig¡¯s survival is secondary and the survival of your screening vessels is considered unlikely.¡±


    Then came the wait.  Threedak coughed into her grasper, each spasm of her lungs causing her neck pouches to flutter weakly.  She pulled herself up in the command couch, remembering Dormah¡¯s advice that she fix her posture so that her lungs could operate properly.  More than anything, Threedak was glad that she was alone in this moment of weakness. The last thing her daughters needed in the middle of this crisis was to see their mother struggling.  They would worry and fret about her, distracting them from the very real existential threat represented by the trio of red triangles on the system map.


    Finally, Captain Laksheer acknowledged her orders emotionlessly and the ships began to move.  With glacial speed, the transports began to shed their excess velocity, braking as one before reversing course and beginning the fuel heavy journey home.  The Ashley Koenig changed course, looking to use Hector and Gabriel¡¯s gravity well to slingshot it at an angle past the oncoming enemy ships.


    Threedak sighed.  In a way, she missed the old days when she could personally lead the charge, clad in steel and swinging a sword.  Both battle groups were almost eight hours outside of their engagement windows, and even then she would be nothing more than a passive observer, receiving footage of the actual warriors fighting almost thirty seconds to a minute after it actually occurred.


    She stood up from her command couch and began walking, suppressing as best she could the involuntary winces caused by the litany of aches and pains that afflicted her.  Dormah told her that Dhajtel weren¡¯t supposed to age, just get bigger. Unlike humans, their cell replication wasn¡¯t fatally flawed, doomed to create progressively deadlier mistakes as their telomeres failed.  Still, many of the-


    The doors to Meridian Station¡¯s command center opened before her.  The buzz and constant activity quieted at her arrival, the faces of the soldiers staring up at her with reverent awe.  Threedak nodded to them as she strolled past, stopping when she was shoulder to shoulder with Kahtash where the younger Dhajtel was frantically paging through reports on the screen in front of her.


    ¡°What¡¯s going to happen out there?¡± Threedak asked her daughter quietly, staring patiently at the huge holographic system map that filled the middle of the command center.  Kahtash and her were an island of calm as the storm of activity resumed around them, Dhajtel frantically returning to work searching for an advantage in the current situation.


    ¡°Laksheer is probably going to die,¡± Kahtash responded grimly.  ¡°Even if she makes it past the enemy ships, her vessel is going to be crippled and probably irradiated.  In better times we could track it down with civilian tugs and retrieve it, but anyone I send out is just one more casualty of the invaders waiting to be counted.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    Kahtash sighed, running a grasper over her dry facial scales.  ¡°I think Laksheer knows it too,¡± she continued, notes of melancholy invading her usually stoic delivery.  ¡°The best we can hope for is that she draws the enemy ships away from the civilians. The current plan has the highest probability of her surviving and drawing the invaders away, but it doesn¡¯t look great for her.  In all likelihood, the invaders will change their headings to engage her, allowing the civilians to get away but sealing her fate.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why her vector brings her past the invaders without plowing through them,¡± a croon of despair filled Threedak¡¯s voice.  ¡°The amount of thrust and time it takes to match course with the Ashley Koenig is designed to buy the colony fleet¡¯s escape.¡±


    She paused, looking up at her daughter.  Her tongue tasted the metallic air of the command room.  ¡°How do we know that the invaders will pursue?¡± She asked quietly.  ¡°What do we do if they ignore Laksheer and just attack the fleet?¡±


    ¡°If that happens we lose even more daughters and sisters,¡± Kahtash¡¯s membranes nictated over her eyes, her voice resolute.  ¡°It shouldn¡¯t though, the invaders weren¡¯t ones to ignore a challenge to their might. Once the Koenig opens fire on them, they will pursue.  They always have before.¡±


    They sat in silence, Threedak suppressing her occasional need to cough, as time ticked down.  After an hour or so passed, orderlies came into the command center, passing out meals of freeze dried meat.  Technically, the shift changed, but none of the Dhajtel shifted from their couches. On the screen, the green and red dots drifted closer together with an almost glacial inevitability.  Even before they closed into weapon range, the invader vessels began adjusting their courses to intercept the Ashley Koenig.


    When the ships were almost forty five minutes away from each other, the intercom stirred.


    ¡°This is Captain Laksheer,¡± grim determination had replaced the high pitched anxiety in her voice.  ¡°We are detaching screening vessels and preparing to engage now. We will continue to broadcast as long as we can. If anything-¡±


    The gentle hiss imparted to the transmission by background radiation continued, but Laksheer stopped.  Silence filled the command center.


    ¡°Make sure our daughters know,¡± Laksheer finished, her voice heavy.  ¡°I want you to make sure they know that this was for them.¡±


    Threedak put her grasper on Kahtash¡¯s shoulder, shaking her head briefly.  She leaned forward, pressing the transmission button on Kahtash¡¯s command couch.


    ¡°This is the Empress,¡± she spoke, her tail flicking in agitation.  ¡°I will make sure that they know what their mothers did.¡±


    The command center waited in silence.  Two minutes passed. Much longer than the delay from lightspeed transmission could justify.


    ¡°Thank you Empress,¡± Laksheer replied quietly.  ¡°Thank you for everything.¡±


    Around the command center, five screens lit up, each showing the bridge of a Dhajtel vessel.  The Ashley Koenig¡¯s was the largest, at approximately five by ten meters, seating seven Dhajtel.  Laksheer stood tall in front of her command couch, soft vacuum suit obscuring her brilliant blue scales everywhere but her face.  Wordlessly she made a motion with one of her graspers before pulling down the mirrored face guard.


    On the holographic map, the four green squares representing the Kithra class screening vessels detached from the Ashley Koenig, racing ahead of it and taking up station between the torchship and her enemies.  A cloud of green motes exited the Koenig¡¯s hanger bay as the ship¡¯s drone fighters flew toward the screeners.  In all, 34 ships stood between the Ashley Koenig and the invaders.


    The plot updated, and the invaders followed suit.  Luckily, the invaders weren¡¯t fully provisioned, but they still managed to field seven screening vessels and fifty fighters.  Threedak hissed in displeasure. Even with almost half of their support vessels destroyed or lost, the invaders outnumbered her kin almost two to one.


    The bridge of the Koenig shook slightly as the vessel fired a salvo of long ranged rockets before changing course.  A second later, all of the screening ships shook as well, adding the weight of their rocket tubes to the Koenig¡¯s.  Then, Dhajtel of the smaller ships were pressed into their couches as they began accelerating toward the enemy, occasionally jerking to the side as their lateral thrusters kept them moving evasively.


    On screen the two waves of rockets merged, matching speeds as they raced toward the Invaders.  In all, there were thirty six of the weapons, twenty from the torchship and four from each of the screening vessels, containing a variety of warheads.  Some were simple fusion weapons, deadly up close but hard to strike an evading target with in the vastness of space. Others carried nothing but electronic countermeasure suites.  Although they were little more than sensitive and expensive projectiles on their own, their presence would shield and protect the rest of the salvo from the enemy¡¯s point defense.


    The remaining majority of the rockets carried laser warheads.  Technically, they were also nuclear weapons, but they came with aiming mechanisms and control rods that would direct the usually unfocused radiation from a nuclear blast into a coherent and deadly stream of x-rays.  The laser warheads weren¡¯t nearly as deadly as a direct fusion blast, but they could strike opponents from much further out at the speed of light, minimizing the defender¡¯s ability to shoot them down with point defense or dodge.


    The invaders fired their own wave of rockets.  Ninety. Threedak grimaced. The invaders traditionally didn¡¯t put rockets on their screening vessels, instead using that space for closer ranged weapons.  They made up for it with thirty tubes per torchship, and by the look of the plot, all of them were in working order.


    Both sides continued firing.  Three salvos from the invaders and seven more from the Dhajtel.  It was possible that the invaders were saving ammunition for future encounters, but the Dhajtel didn¡¯t have that luxury.  Each rocket saved was just one more that could blow up in a magazine from an unlucky hit.


    Then first stages of both sets of rockets guttered out and the weapons went ballistic.  In a couple of seconds both clusters of rockets would enter their final stage, igniting higher performance engines to draw close to their enemies and unleash their deadly payloads.


    The Dhajtel vessels took advantage of that lull in the invader¡¯s guidance systems to go full evasive.  On the bridge of each ship, all of the Dhajtel were now pressed deep into their command couches as their ships danced and juked, trying to prevent enemy weapons from closing in on them.  Threedak knew that even now, the suits were restricting blood flow to their legs and tails, attempting to keep the crew conscious while the cushioned walls of their couches prevented them from being bruised and injured.


    In the command center, silence reigned.  Threedak held her breath, steeling herself for the chaos when the rockets struck.

 Chapter 14 - Crossing Blades

    The bridges of the screening vessels rattled as the smaller ships tried to maneuver into position and shoot down the oncoming rockets.  On the hologram, circles appeared around the icons representing the ships indicating that their radiators were withdrawn due to the imminent combat.  The icons began pulsing, indicating that they were firing actively.


    Laser pulses and flechette swarms, little more than heavily accelerated sand, spat out from the defending ships and into space.  One by one the icons representing the rockets began to wink out as the point defense emplacements struggled to find them in the emptiness of open space.  Thirty five of the weapons were transformed into rapidly cooling debris by the time the remainder screamed past the screening ships.


    Threedak exhaled.  The invaders were targeting the Ashley Koenig.  The screening ships would be safe for a while longer.  Ultimately it was for the best, the invaders¡¯ firing pattern would allow the screening ships to pour additional point defense fire into their rockets before they arrived.  The tradeoff was that the torchship was going to take a beating. Evidently the invaders were more concerned with a complete kill by preventing the screening ships from fleeing than they were efficiency.


    Of the thirty six Dhajtel missiles, only three approached the enemy screening units close enough to detonate their warheads.  One fusion charge went off far enough from the enemy that it did little more than blind their sensors with a flash of radiation and light.  Only one of the two laser warheads actually hit an invader, a spear of coherent x-rays that sublimated a chunk its outer hull into plasma.


    Threedak pumped her grasper briefly as a gout of oxygen and debris erupted from the screening ship.  The lightly armored craft slewed to the side from the blast and expelled matter, spinning slightly in the frictionless void.  Moments later, the flow of oxygen cut off and the enemy ship resumed its previous course as automatic failsafes kicked in.


    The Ashley Koenig flickered on the plot as the rockets closed into its point defense envelope.  Its larger and heavier lasers shattered the rockets at extreme range whenever the ship¡¯s fire control team could get a proper solution on them.  Unfortunately, at least a couple of the approaching rockets were laden with countermeasures rather than warheads, filling space with static and electronic ghost images that suckered the Koenig¡¯s gunners into missing more often than not.


    The rockets drew nearer the torchship, their numbers dwindling by twelve.  At close range, the Koenig launched defensive flechettes and counter rockets, smaller weapons with only a single stage high performance engine and clean but high yield warhead.  The projectiles darted toward each other, brightening the hologram with a series of flashes.


    The invader rockets cleared the final engagement window in a moment, the survivors veering wildly to catch up with the diving torchship.  Then they detonated. Between the final wave of defenses and the electronic fog created by the Ashley Koenig¡¯s electronic countermeasures, only ten of the rockets were on target.  Nine were laser warheads, erasing chunks of the Koenig¡¯s armor in flares of plasma, but the last was a fusion blast.


    The bridge crew were uniformly thrown from their couches as the explosion rocked the ship.  The schematics on Kahtash¡¯s keyboard glowed amber as the lasers, smaller kinetic cannons and rocket tubes were stripped from an entire side of the vessel.  For a moment, its fusion torch flickered dangerously between amber and red before the indicator settled on amber. A sure sign that the housing was cracked or that the engine itself was damaged in some way.


    Threedak paced back and forth, her tail flicking nervously as the two battlegroups exchanged blows.  With half of her point defense weapons eliminated, the Ashley Koenig struggled to keep up with the onslaught of rockets.  The screening ships and drones did their best, gunning down at least fifty of the oncoming projectiles, but sixty to seventy of them got through in each wave.


    The Koenig quickly flipped its undamaged side toward the invaders and did its best to weave through the explosions and bursts of x-rays, but it still took a beating.  Twenty six x-ray lasers struck its belt armor. Most of them were absorbed by the armor but five struck weak points. Whether from a weapon emplacement buried in the hull, or an area where a previous laser had melted off armor, it didn¡¯t particularly matter.  The beams cut deep into the ship¡¯s interior, killing crew women and melting internal machinery.


    Threedak¡¯s fangs bit into the soft tissue of her mouth as she stared at the systems flickering from green to amber and amber to red on the display.  Luckily, it was able to avoid any further direct hits from warheads. The fusion warheads detonated around the Koenig, but a combination of ECM, deft maneuvering and luck kept any of them from exploding close enough to do anything more than scratch the ship¡¯s paint and dose the crew with a low amount of radiation.  A small miracle, but given the almost 250 kilometer range on the laser warheads, it made sense that they would be much more likely to weather a point defense barrage and strike the dodging ship.


    Their ships limped through the storm of rockets.  Most of the screening vessels were venting steam to try and keep their heat within reasonable levels, and the Koenig looked like a half melted candle covered in craters and divots, but the battle group remained intact.  Threedak sighed with relief before taking in the condition of the invader¡¯s screen.


    Five screening ships remained, surrounded by a slightly diminished cluster of fighters.  A couple of the survivors bore scars from Dhajtel laser warheads, but most of their combat capability appeared to be undiminished.  Of course, that wasn¡¯t even taking into account the three untouched invader torchships behind them. Laksheer knew better than to target the more heavily armored and defended warships given the low volume of rockets their battlegroup was able to launch.  Their only chance at damaging the invaders was to risk targeting the cheaper and more evasive screening vessels in the hope that their lighter armor would make them more vulnerable.


    The Koenig opened fire on the invader screen with its spinal kinetic cannon.  Threedak could almost feel the thrum of the great magnetic coils as the torchship fired a fusilade of three rounds into the charging cluster of invader warships.  Immediately the ship began venting steam to offset the sudden heat buildup from the energy hungry cannon. The gigantic shells fired their maneuvering thrusters, using their limited tracking ability to keep the agile screening vessels from escaping entirely.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Every ten seconds, the Koenig fired another three round burst at the enemy screening ships.  Threedak looked to Kahtash, worriedly.


    ¡°Are they not returning fire because they¡¯re low on shells or,¡± she trailed off, staring at the screen as the first set of shells arrived approximately 20 kilometers from the opposing ships where it separated into a hailstorm of hypervelocity flechettes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Kahtash shook her head.  ¡°The limited missiles and support ships implies a supply problem.  On the other hand, even if they have all the kinetic shells they need, the invaders don¡¯t see the need to waste them on screening vessels.  Even the flechettes seem a bit inefficient against so agile of vessels.¡±


    The first volley hit nothing but space, but the second got lucky.  One of the screening ships¡¯ engines failed briefly, likely due to the laser scar that dug deeply into the rear third of the vessel.  The ship tried to do a quick burn, like its companions, to evade the incoming cloud of metal, but its engine stuttered, giving the Dhajtel all the opening they needed. Three fifteen centimeter by one meter spears tore through the lightly armored vessel, leaving a trio of neat holes in one flank and a gout of plasma and debris spraying from the other.


    A brief cheer went up around the command center as the small vessel died.  Threedak didn¡¯t take her eyes from the display. The invader screening ships dodged and wove through the oncoming walls of steel.  As the range closed, they managed to catch one more screening vessel and a drone, instantly destroying the ships with the oversized weapons.


    Then the three remaining invader screens entered unguided kinetic range, and the plot erupted in fireworks.  The Koenig stopped firing its main cannon, instead deploying its armored radiators to try and grant its laboring heat syncs some respite while the drones and screening vessels rushed toward each other, firing everything.


    The Dhajtel ships on the display flickered as all four screens opened fire with their dual mounted railguns.  The weapons were modular as the rails tended to burn out and required replacement after forty to fifty shots, but they were cheap, light and deadly.  Everything a forward picket needed.


    The drones wove together, firing autocannons into each other at knife range.  The small craft only had a couple seconds of contact before their relative velocities pulled them apart, but those seconds were an orgy of destruction.  At a kilometer away, even the most maneuverable craft was entirely unable to dodge, and an almost continuous ripple of explosions later, only eight Dhajtel and fourteen invader drones remained.


    Another cheer went up in the command center as a railgun round slammed into the flank of an invader screen, ripping a furrow through the ship¡¯s armor and spinning it like a top.  The elation guttered out as an invader railgun round slammed into the prow of a Dhajtel screen. The bridge crew were flung forward into their restraints as their ship suddenly lost momentum.  A moment later it lost all power as secondary explosions from the kinetic penetrator that cored it destroyed the vessel¡¯s fusion reactor.


    The average railgun shot wasn¡¯t enough to destroy a screen.  Their light armor barely even slowed the penetrators, but the slugs were only large enough to destroy a couple rooms at a time.  Grim redundancy kept most of the screens on both side in the fight until they took three or four blows, but before long the Dhajtel¡¯s superior numbers bore fruit and the last invader screen floated dead in space, trailing a plume of twisted metal and plasma.  Unfortunately, the weakened and limping survivors of the engagement were easy prey for the drones.


    Threedak winced as the two remaining Dhajtel screens tried frantically to shoot down the oncoming drones.  Unfortunately, a laser pulse could only do so much at longer ranges. So long as the fighters made sure to juke and roll enough to prevent the lasers from focusing on one spot long enough to melt through their armor, it was difficult for the crippled screens to  kill enough of the small craft to make a difference. Of the fourteen drones that made it through the dogfight, only five avoided the screens¡¯ defenses long enough to achieve close range, but each of those erupted a little over 3 kilometers from the Dhajtel vessels.


    Spears of light reached out from the explosions, plowing meter-wide holes deep into both screens.  Their displays went red on the plot, and immediately the data being relayed to the Ashley Koenig through them from the drones ceased.  Silence filled the command center as the invader drones robbed them of even that partial victory.


    ¡°What in the hell was that!¡± Kahtash erupted into the silence.  ¡°I need an analyst to tell me what the hell just happened before I have to fucking eat them and pull the answer from their memories!¡±


    For a second, no one dared respond.  Then a rust colored Dhajtel hesitantly raised a grasper.


    ¡°No need to be shy,¡± Kahtash gestured toward her with frustration.  ¡°Out with it already.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± her tail twitched spasmodically in agitation.  ¡°The readings look like a Casaba Howitzer.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember humanity ever getting those to work at any sort of operational range,¡± Threedak cut in, frowning.


    ¡°Humanity didn¡¯t,¡± the brownish red Dhajtel shook her head.  ¡°They couldn¡¯t figure out a way to properly focus the nuclear blast to prevent the plasma from dispersing.  By the time the invaders came, they considered it a dead field and moved on to other pursuits.¡±


    ¡°A what howitzer?¡± Kahtash asked with a frown.  ¡°Remember, not all of us inherited William Drisco¡¯s memories.  My knowledge of physics is limited to how engines and weapons work.¡±


    ¡°Sorry ma¡¯am,¡± the analyst responded nervously.  ¡°Casaba Howitzers are nuclear charged directed plasma weapons.  A modified warhead vaporizes a shaped plate into plasma which is fired as an incredibly high velocity jet.  It disperses very quickly meaning that you need to get close to use it, but it¡¯s basically a much more dangerous version of our laser warheads at close range.¡±


    Any further discussion was cut off by the command center¡¯s communicator chirping.


    ¡°My Queen, Admiral,¡± Captain Laksheer¡¯s voice slurred, her image battered and stained with both soot and blood.  ¡°We are entering extreme kinetic range of the enemy torchships. Tell my daughters to sing songs of me.¡±


    She cut the connection, and the command center staff watched in silence as the Ashley Koenig withdrew its radiators and powered the capacitors for its main cannon.  Both sides began firing at almost the same time. It took almost thirty seconds for the kinetic rounds to cross the space between the ships and in that time the Koenig managed to fire 9 shells.  Already, the crippled ship¡¯s heat sinks were beginning to run hot as it futilely tried to vent enough steam to make a difference.


    The invader¡¯s partially guided shells tore into the Koenig like a starvok through carrion.  Captain Laksheer gave orders with an impossible calm as her armor shattered and systems began to fail.  She fired off one last salvo before a penetrator tore through her ship¡¯s forward reactor and cannon assembly.


    Her return fire wasn¡¯t in vain.  At least three flechette shells and one penetrator severely damaged an invader torchship, ripping most of its fore armor off and exposing a good portion of its inner workings to space.


    Another penetrator struck the Koenig and the image from the bridge winked out along with the ship¡¯s sensor feed.  No one spoke, respecting the tears tracing down Threedak¡¯s scaled muzzle as she wept for her granddaughters.

 14.1 Appendix (Not A Chapter)

    -Ranks-


    The Dhajtel Navy borrows heavily from human organizational charts.  Given that the Dhajtel barely could conceive of ocean¡¯s as a concept at the time that human memories were introduced, they largely just adopted what they learned from humanity wholesale, albeit minus some of the ranks that Kahtash found ¡®superfluous.¡¯  As a note, Dhajtel Marines follow the same ranking system and are generally considered a sub branch of the Navy.


    -Enlisted Ranks (borrowing heavily from the Airforce)


    Spacewoman


    Spacewoman First Class


    Senior Spacewoman


    -Noncommissioned Officer Ranks (NCOs are generally in charge of teams of enlisted Dhajtel handling most day to day matters from cleanliness, to combat readiness, to basic discipline).


    Petty Officer Third Class


    Petty Officer Second Class


    Petty Officer First Class


    Master Petty Officer


    -Warrant Officer Ranks (WOs are an area the Dhajtel diverge from Human navies.  Dhajtel WOs ar specialists, most often doctors, electronics specialists, or drone plots.  While they are still commanded by commissioned officers they are generally considered to be separate and coequal to their equivalent rank of NCO).


    Warrant Officer Third Class


    Warrant Officer Second Class


    Warrant Officer First Class


    Master Warrant Officer


    -Commissioned Officer Ranks


    Cadet - An unproven officer, usually still in training or just out of training and assigned to an experienced NCO


    Lieutenant Junior Grade - A junior but proven officer that no longer needs constant NCO supervision.  Traditionally in charge of a shift/watch on a ship or a platoon.


    Lieutenant - A junior officer, capable of limited independent command.  Many analysts are Lieutenants as are the commanders of small independent units such as scouting groups or drone flights.


    Lieutenant Commander - The lowest grade of officer given serious independent command.  Generally they are in charge of screening vessels, entire drone squadrons, and companies of marines.  They are found in subordinate roles in larger vessels or fleets.


    Commander - The highest rank of officer that doesn¡¯t necessarily command a vessel.  Commanders are the most senior officers in charge of screening vessels and oftentimes will be the officer in charge of a torchships entire complement of screeners.  Marine commanders run battalions. Commanders are also found as very senior analysts/aides in larger fleets. An Admiral¡¯s second will often be a commander.


    Captain - All captains have their own ship or ground unit.  Captains command either torchships or regiments. Although captain technically isn¡¯t a flag rank, it isn¡¯t uncommon for elements led by captains to operate independently.


    Commodore - The lowest flag rank, commodores command either multiple torchships or a division of marines.  It isn¡¯t unknown for commodores to pull double duty and also command a torchship directly.


    Rear Admiral - Rear admirals lead smaller fleets, task forces, and armies.


    Vice Admiral - Vice admirals lead large fleets and marine armies.


    Admiral - Senior flag officer.


    Fleet Admiral/Marshal - Only one Dhajtel can have this rank at the same time (and technically both titles apply).  This rank is the commander of all Dhajtel military forces. Currently held by Kahtash.


    -Ships-


    The human navy insisted on referring to their ships by ancient nautical terms such as frigate, destroyer, cruiser, and battleship.  It never made sense to Kahtash to tie your navy so firmly to its antiquated roots. The Dhajtel navy instead classifies its vessels by their purpose (which often includes an element of their size).


    -Drones are small unmanned vehicles capable of achieving great G forces by virtue of not having a Dhajtel inside them.  They are shaped like an X with the ¡®wings¡¯ functioning as a radiator. At the end of the wings, the ship has maneuvering thrusters to allow it to change its heading quickly.  For weapons, they usually carry autocannons to fight enemy drones, a ¡®sand cannon¡¯ that they use to defend their motherships from missiles, and a suicide warhead to detonate on enemy ships if they are allowed to draw close enough.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    -Screens are between 200 and 500 meters long and usually about ? as wide.  They are mounted with high performance but low efficiency engines (and minimal armor) that allow them to dance around most of the heavier shells fired by torchships.  That said, their range is very limited and oftentimes they have to be dragged to battles on a torchship¡¯s hardpoints.


    Their usual role is to intervene between fleets that engage in rocket duels, using their superior speed to draw close enough to oncoming rockets to shoot them down.  Additionally, they often serve as ¡®relays¡¯ to allow drone pilots on a torchship or capital ship to have better control over their vessels from a greater distance. Once the rocket phase of an engagement is over, Screens will often engage each other in short, bloody duels before using their mobility to try and dance around enemy ships and pelt them from afar.


    Screens are often armed with a combination of point defense/anti drone lasers, rocket tubes, and rapid firing rail guns (that need to be replaced after every battle).


    -Torchships are named for their fusion torches.  A bulky, expensive and efficient engine that makes interstellar travel possible.  Without fusion torches, it would be almost impossible to get ships to and from wormholes in a timely fashion.


    Torchships are large and heavily armed/armored.  Most are between 900 and 1400 meters in length and about ? as wide as they are long.  They are designed to operate independently and often tow a small task force of screening vessels along with them.


    Usually they are armed with one to two large spinal coilguns capable of delivering large shells at high speed across great distances.  The coilguns are supplemented by smaller kinetic turrets, lasers, rocket tubes, and drone contingents.


    -Capital Ships are more or less just larger torchships.  They do everything a torchship does and more while being fitted with more than one fusion torch for propulsion.   They often serve as the flagships for fleet elements, each capital ship can take and deliver a pounding.


    -Weapons and Engagements-


    Space combat consists primarily of three different types of weapons.  Lasers, kinetic and rockets. Although research is progressing in other fields (such as plasma/particle weapons) the current problem is that they aren¡¯t effective at useful ranges.  I.e. plasma and particle beams tend to ¡®bloom¡¯ or expand to the point where they aren¡¯t effective.


    -Lasers


    Lasers have a fairly long range, but they also suffer from ¡®bloom.¡¯  A modern laser doesn¡¯t just fire a blast, instead it pulses. Each blast turns a chunk of armor into plasma and that plasma will often interfere with the laser¡¯s effectiveness.  The ¡®pulse¡¯ is designed to give the plasma time to clear the impact site before repeating the process.


    Unfortunately, at long ranges lasers tend to be fairly diffuse, like .5-2m on target diffuse.  At those ranges, the heat from firing the laser is often worse for the ship firing it than the small amount of damage dealt to the recipient.  Still, they can be used to blind sensors and damage vulnerable equipment.


    At closer ranges, lasers are deadly and they basically don¡¯t miss.  This makes them one of the preferred point defense/anti drone weapons even if they have limited use outside of very close range encounters against larger ships.


    -Kinetics


    Kinetic weapons are the queens of mid ranged combat.  Especially when two ships are flying at each other, the speeds involved are fairly obscene making impacts especially deadly.  Kinetic weapons take many forms. Chemical propulsion are fairly simple and cheap to make, but they can¡¯t achieve the muzzle speed of other weapons.


    Rail guns fire a lot of rounds quickly and they¡¯re cheap to make.  Unfortunately, each shot scrapes a small amount of the metal rails, deforming them.  After a number of shots, their accuracy and speed decreases as the rails begin to break down.  Usually, the rails need to be replaced after every battle. Most modern ships use modular mounts that speed this process, but replacing a non modular railgun is an ordeal that requires drydock.


    Heavy coilguns are the Dhajtel navy¡¯s main ship killers. Rocket barrages might soften your opponent up, but the magnetically accelerated guided high velocity shells are usually what finishes them off.  Most coilguns are at least 500 m in length and spinal mounted, accelerating the shells to extreme speed. Most ships carry different kinds of shells (penetrators to go through heavy armor and flechettes to increase chances to hit at long range are the two most common).


    -Rockets


    Rockets are the first stage of naval combat due to their range and homing ability.  Both sides launch them at extreme range and drones, screens, and point defense thin out the swarms of rockets before they get close enough to strike.  Rockets are very susceptible to electronic counter measures, meaning that even if they get through their enemy¡¯s point defense, often they don¡¯t hit anything


    ¡®Rocket¡¯ is a generic term for the launch platform, with their payload coming in one of four main varieties.


    -Kinetic Penetrators are rarely used outside of point blank engagements.  They have the potential to do severe damage but managing to hit an opponent at the range and speed rockets are traditionally used at is a daunting task to say the least.  Most ships carry a couple kinetic payloads ¡®just in case¡¯ but they are almost never used.


    -Fusion Warheads are the heavy hitters of space combat.  Unfortunately, the rocket needs to get very close to its target (a mere km is often enough that it won¡¯t do much more than heat up a target and bubble paint) to be effective.  That said, a fusion warhead going off a couple hundred meters from a ship is sure to wreck its day. Given that most ships are dodging, using electronic countermeasures, and shooting at oncoming rockets at the same time- most fusion warheads are shot down or miss.  Of course, the damage caused by the ones that do hit encourages admirals to keep including them in warship loadouts.


    -Laser Warheads are the bread and butter of rocket warfare.  Once the rocket is within range, a fusion warhead detonates and control rods focus the x-rays from the blast into a coherent beam aimed at their target.  In short, a laser warhead is a much more powerful version of a laser, fired at very close (in stellar distances) range into an opponent. It doesn¡¯t deal nearly the damage of the other warheads, but it is much more likely to hit and the range at which it fires gives point defense less time to intercept the rocket.

 Chapter 15 - Drums of War

    ¡°What do you mean they think that it¡¯s a ruse,¡± Bekai thundered, her throat pouches flexing as her tail twitched ominously. ¡°Hundreds of their betters are cooling in deep space, their memories unclaimed, and these ancestor-less freaks have the nerve to claim that the entire incident was manufactured as some sort of war propaganda.¡±


    ¡°Calm down sister,¡± Dahlass still lay on her couch, avoiding eye contact with the hotheaded Bekai. ¡°The Maxist¡¯s are malcontents and radicals. They don¡¯t remember the fall of humanity the way we do, so they spin the entire thing into some sort of great hoax.¡±


    She paused, looking furtively at where Threedak reclined on her own couch overlooking the meeting. ¡°Some have even gone so far as to call Mother an imperialist for the way her and Kahtash went about subduing the surrounding tribes and forcing them to join Lament.¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m an imperialist,¡± Threedak snorted, instantly regretting the action as the influx of air caused her lungs to burn with the need to cough. Quickly, she drank from the pot of soothing herbal tea that had become her constant companion at these meetings. ¡°I am the Empress of an Empire. I will not apologize for what I have done to drag our race kicking and screaming out of the stone age. For as much as the Maxists complain, without me they would have been eaten by their sisters long ago.¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± Threedak fixed a reproaching gaze on Bekai. ¡°The one thing I do promise all of my subjects is an equal chance. If our Empire is to stay strong, it needs to remain a meritocracy. I want my citizens to be judged based upon their capability rather than the identity of their mother. Some may start off in a worse position than others because their mothers couldn¡¯t provide them with clear or valuable memories, and for those individuals there is no shame. We have schools and colleges to get them up to speed. I will not suffer anyone, even my daughters, to malign them as ¡®ancestor-less¡¯ or ¡®freaks.¡¯¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Bekai flopped down onto her couch, frowning. ¡°Some of my better apprentices aren¡¯t from our line. The Maxists they just¡­¡±


    She trailed off, tail twitching spasmodically. It¡¯s not like Threedak didn¡¯t know exactly what Bekai was thinking. In the days after the invader attack, Dhajtel society came together. Those that had strayed toward the soft lives of bankers and merchants refound their sense of unity. Ship construction and recruitment doubled almost overnight.


    Then the Maxists issued a broadcast claiming the entire thing was hoax or a false flag attack. Almost everyone was offended. The families of the dead even had a representative hand deliver a petition to Threedak demanding that the government find and punish those that spread the heinous lie. Still, the Maxists¡¯ lies didn¡¯t go completely unheeded. The dark and conspiratorial segments of Dhajtel society were already referring to the Battle of Gabriel as ¡®the great lie.¡¯


    ¡°We all know who your ire was for,¡± Threedak replied, sighing. ¡°The Maxists may try to push the myth that our society isn¡¯t egalitarian, butI don¡¯t want your anger to help them. All Dhajtel matter, even if some are born able to work and help the greater whole at a higher level. I don¡¯t want anyone using slurs maligning another Dhajtel for not having me in their family tree. Now, I think we¡¯ve sat about lazily sunning ourselves on this point long enough.¡±


    ¡°Pinrakt,¡± Threedak woke her daughter from whatever daydream consumed her. ¡°Please update us on the status of the memorial for the Battle of Gabriel.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Pinrakt cleared her throat, shaking her head slightly as her eyes refocused on the well appointed room and cameras surrounding them. ¡°The sculpture is finished, a large dark monolith for the Ashley Koenig and inscribed with the names of every Dhajtel that died in her destruction. Surrounding it are four smaller pillars with the names of the dead from the screening vessels. The walkway up to it is made of polished bricks inscribed with the names of all seventeen thousand Dhajtel from the convoy that survived due to their sacrifice.¡±


    A rare smile crossed Pinrakt¡¯s face. ¡°The opening ceremony and song for the memorial have been completed,¡± she continued. ¡°One of my better works honestly. It¡¯s just a matter of making the chorus and orchestra practice them before the ceremony next month.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Threedak smiled down at her daughter. Sometimes Pinrakt worried her. She always had her head in the clouds, focusing on the next project or installation and rarely interacting with her peers. Of course, her art was very good, but Threedak still wished that she would get out more.


    ¡°Marshal Kahtash,¡± Threedak¡¯s mouth quirked as she turned away from Pinrakt. Kahtash tried to hide it behind her usual stoic demeanor, but Threedak could tell how proud she was of the title. ¡°Please update us on the state of the military since the attack.¡±


    ¡°Bekai has made good use of the time the invaders have given us,¡± Kahtash stood up from her couch, graspers crossed formally in front of her torso. ¡°With the round the clock work and sacrifice of our laborers, the navy has commissioned a new torchship, twelve new screeners and three hundred drones. The new torchship has been commissioned the Gabriel and it is in the middle of its shakedown cruise now. In a couple of weeks it should be ready for combat.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of combat,¡± Threedak interrupted her daughter. ¡°How far along has combat planning against the invaders come.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°We¡¯ll obviously have a private briefing after the public one,¡± Kahtash replied, looking meaningfully at one of the cameras. ¡°That said, things are going well. The solar collection panels on the belt have been programmed so that we can use them as a sort of impromptu laser if the invaders try to approach Dhaj. Additionally there are about twenty eight screening vessels and four hundred drones that don¡¯t have berths on the home fleet. They¡¯re currently slotted for ¡®system patrol¡¯ and as replacements for anticipated losses, but they could likely fight off a fairly decent sized attacking force if pressed into service.¡±


    ¡°Our scouts have shown minimal movement on the part of the invaders,¡± she reached forward with a grasper and pressed a button on the table located equidistant from all of Threedak¡¯s daughters. ¡°We¡¯ve spotted a total of five torchships located in and around Michael¡¯s moons including the three that attacked the Ashley Koenig. There appears to be a station and orbital elevator over one of the smaller moons that they spend most of their time docked at. The scouts have spotted some sort of city or encampment on thermals but other than that we don¡¯t have a whole lot of information.¡±


    ¡°As for the offensive itself,¡± Kahtash briefly flashed a toothy grin. ¡°Dhaj¡¯s defenses are already in place, once the Gabriel gets the green light, we¡¯ll be ready to begin. The plan is to send out the Empress Threedak with six torchships in support. Given the numbers we¡¯ve seen that should be enough for a comfortable victory.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Kahtash shrugged ruefully, ¡°we can¡¯t know for sure. The invader ships are slightly better than ours and we won¡¯t know if they have any more tricks like the Casaba Howitzer until they pull them out.¡±


    ¡°You may launch the fleet when ready,¡± Threedak replied, nodding to her daughter while trying to keep a regal expression on her face. Internally, she was ready for the offensive to take place as soon as possible. The invaders were both barbaric and dangerous. Even if she didn¡¯t want revenge for Laksheer, she just wouldn¡¯t be comfortable sharing a system with one of their outposts.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Kahtash faltered for a second before regaining her usual confidence. ¡°I would like to be in command of the Empress Threedak. Too much can go wrong with commanding remotely. The time delay prevents me from commanding effectively.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not!¡± Threedak bellowed, her neck pouches expanding as she stormed to her feet. Her other daughters began whispering excitedly. ¡°You are too important to the empire to risk on an expedition. I need you to keep our military and intelligence running smoothly.¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯ve already heard this debate,¡± Bekai cut in chuckling. ¡°During the unification of Lament, I recall making the same arguments to you. As I recall, you resisted even waiting until we could craft crude metal armor for you.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Kahtash¡¯s voice cracked. For perhaps the first time since her birth, Threedak saw a hint of tears and desperation in her daughter¡¯s eyes. ¡°Captain Laksheer died a hero, but she died far from home. I was helpless to stop what happened to her, but I will not stand by as that happens to yet more of my sisters and daughters. The Empress Threedak is the largest ship produced by the Empire. I will be as safe there as possible, but I need to do this.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Dahlass spoke, her voice quiet and hesitant. ¡°I believe that this is the first time Kahtash has asked for something in this fashion. In the past she has advised you or given suggestions, but it sounds to me like she needs this.¡±


    ¡°Plus,¡± a weak smile flashed across her muzzle, ¡°if we are going to prove the Maxists wrong, what better way than to show that all Dhajtel are committed to the war effort. You did it by leading from the front during the unification of Lament, and now Kahtash wants to follow in your footsteps.¡±


    Dahlass collapsed back into her couch, almost quivering from the emotional effort of opposing her Mother. Threedak opened her mouth to reply only to pause. Her daughters spoke the truth. It would be helpful to the empire if Kahtash led the fleet, and as far as she could tell, her daughter needed this.


    Kahtash had always been a doer. While Bekai and Threedak might butt heads and debate an issue for days, Kahtash would usually just take charge and accomplish her priorities. Combined with her perfectionist streak, Threedak knew that Kahtash must think of the Battle of Gabriel as an abject failure. Hundreds of her soldiers had died while Kahtash was stuck on Meridian station, watching their lives get snuffed out one by one on the feed.


    As much as Threedak wanted to keep her daughters home where it was safe, that was simply impossible. With invaders in the system, everything would be dangerous. If Kahtash was going to command her navy, Threedak needed to step aside and let her daughter actually serve in the navy. Given the disparity in projected task force sizes, keeping Kahtash home would be worse for her daughter¡¯s well-being and psyche than the actual small chance of her getting injured in combat.


    Plus, with both Dahlass and Bekai intervening on Kahtash¡¯s behalf it just wouldn¡¯t be right to overrule them. Pinrakt almost never voiced her opinion unless they discussed one of her projects, meaning that the chamber was borderline unanimous in its support of Kahtash. Even Dahlass, ever competent but generally unwilling to speak up without Threedak specifically asking for her opinion, had spoken in Kahtash¡¯s favor.


    ¡°Fine,¡± Threedak replied, breaking the long silence while nodding toward Kahtash. ¡°You are the Marshal of the Empire¡¯s armed forces. If you think that our navy would be better served by you commanding from the front, that should ultimately be your choice to make. I am ordering you to take all steps necessary to minimize the risk to your own life, but beyond that I only ask that you exercise your discretion.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Mother,¡± Kahtash spoke quietly, not making eye contact with Threedak in an attempt to hide her uncharacteristic flash of emotions. ¡°I will make sure that Captain Laksheer and her crew are avenged.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Threedak smiled, her sharp teeth peeking into view. ¡°It is not the way of our people to simply ignore one that has wronged us. We may wait and bide our time, but we always remember. Even if we cannot act against them, we ensure that our daughters carry our memories and resentments.¡±


    ¡°Kahtash,¡± Threedak continued. ¡°You will be both humanity and the Dhajtel¡¯s collective sword. Strike true and excise this pocket of the invader¡¯s taint from the galaxy.¡±

 Chapter 16 - At the Threshold

    Threedak stood on Meridian Station¡¯s observation deck silently. To her right stood Dahlass and Bekai while Pinrakt and Dormah occupied her left. It was a rare occasion for three of her daughters to be present at the same time with Threedak. The threat of Maxist terrorism loomed large, and potential loss to the empire if an unlucky bomb or radiation leak eliminated all of them at the same time would be catastrophic.


    Still, Threedak wouldn¡¯t hear otherwise. Kahtash¡¯s fleet was leaving Dhaj¡¯s orbit to accomplish something the humans never had. To beat back the invaders.


    Slowly, the brilliant white plumes of the fleet¡¯s fusion torches disappeared from view as the incredible distance robbed the ships of all semblance of speed. Remoteness was funny that way. Intellectually, Threedak knew that the ships were moving away at kilometers per second relative to Dhaj, but in her vision they crawled. It was the same with the planet. Great cities housing millions of Dhajtel appeared to just be motes of silver and light from the heights of the belt.


    Threedak sighed and glanced at Dormah. Maybe it was the melancholy of watching her daughter go off to risk her life, but she couldn¡¯t help but wonder what time and distance would do to her memory after she passed. True, those who consumed her would remember Threedak with perfect clarity, but who would she be to the rest of the Dhajtel?


    The Maxists sought to demonize her, slandering her with words they barely understood. Maybe she was an imperialist, but she certainly wasn¡¯t bourgeoisie. She snorted. If they were going to try and insult her, they should actually try to be accurate.  How could an Empress be anything but a feudal lord and monarchist?


    Frankly, these days robots did most of the factory work and the Maxists drew their numbers from amongst the clerks and managers. If anything, the Maxists were the bourgeoisie. Of course, none of them actually understood Marx enough to know that. It was just words to them, an excuse to work less despite the ravening starvok of the invaders at the Dhajtel¡¯s collective throats.


    She smiled slightly as Pinrakt shifted behind her. Her daughter was only a little bit better than the Maxists. Pinrakt and her disciples sought to preserve the early history of the empire via art, but nearly all of it lionized Threedak. Whether in painting, sculpture or vid drama, she was always portrayed as a noble and intrepid pioneer braving untold hardships to force culture on her neighbors. Every Dhajtel that played her was at least twenty percent larger than she was, their coloration computer enhanced until they practically glowed.


    After a decade or two of fawning media, Threedak was pretty sure that her citizens wouldn¡¯t be able to recognize her in a crowd. Her daughters and her guards dwarfed her, and her coloration was still muted from a harsh growth phase with barely enough food and zero shelter. She certainly wasn¡¯t the dashing figure cut by the vid stars as they slashed and quipped their way through the surrounding tribes.


    Finally, she exhaled, doing her best to avoid coughing, and turned to her daughters. Bekai was still staring out of the viewport, a pensive look on her face while Dahlass fretted, opening and closing her graspers while shifting her weight. Pinrakt, per usual, gazed off into space, disconnected and aloof.


    ¡°I worry too,¡± Threedak spoke quietly to her daughters, ¡°but your sister will be fine. Her fleet outmasses the invaders by almost 50%.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Bekai replied, her throat pouches fluttering with discomfort. ¡°At the same time I can¡¯t help but worry. We only have long range passive scans of the invader base. For all we know they have another three torchships powered down and ready to spring on us. I really won¡¯t feel safe until she¡¯s close enough to scan them with active sensors.¡±


    ¡°Even if she wins,¡± Dahlass fussed at her sides, trying to smooth her scales with her grasper, ¡°there will be casualties. She¡¯s in the most powerful ship in the fleet, but that could just make her a bigger target for the invaders. I don¡¯t want her to win at the cost of her own life.¡±


    ¡°Come now,¡± Threedak chuckled slightly as she led the other Dhajtel away from the viewport.  ¡°You¡¯re the ones who convinced me to let her lead the expedition. It¡¯s hardly fair that I have to be the one quieting your concerns.¡±


    ¡°Either way it will be almost a week before Kahtash¡¯s fleet gets anywhere near the invaders,¡± Bekai said from behind Threedak. ¡°I don¡¯t want to spend that time worrying.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m just concerned that something I did will hurt Kaht,¡± Bekai sighed. ¡°We¡¯ve tested the systems on all of the ships a thousand times, ran their thrusters at 100% while having them fire at static targets. Everything we could think of. I just can¡¯t help but fret over the possibility that we missed something in the designs and they¡¯ll break down at a critical point in combat. I really don¡¯t know how I¡¯ll be able to take a week of anxiety without any sort of resolution.¡±


    ¡°We just need something to take our minds off the invaders,¡± Dahlass interjected, her tail twitching restlessly. ¡°Bekai has been meeting her production numbers, but my analysts have noticed a worrying trend.¡±


    She paused, forcing the rest of the group to stop or leave her behind. Threedak simply looked at her daughter, waiting for Dahlass to finish. Bekai on the other hand was less patient.


    ¡°Out with it Dahl,¡± she snorted. ¡°You just can¡¯t drop a cliffhanger like that and get all shy. It¡¯s just not how things work.¡±


    ¡°The Maxists,¡± Dahlass blurted out, her tail thumping against the station¡¯s metal floor. ¡°Their propaganda has been more effective than expected. It¡¯s still not a lot of people but we¡¯ve always had about 10% of our population, usually not from our line, that don¡¯t buy completely into the concept of unity. They still work their jobs but they¡¯re disaffected, not truly connected with our society.¡±


    ¡°The increase in workload as we geared up for Kahtash¡¯s expedition led to a lot of complaints and dissatisfaction from them,¡± Dahlass continued. ¡°Many of the complainers are flirting with joining the Maxists. That¡¯s the bad news, that so many of our people would be willing to sell out our collective destiny just to work a few less hours a day. The good news is that the influx of Maxist recruits has allowed us to infiltrate them.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Threedak interjected before breaking down into a series of coughs that wracked her body. After almost a minute, she continued speaking, exhausted. ¡°Do we know the location of their central leadership committee?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Dahlass responded cautiously. ¡°Are you alright? That was¡­¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Bekai¡¯s eyes were fixed on Dormah who was studiously avoiding her gaze. ¡°You¡¯d tell us if something were wrong right? I¡¯ve noticed Dormah nearby almost as much as Bahwel and the rest of your guards. Is there anything that we need to worry about?¡±


    ¡°Now isn¡¯t the time to be concerned about that,¡± Threedak waved a grasper dismissively, still gasping for breath. ¡°We need to bring down the Maxists once and for all. It was one thing when they were just advocating for work slow downs and increases in pay. Once they started bombing factories and killing Dhajtel, they sealed their own fates.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°But,¡± Dahlass stared at Threedak, worry in her eyes as their membranes nictated.


    ¡°Kahtash isn¡¯t here so command falls on you Dahlass,¡± Threedak put her grasper on her daughter¡¯s shoulder, squeezing tenderly. ¡°Talk to the marines and put together a team. Use as many soldiers as you want. I don¡¯t want any of them to escape.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t change the subj-¡± Bekai began, still staring down Dormah.


    ¡°I am the Empress and I will change the subject if I want to,¡± Threedak replied dryly. ¡°Your concern is noted and appreciated, but it is time to rid ourselves of these parasites once and for all.¡±


    Four days later, Threedak and her daughters reconvened in Meridian Station¡¯s command center. They still fussed and fretted over her, but Threedak wasn¡¯t going to let her health stop her from purging their society. She didn¡¯t mind dissidents. After all, even the smartest of beings were prone to miss important details here and there. Having a subset of the Dhajtel that disagreed with her viewpoint was an important element of preventing it from growing stagnant.


    That said, denying simple truths was anathema. That the invaders existed. That all Dhajtel needed to work in order to thrive. That their society was better off today than it was as a collection of hunter-gatherers, dying to hunger, disease, or predators almost as soon as they were hatched. This was a viewpoint that harmed the Dhajtel as a whole. Honest disagreement was to be cherished and nurtured, but parasites that denied the rain even while standing soaked in the open. They needed to be removed from the whole before they poisoned others.


    ¡°Dahlass,¡± Threedak nodded her head toward her rather skittish daughter. ¡°Please announce the beginning of the operation.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Dahlass fretted. ¡°This is Kahtash¡¯s job, I don¡¯t want to overstep my authority. Are you sure that we can¡¯t just wait until she gets-¡±


    ¡°Daughter,¡± Threedak chided her softly, a smile stretched across her muzzle. ¡°Kahtash is better at fighting and leading in combat than any Dhajtel ever hatched, but you are the best at organizing and supplying an operation. This is not the early days. You are not fighting an existential threat to our empire. You are crushing a bug that we have let live on for too long. It will be fine. Give the order.¡±


    Dahlass ran her graspers over the scales on her face and neck, smoothing them one last time. Then she reached forward and pressed a button on the command center, bringing up the image of Dhajtel wearing battle armor painted in the colors of the Imperial Marines.


    ¡°Captain Salaht,¡± Dahlass spoke, a quaver in her voice slightly undermining the formal tone she attempted to take. ¡°Please initiate Operation Haunting Spectre.¡±


    Threedak smiled again. As much as she enjoyed watching Dahlass come into her own and overcome her omnipresent nervousness, Threedak had intervened to name the operation. Even if the Maxists didn¡¯t know the first thing about Karl Marx himself, that didn¡¯t mean that Threedak¡¯s memories didn¡¯t contain the contents of his books. Given the senseless violence and setbacks caused by the Maxists, at the very minimum she could have some fun at their very final expense.


    ¡°With pleasure Minister,¡± Captain Salaht¡¯s voice was clipped and formal. Threedak forgot if she was Kahtash¡¯s daughter or granddaughter. Over the years, the family lines had all become a bit indistinct. Regardless, she had inherited her sire¡¯s serious tone of voice and burnt orange striping.


    From the belt, twenty dropships fell into the atmosphere. Ungainly and ugly vessels, each was capable of reaching orbit under their own power, but today they displayed their primary purpose. Gliding on stubby wings the dark craft glowed in the dark Dhaj night as the atmosphere heated their plating cherry red, turning them into a deadly hail of shooting stars. On cue they all banked and changed their angle of descent, shedding momentum and letting their plating cool slightly.


    Minutes ticked by as they flew toward their target, located in the hills just outside Lament, without using their thrusters. It would be wrong to call the flight silent, after all, the speed with which they plowed through the atmosphere easily generated a sonic boom and the heavily dopplered sound of a freight train. Still, with their reactors silent and their thrusters unburnt, they were fairly hard to see on advanced sensors.


    The view in the command center switched to a spy satellite floating overhead. As the dropships rumbled toward their target, each of them began firing their fore-mounted railguns, jerking as their forward momentum slowed from the cannons¡¯ heavy kick. The penetrators left hand sized holes in the gates of the compound before their kinetic energy discharged into great blooming mushroom clouds in its interior.


    Then the dropships rattled visibly on the overhead view as their drop tubes fired backward. Of the twenty ships, fifteen rapidly fired fifty pods. Little more than black armored shells equipped with drag chutes, single-use landing engines, and impact resistant gel, each carried a Dhajtel warrior in full battle armor. The other five dropships opened up cargo bays, releasing walkers strapped to landing platforms festooned with parachutes and counter thrusters. The walkers themselves had barely changed from their first introduction, serving as legged/wheeled heavy support tanks depending upon terrain. A full armored battalion. Overkill, but overkill that the Maxists had richley earned.


    The dropships bombardiers did their job, countering much of their ships forward momentum with the backward facing launches and landing the infantry in tight clusters. Quickly, the marines recovered from their rough landings and kicked open the sides of their drop pods as the walkers began their final gliding approach.


    The Maxist compound was in chaos. One or two Dhajtel got to old style chemical machineguns and began spraying the advancing forces only for the bullets to bounce harmlessly off of their heavy powered battle armor. Threedak could almost hear the heavy crack of rail rifles as the marines returned fire. The heavy caliber long range slugs simply shredded the enemy emplacements. The hand held rail files took time to charge their capacitors, making them slow single-shot weapons, but their range and anti armor potential was unparallelled.


    After the first volley, the rest of the marines charged, needle carbines at the ready to pick off any Dhajtel foolish enough to pop her head over the compound¡¯s walls. Just short of the gate, an officer waved a metal encased grasper, bringing the column to a halt.


    On cue, two of the walkers fired their heavy coil guns. The coil guns were a pared down version of the weapons on torchships, but their effect was certainly spectacular. The gate, and a significant portion of the supporting wall, simply disintegrated in a flash of light as they were shredded by metal flechettes.


    The Maxists did their best to fight back. Pockets of resistance formed around rebels with crude rocket launchers or recoilless rifles as they tried ineffectually to use chemical rifles to stop the oncoming marines. Ultimately, it was futile. Even a needle carbine would struggle with battle armor¡¯s thickness leaving only the Maxists armed with heavy weapons as threats. Threats that were quickly eliminated by the walkers¡¯ heavy coil guns or rail rifles firing through walls.


    The scary thing about the heavy electronically propelled penetrators wasn¡¯t necessarily the slug itself. At high enough speed, they simply turned whatever they hit into plasma. Now, if the target had enough armor, this usually meant that there would be a suitably theatrical explosion on its surface. With the thinner interior walls of the compound however, the penetrator would put a small hole into the outside barrier. The inside however would be sprayed with remains of the wall and a wave of overpressure that would hit with the force of a blowtorch combined with a grenade.


    Without battle armor, any one of these forces would be enough to kill a Dhajtel. The shockwave from the shell passing through was enough to rupture their lungs. The flash heating was enough to cook everyone in the room to death simultaneously. Even the shrapnel from the shattered wall was enough to mince entire squads. With battle armor, a Dhajtel in a room hit by a coil gun penetrator would require immediate medical attention. Without, the results were messy.


    Within fifteen minutes, the battle was over. There weren¡¯t survivors mostly because the shock and brutality of the attack was such that the Maxists didn¡¯t even get a chance to surrender. Most died before they even realized that the marines were approaching their rooms in the compound. Threedak slapped Bekai¡¯s shoulder, and her daughter gave her a fierce grin. All was as it should be.

 Chapter 17 - Making History

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to keep lying for your Threedak,¡± Dormah hissed at her as she packed her diagnostic equipment into its carrying satchel.  ¡°Your daughters have clearly noticed that something is amiss, and now they¡¯re turning to me. I won¡¯t speak to them without your permission, but they deserve to know.¡±


    ¡°Dormah,¡± Threedak chuckled as she stood up from her couch.  ¡°I think you¡¯re the only Dhajtel to refer to me by my name in over a decade.  It¡¯s always Mother, Grandmother or Empress. I do have to say that your impertinence is refreshing, the bowing and scraping grows old after a while.¡±


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ll start deferring to you when you actually take your health seriously,¡± Dormah snorted, snapping the latches on the satchel shut before slinging it over her shoulder.  ¡°This isn¡¯t a game we¡¯re playing here. Your daughters have the right to know.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll just worry,¡± Threedak answered with a sigh.  ¡°There¡¯s already just so much going on between the Maxist insurrection and the invader outpost.  If I tell them they¡¯d just fret over me rather than focus on the starvok at the empire¡¯s door. I will not let some minor pains of the flesh become a distraction from our purpose and destiny.¡±


    ¡°Threedak,¡± Dormah put a grasper on her shoulder as she tried to step by the doctor.  ¡°They do worry. Bekai has been asking me more and more pointed questions about your health since yesterday, and Dahlass even brought something up.  You know they¡¯re almost out of their minds if Dahlass is mentioning it.¡±


    Threedak stopped.  The grasper on her shoulder weighed heavily on her.  Thoughts swirled through her head. The past fifty or so years had been like walking a tightrope through a hurricane.  Kahtash, Bekai, Dahlass, and in her own way Pinrakt provided her with the support she needed to keep their fledgling society on course, even during the darkest of times.  It didn¡¯t seem fair to dump more worries into their graspers now, when the empire faced its greatest test.  But, Dormah was right. Her daughters worried and it wasn¡¯t fair for her to keep them in the dark.


    ¡°How much longer do I have?¡± She asked the doctor quietly, turning her head slightly so that Dormah¡¯s muzzle filled her view.


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to say,¡± Dormah sighed.  ¡°It¡¯s metastasized and spread through the entirety of your lungs.  You¡¯ve probably noticed an increased difficulty with breathing. That¡¯s only going to get worse until-¡±


    The communicator around Threedak¡¯s neck chirped, interrupting Dormah.  Frowning, she picked the small metal box up in a grasper and checked the sender.


    ¡°We have to go Dormah,¡± Threedak opened the door to her quarters.  ¡°Kahtash¡¯s fleet is nearing the enemy outpost and she wants to speak to me before battle.¡±


    She moved to exit the room but stopped.  Turning to face Dormah once more, she continued.  ¡°I¡¯ll call the girls to me and tell them once Kahtash comes back from the battle.  Don¡¯t worry about me old friend. I¡¯ve survived too many years for this body to give out on me now.  There¡¯s still a bit of fight left in me yet.¡±


    Dormah simply stood in her chambers, her muzzle set into a line and shaking her head as Threedak departed.  Threedak sighed. They¡¯d been over this argument so many times it made her head spin. She could stretch her life out further if she retired from public duty.  Relaxed and sought treatment.


    But that wouldn¡¯t be her.  Threedak¡¯s life was one of motion.  Every move had two planned after it as she pulled her race kicking and screaming toward its destiny.  Dormah wanted her to retire, but to Threedak that would be just as much of a death as the one that awaited her if she kept working.


    She cleared her face of the worries and indecision that dogged her just before entering Meridian Station¡¯s command center.  Bekai and Pinrakt were already waiting for her, standing next to the holographic display. Dahlass was still on Dhaj, reorganizing in the aftermath of the raid on the Maxist compound.  She would participate via her own communication hub.


    The entire battle and all of their reactions would be recorded for posterity.  Pinrakt¡¯s editors would be splicing it together into a vid drama for the masses.  Part history and part propaganda, the vids would be the empire¡¯s official response to the Maxist claims regarding the invaders.  True, some of the fringe Dhajtel might think that the vid was doctored, but without an organized response from the Maxist propaganda wing, their numbers would be limited.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Bekai inclined her head to Threedak as she approached the holographic display.  ¡°We¡¯ve received a signal from Kahtash¡¯s communication officer. They¡¯re ready to put you on fleetwide on ten seconds notice.  Right now the fleet is just waiting for your address.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Threedak replied, stepping in front of the cameras that would broadcast a three dimensional image of herself to the battlefleet and governmental offices all across the empire.


    ¡°This is Meridian Station,¡± Bekai said after pressing the transmit button.  ¡°Empress Threedak will begin transmitting in ten seconds.¡±


    She stood as tall as her slight stature would let her on four legs and tried to ignore the bustle of the Dhajtel operating equipment behind her.  She didn¡¯t often speak to all of her people. Rather, she had become an almost mythological figure working behind the scenes to ensure the empire¡¯s growth and success.  Even if she was unpracticed as a public speaker, the memories of Jon Reaves and Franklin Mitchell were there to guide her. Her eyelids closed for a second as she mentally leaned on both of them, absorbing their thoughts and advice.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Then the light next to the camera turned green and Threedak¡¯s eyes snapped open.


    ¡°Women of the Navy,¡± Threedak squared herself toward the camera, trying to look as formal as possible.  ¡°My name is Threedak and you may know me as the Empress of the Dhajtel. Others amongst you know me as their mother, grandmother or great grandmother.  Whatever our relation, I am speaking to you from a place of immense gratitude.¡±


    ¡°As you know, everything we have created on Dhaj is transitory,¡± she continued, a grasper waving at the planet beneath her feet.  ¡°Our race¡¯s legacy has always been the stars themselves. Any civilization tied to just one planet could disappear in the nictation of a membrane.  Only by expanding our empire to multiple worlds can we give our daughters room to grow and the security they will need to join us.¡±


    ¡°Even before we touched the stars we knew that the Dhajtel were not alone,¡± Threedak¡¯s voice lowered as her neck pouches swelled, the instinctive response of a Dhajtel responding to a challenge.  ¡°The galaxy is a vast and dangerous place. From Humanity we have inherited knowledge and purpose, a birthright like no other. We have also inherited their enemies. The invaders.¡±


    ¡°Everything we have built is in their shadows,¡± her voice vibrated as the pouches thrummed.  ¡°From the first day we smelted iron and fashioned it into a crude blade, we knew that the invaders were that blade¡¯s eventual goal.  We assumed we would have centuries. Our world is so far from Earth that we would have time to expand the empire and build up our forces before we encountered the invaders.¡±


    ¡°We were wrong,¡± Threedak¡¯s voice quieted.  Her eyes glistened with unshed moisture. ¡°I never bothered to ask where the invader fleet that shot down the arks went.  I never even thought that it still might be in the system, licking its wounds. Captain Laksheer due to that oversight. Sacrificed herself so that tens of thousands of your sisters and daughters might escape to Dhaj and live.¡±


    ¡°We were wrong,¡± her voice swelled, a bass thrum that almost rattled the equipment in the command center.  ¡°But we were not unprepared. Even before we expanded our solar colonies, we built up the navy to expel just such a threat.¡±


    ¡°Today,¡± her breath began to burn in her throat from the prolonged speech but Threedak continued regardless.  ¡°I envy all of you. You are taking up my mantle to avenge Captain Laksheer and protect our race. The enemy is vicious and well armed.  Not all of you will survive the coming conflict, but the rest will return victorious with blood wetting your teeth and a song in your hearts.¡±


    ¡°Marshal Kahtash,¡± Threedak fought with her entire being to avoid coughing as the air burned and rasped through her lungs like sandpaper.  ¡°Though the stars may burn and the sky may fall, you will lead my daughters to victory. I would tell you to make me proud, but you already have.  All of you have. Commence the operation, you have command.¡±


    With a chop of Threedak¡¯s grasper, Bekai pressed the button that terminated the transmission.  Immediately, Threedak doubled over coughing, her entire torso shaking as her lungs spasmed in agony.  Pinrakt stepped forward, extending her grasper toward Threedak only for Threedak to shoo her away.


    ¡°There will be time to talk of this when Kahtash returns,¡± Threedak ground out, furtively checking the grasper that had been over her mouth for blood.  This time, there was none. ¡°For now, edit my weakness out of the stream. To the people, I am a symbol. They can¡¯t hear any word of this.¡±


    The room swam around Threedak as she struggled to pull enough air into her aching lungs.  If Dormah were nearby and they weren¡¯t in public, the doctor could provide her with a facemask pumping pure cool oxygen to soothe her ravaged pulmonary system.  Today, that wasn¡¯t an option. The people needed their symbol standing tall and strong as they triumphed over their hated foes. For the moment, infirmity wasn¡¯t an option.


    After the delay enforce on their communications by light speed transmission, Kahtash¡¯s image appeared on the holographic display, most of her body hidden behind the environmental suit designed to keep her alive in the event of sudden depressurization.  Through the suit¡¯s facemask, Threedak could see the resolve in her daughter¡¯s face, highlighted by her dark orange markings. She slammed her armored forearm to the chest of her suit in clattering salute.


    ¡°The Empress has given her order,¡± Kahtash replied, steel in her voice.  ¡°Turn on active sensors so we can see what we¡¯re dealing with. It¡¯s time to pay back the invaders that butchered Captain Laksheer in kind.  We might have been unable to collect her body for her daughters, but we WILL end this threat to our people today and we will do it in memory of her sacrifice.¡±


    Beyond Kahtash, the bridge erupted into cheers.  A far cry from the uneasy silence filling the command center as most of the staff looked at her worriedly.  Threedak refused to let their worry trouble her. Kahtash was on the cusp of history, in a mere hour or so she would be the first being, Dhajtel or Human to defeat the invaders.  Admittedly, the fleets the humans encountered dwarfed the handful of run down torchships Kahtash would be facing today. Still, even a lopsided win would be good for morale.


    The data from the active sensor ping came back, and Threedak let out a sigh of relief.  There were only five invader torchships around the moon. The only information the active sensors added to their scouting report was the moderate industrialization of the moon.  Small craft periodically flew to and from the planetoid, likely carrying goods and materials. They were building something.


    Threedak frowned.  Whatever the invaders were building, it wasn¡¯t done yet.  The constant flow of cargo ships told her that. What worried her was the amount of time the invaders had to build whatever it was.  She didn¡¯t know when this particular moon was colonized, but the invaders had likely been in system since Ashley Koenig¡¯s shuttle crashed into the great desert.  That was a long time to build something that wasn¡¯t yet working.


    On screen, the great green oval representing the two kilometer bulk of the Empress Threedak surged forward surrounded by the six green triangles of her torchship companions.  The time for indecision and worrying was over. If the invaders had built something capable of tipping the balance on the moon, Kahtash would find out shortly.  For now, there was nothing to do but wait as the great warships burned toward the enemy base.

 Chapter 18 - Reclamation

    The bridge of the Empress Threedak slipped into tense silence on the viewscreen. The Dhajtel settled into their couches, steeling themselves against the g forces as the fleet increased its burn rate. Next to Threedak, Bekai glanced at her worriedly. Threedak kept her gaze on the monitor. Her daughter¡¯s concern and curiosity could wait for another couple of days. For the moment, she refused to split her attention from the cameras watching her and the viewscreen. Even if each breath felt like she was sucking down hot glass, history demanded that she stand tall in this moment.


    Almost as one the invader ships began clustering around the moon¡¯s station, powering up their engines and moving periodically so as to prevent Kahtash¡¯s fleet from hitting them with any kinetic shells at extreme range. Theoretically, in space there was nothing to stop a projectile so long as the pull of the nearby gas giant¡¯s gravity was taken into account. That said, compared to lasers, even the fastest kinetic penetrators moved at an absolute crawl. Past a certain range, even the newest whelp could simply track incoming rounds and drift out of the way with a minimal expenditure of reaction mass.


    ¡°It looks like they see us girls,¡± Kahtash¡¯s voice was slightly off pitch as the inertia compressed her into her command couch. ¡°All torchships, please target the enemy station with your main cannons. Arm penetrators and fire one volley at 907 hours precisely. Fire a second volley at 909 hours. We will assess damage after the kinetics hit. At a very minimum we can keep them on their toes. Force them to deploy screens and fighters to protect the station long before we get into range.¡±


    Kahtash flicked out her tongue instinctively, tasting the stale air inside of her helmet. ¡°So far the invaders have deployed fewer screening vessels per torchship than expected and displayed an unwillingness to fire their full complement of rockets. It¡¯s a guess but our analysts think we have the resource advantage. If they are having trouble rearming or refueling, trading slugs for their screen¡¯s reaction mass at range will only increase our chances when we get closer.¡±


    Threedak¡¯s eyes flicked to the command center¡¯s indicators. The meter marking each torchship¡¯s capacitor banks filled, changing from yellow to green. They fired their volley silently, each torchship rocking as the heavy shells traveled the entire length of the vessel only to be flung at incredible speed into the emptiness of space. Two minutes later, the torchships shook once again as the second volley was dumped into space.


    The ships didn¡¯t even retract their radiators, dumping the heat from their constantly accelerating drives and heavy cannons as rapidly as possible into the depths of space. Yellow indicators began to fade toward green as the heat sinks returned to their nominal state.


    Threedak flicked her tongue, nodding to herself. That was yet another benefit of firing at great range. Without the credible risk of return fire, Kahtash could maintain a measured rate of fire, allowing each torchship enough time to shed heat without resorting to venting finite coolant. Functionally, all the cannonade cost her fleet was the reaction mass needed to power the cannons and an easily replaceable kinetic penetrator.


    Although Dennis Billing hadn¡¯t invented the tactic, he had popularized it, allowing human fleets to destroy fixed invader assets at long range before they were driven off by the enemies much larger fleets. He called the strategy ¡®defense in depth,¡¯ and relied upon Partisan class light cruisers to destroy invader fuel dumps and supply depots in systems that they had otherwise taken from humanity. Only through the slow buildup of overwhelming force were the invaders able to push Dennis¡¯ forces back, buying humanity months and years worth of time.


    Even if the war ultimately was futile, Dennis¡¯ strategy proved itself once again. The station, knowing its fate, deployed almost one hundred drones and opened fire on the fleet. Three heavy kinetic cannons joined almost forty missile tubes, spitting death at the Dhajtel far outside of their range.


    Without pause, the navigator on the Empress Threedak rapped her four fingers across the control panel next to her couch. The fleet shifted course slightly, a fraction of a degree in heading more than enough at their range and speed to divert the ships well away from the oncoming fire. That would be the fate of all attacks at extreme range against a moving target. Rockets and kinetic shells wouldn''t have the fuel to track Kahtash¡¯s fleet while it adjusted course, rendering them about as useful as firing a crossbow at a fly.


    Still, the station kept firing, the torchships surrounding it burning their engines heavily to move toward the Dhajtel fleet now that Kahtash¡¯s strategy was revealed. Threedak thrummed with approval. If the invaders deployed screening vessels to try and shoot down the incoming rockets it would mean that they had the fuel and supplies for a protracted conflict. By abandoning the station, not only did the invaders consign it to its fate, but they tipped whatever passed for hands to their lack of supply.


    Minutes passed in silence as the Dhajtel fleet fell into a repetitive pattern. The station would fire a volley of slugs and rockets. Slight adjustments would be made to ensure the projectiles would go far wide of the fleet. Then the process would repeat itself. Only after a couple minutes of fire did the fleet have to make a more substantial burn once the navigator pointed out that the station¡¯s attacks were attempting to box them in. Even then, the solution was simply a minute of burn on a perpendicular course.


    The blips on the plot that represented the two volleys of kinetic shells intersected with the marker representing the station. On screen the blurry flashes of heat and radiation that represented the station¡¯s close in defenses flared as it tried to shoot down the penetrators. Ultimately, the effort was largely futile. Kinetic attacks didn¡¯t carry the sensitive electronics, warheads, and rocket fuel that lasers were designed to detonate or disable. Only lucky shots, delivering enough energy to the spinning sides of a slug to divert its course, actually managed to do anything and those were too few to matter.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    Where a moving ship might only be hit by a handful of penetrators or a cluster of flechettes, the station crumpled under the fusilade. In the first volley, all eighteen shells were on target and only four were deflected by the station¡¯s last ditch defensive fire. The remaining fourteen punched through the stations¡¯ lightly armored hull, sending searing lances of flame, debris and plasma out the other end as they pierced it cleanly.


    Only ten of the slugs from the second volley were on target as their microcomputers frantically tried to adjust their course to match the station which was now spinning as it vented oxygen and twisted slabs of metal. The station didn¡¯t have any further fight in it. Point defense didn¡¯t even try to defend it, instead letting all of the attacking penetrators through.


    In a flash of white light, the station¡¯s fusion reactor lost containment and it erased itself from the plot. Around the command center, Dhajtel began cheering. Even Threedak broke into a grin, slapping her graspers onto Bekai and Dahless¡¯ shoulders.


    ¡°Look at your sister,¡± she thrummed proudly. ¡°Kahtash has wet her fangs first, and all without the loss of a single Dhajtel life.¡±


    ¡°There is more battle yet to be fought,¡± Bekai replied, sighing. ¡°Plenty of time for the invaders to spend Dhajtel lives in a futile defense. Still-¡±


    Bekai paused, leaning forward to take in the multitude of bars and indicators in the corner of the combat plot. ¡°The fleet appears to be operating without any major problems,¡± she continued, satisfaction in her voice. ¡°I don¡¯t see any evidence of heat or power spikes that would indicate a malfunction. If there are going to be any problems, they haven¡¯t reared their heads yet.¡±


    ¡°There won¡¯t be Bekai,¡± Threedak smiled warmly at her daughter. ¡°You always fret over your creations, never content with them as they are. It¡¯s what makes you a great inventor, but this anxiety is a strange fit for you. I¡¯m used to seeing the fire of your forges in your eyes when you argue with me.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re detaching screens,¡± Dahlass interjected quietly, ending any further banter as both Threedak and Bekai turned back to the plot.


    Thirty four green squares, representing the Kithra class screening vessels detached from the Dhajtel fleet. Four from each torchship and ten from the Empress Threedak herself. They surged forward from the fleet, a brilliant stream of green that was quickly joined by a swarm of drones.


    The invaders followed suit, but the second their screens detached, Threedak hissed in triumph. The five enemy torchships only managed to field eleven screening vessels and just over half the projected complement of drones. Their analysts had been right. The invaders were isolated, unable to replenish their losses from the previous engagement.


    The two walls of screens took up position in front of their respective fleets as the ships drifted into rocket range. Threedak¡¯s graspers tightened on her daughters¡¯ shoulders. This was it. They were seconds away from avenging Captain Laksheer¡¯s martyrdom and striking the first blow against the invaders. They had always been an implacable foe. Their numbers and technology made them a daunting foe, seemingly beyond reach, but today the Dhajtel would sink their teeth into the invaders¡¯ throats. They would show that their foe could bleed.


    ¡°Target the enemy torchships and prepare to fire rockets,¡± Kahtash spoke on screen, her voice clipped and formal. ¡°Focus all fire on one ship at a time. Two volleys per ship. One of them will get away unscathed, but with any luck we¡¯ll completely overwhelm their point defenses and score a kill or two at range.¡±


    On camera, a Dhajtel in a gunner¡¯s couch nodded before hunching forward, frantically plotting the firing solution for the entire fleet. About five seconds later the larger ships fired, one hundred and sixty rockets. Staggered shortly thereafter the screening forces fired as well, adding another one hundred and thirty six to the volley as the clusters of rockets merged together before screaming toward the invaders.


    The invaders fired back, their torchships only managing to field one hundred and forty six rockets in each of their six volleys. Given that each invader torchship traditionally carried thirty rocket tubes, that meant that in all likelihood some of the invader ships were still damaged or suffering from some sort of malfunction. Threedak leaned forward, a predatory grin crossing her muzzle. Yet more evidence that the enemy fleet was out of supply and low on resources.


    As the facts mounted, Threedak did her best to keep her relief from her face. The Dhajtel needed to see her proud and assured, a monument to their race¡¯s success and confidence. They couldn¡¯t know how worried she had been since the Battle of Gabriel that the invaders had sent a messenger home. Even if her race scored a victory here, they were far from ready to face the juggernaut that was the full invader fleet. What the Dhajtel needed was time. Time to build and grow. Time. She sighed, a hint of sorrow flashing across her face.


    Dahlass placed her grasper over Threedaks¡¯ and looked up at her. Threedak turned her head to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Dahlass¡¯ eyes were fixed on her. Emotions flickered through Threedak. Pride in her daughters. They¡¯d accomplished so much so quickly. Anxiety, even if they won this battle the Dhajtel had centuries of warfare before them.


    More than anything, she felt love. An alien emotion, introduced by her human memories, but she didn¡¯t have another word for it. Decades of labor and care connected her to both her daughters and her people. She¡¯d tried to take as much of the struggle upon herself as she could. The worries, the late nights and the burden of making the tough choices their society would need to survive.


    She saw it all reflected in Dahlass¡¯ face. Her daughter might not speak up much, but she cared. For Threedak and her sisters. For the Dhajtel race as a whole.


    Threedak simply smiled back, the expression bittersweet. For all of her efforts to spare her daughters, the one thing they didn¡¯t have was time.

 Chapter 19 - Vengeance

    Threedak¡¯s attention snapped back to the plot as both sets of rockets drifted within range of the other fleet¡¯s screening elements.  The holograph flashed as the screening vessels did their best to penetrate the incoming rocket swarms¡¯ electronic countermeasures long enough for their lasers to tag them. The rocket tally quickly ticked down as lasers blinded or outright destroyed them.  A breath later, they passed into projectile range and the fleets¡¯ drones swarmed into position, spitting hyper accelerated clouds of dust at the rockets.


    Then the first volley passed both screens, screaming electronic defiance at targeting computers as they shifted back and forth, trying to give the defenders¡¯ lasers the most elusive profile possible.  Kahtash gritted her teeth on camera as the Empress Threedak jerked back and forth, its heavy thrusters tossing the Dhajtel around in their couches as the pre-programmed evasive maneuvers did their best to avoid the rocket swarm.


    The fleet¡¯s icons flickered as their point defenses activated.  Lasers blinked to life, invisible except when they struck a rocket, superheating their armor as they attempted to melt through and detonate the weapons before they could rotate or jet away.  Counter rockets launched themselves across the fleet, their heavy but inefficient engines letting them sprint across the void to annihilate themselves in flashes of nuclear fury, occasionally taking an enemy rocket with them.


    Threedak blinked, barely able to make sense of the tapestry of rockets weaving and dying, fed to the command center by the Empress Threedak¡¯s sensors.  The dizzying display ended almost as soon as it began, the incredible relative speed of the enemy rockets plowing through the fleet¡¯s point defense envelope and into range of the last ditch kinetic weapon systems in the blink of an eye.


    The rockets exploded, blanketing the William Drisco, a torchship chosen seemingly at random, in flashes of white light, visible even from the Empress Threedak¡¯s bridge.  The Drisco managed to shake off almost half of the forty remaining rockets and all of the fusion warheads.  Still, twenty warheads exploded near enough to the twisting and weaving ship to into it with x-ray lasers.


    Armor and external weapons melted off of the Drisco as it rocked, chunks of the vessel disappearing in rapidly expanding spheres of plasma.  Even though the lasers themselves didn¡¯t have any appreciable kinetic force, the explosions caused by their interaction with the ship¡¯s armor was more than enough to throw it at least partially out of formation.


    Threedak held her breath, watching the ship¡¯s icons flicker as it labored under the invaders¡¯ body blows.  Finally, the storm relented and Drisco accelerated back into formation trailing a thin stream of metal and gas.  Next to her, Beckai sighed.


    ¡°Both reactors and the main cannon are still intact,¡± her daughter whispered, almost to herself, as her eyes remained glued to the plot.  ¡°It looks like that round was mostly superficial damage.¡±


    ¡°So they¡¯re all right then?¡± Dahlass asked, wringing her graspers together.


    ¡°What,¡± Bekai glanced back at Dahlass, startled by realizing that others had heard her.


    ¡°Not really,¡± Bekai continued grimly.  ¡°The Drisco made it through that volley with minimal damage, but that was at the expense of most of their armor.  Both sides fired six waves of rockets. If another one targets the Drisco it¡¯s in trouble.  If two target it-¡±


    Bekai shrugged as her tail flicked against the ground.  ¡°All it takes is a lucky shot to a coolant regulator on a reactor or engine and the entire ship is gone.  If you don¡¯t hit something vital with a laser, torchships can take a lot of beating but with the number of warheads getting thrown around it¡¯s only a matter of time before they do hit something vital.  Well, either that or the lasers pick off enough close in weapons systems and maneuvering thrusters to drop a couple fusion warheads on it. That¡¯ll end things real fast.¡±


    On the plot, one of the invader torchships shuddered, slowing noticeably as the icons for Dhajtel rockets flickered around it.  A flashing icon appeared next to the ship¡¯s red triangle, indicating both that its heat signature had diminished and that it was streaming oxygen.  Threedak hissed. That meant that their armor was breached and at least one reactor was down. It was a harsh calculus, but as badly as the Drisco was damaged, they¡¯d savaged the enemy in exchange.


    The battle raged on.  Screens built up dangerous levels of heat as they did their best to intercept incoming waves of rockets, firing their lasers with abandon in an attempt to spare the rest of the fleet from the tides of nuclear fire washing toward it.  Still, casualties mounted. The Drisco dropped out of formation, accelerating perpendicular to the vectors of the two fleets attacking each other, notifications next to its icon indicating that over one hundred Dhajtel had died when laser pulses superheated the command station on a gunnery deck and a full marine company¡¯s living quarters.


    Another torchship, the Wang Xinyue, suffered a similar fate.  After two volleys of rockets, including one strike from a fusion warhead, its armor was about as useful as wet paper, forcing it to limp away as well, its acceleration curbed by a laser strike that took out a regulator on one of its two fusion reactors, making it unsafe to operate.


    On the invader side, the damage was even worse.  The second volley ripped deeply into the first enemy torchship, gutting its sides and dropping its engine output below 10%.  The rest of the invader fleet slowed to match, dropping some of their maneuverability in order to keep the wounded vessel within range of their point defense lasers.


    The second vessel faired worse.  The first volley easily overwhelmed the invaders¡¯ point defenses before it tore into the torchship, melting almost all of its armor off and likely disabling its main cannon.  The follow up rockets finished the kill. X-rays from the laser warheads strobed through almost nonexistent armor, disabling systems and ripping through internal structural supports.  Then two fusion warheads went off, one after another, mere hundreds of meters from the torchship. Energy and radiation bathed the vessel, and when the flash faded all that remained was a twisted and glowing hulk of metal.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The final two volleys were especially brutal as the screens struggled to get into position, many only firing off a couple of halfhearted laser shots that did little more than heat up a couple armor panels at extreme range.  The smaller vessels would need time to run their radiators before they could truly contribute to the battle. Already their coolant reserves had run dry as they used everything on hand to keep up with the frenetic pace of the conflict.


    Without the screens¡¯ help, the Franklin Mitchell was pounded by rocket after rocket.  In places, space could be seen through the holes bored into it by the invaders¡¯ x-ray lasers.  Somehow, despite almost sixty hits, streaming air and floating dead in space, the vessel lived.  It subsisted on emergency power, reporting that its main gun and both reactors were disabled. The acting captain, from a bridge open to vacuum, a great hole through the section where the captain should have sat, stated horsley that she had hope that they be able to bring one reactor online and limp home


    On the invader side, the third vessel was simply erased from existence.  Over a hundred rockets detonated around it in the first wave, riddling it with holes and letting a fusion warhead sneak near enough to melt the front third of the ship.  The second volley couldn¡¯t be reprogrammed at range, something proposed by a human admiral that had thought himself clever until the invaders simply turned off all of his rockets and promptly killed him.  Instead, it plowed into the shredded mess of the injured vessel uncontested. The invaders didn¡¯t even bother wasting resources and coolant protecting the hulk.


    Fifteen fusion warheads detonated at point blank range, rendering the hundred and fifty or so laser pulses moot.  The ship disintegrated, its component pieces practically glowing with heat and radiation. Threedak turned her head as Bekai thrummed unhappily.


    ¡°We have to do better Mother,¡± Bekai muttered glumly, her neck pouches filling and emptying as she tried to keep her anger in check.  ¡°We fired almost twice as many rockets and had almost twice the weight of defensive fire and we only landed about forty percent more hits.  We should have hit them two to three times more often than they hit us. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s a question of equipment or technical proficiency with the equipment, but those aren¡¯t the numbers of someone who plans on winning a war.¡±


    ¡°At least someone who plans on winning a war without a massive numerical advantage,¡± Bekai shrugged, her muzzle still set in a pensive grimace.


    ¡°Given the invaders¡¯ inability to resupply,¡± Dahlass interjected quietly, her whisper of a voice carrying across the entirety of the almost silent command center, ¡°they likely don¡¯t breed at the same rate as us.  If all else fails, so long as we are given time, we will have the numerical superiority we will need. Burying them in bodies might not be the most glamorous of victories, but if it will keep our daughters safe, we will do what we must.¡±


    ¡°Well said,¡± Threedak nodded to Dahlass, warmth running through her.  ¡°The stars are our birthright, and if we must walk through a sea of flames to claim it, so be it.  I would prefer the Dhajtel to lead peaceful lives, like the humans, but that simply isn¡¯t the way of things.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Bekai motioned with her head toward the plot as the two opposing screens accelerated toward each other


    Seconds later the heavy guns on both fleets opened fire.  Threedak¡¯s muzzle split into a predatory grin as the four cannons on her namsake supplemented the single weapon on the three active torch ships.  That was why Kahtash had held off against the enemy station. To prevent the invaders from seeing the massive close range firepower mounted on the Empress Threedak in the hope that it would be able to avoid enemy fire long enough to close range.


    The invaders'' return fire only amounted to two cannons, crippled to the point of borderline uselessness.  Technically at close range it could still use its minimal lasers and close in weapons systems to harm another ship, but the chances of anything approaching to that range were miniscule.  In short, the Empress Threedak mounted twice as many long range cannons as the entirety of the invading fleet.


    The shells raced past the respective screens as they pushed their engines to get within knife distance to use their unguided railguns.  At the last second, the shells shattered into flechettes, showering the dodging invader ships with slivers of heavy metal. The bridge of the Empress Threedak shuddered slightly as the ship shrugged off a handful of the penetrators, but the invaders weren¡¯t so lucky.


    Whatever the Dhajtel¡¯s weakness in rocket combat, it didn¡¯t extend to electromagnetic cannons.  One of the two invader vessels erupted in a flash of light as the flechettes peppering its surface shattered the armor and containment housing on its fusion torch.  For a brief second, the caged sun that was the ship¡¯s engine was exposed to the void of space, and then the magnetic bottle shielding it evaporated, taking the rest of the ship with it.  The other ship weathered the storm of metal, limping out the other side streaming oxygen and debris as its power and heat levels fluctuated noticeably.


    The second volley hit, effectively ending the battle.  Once again, the Empress Threedak took some glancing blows without any casualties, but the invaders couldn¡¯t say the same.  Mixed in with the stream of flechette shells, Kahtash included some penetrators, and at least one hit the invader torchship as it struggled to avoid the Dhajtel fire with its weakened engines.  The multiple kilogram shipkiller took it in the upper third of its cylindrical form with the force and subtlety of a freight train. The slug entered through a hole the size of a small sedan, and exited in a plume of plasma that simply ruptured the side of the torchship.


    The shot took down the ship¡¯s struggling electrical system, and without thrusters to counter the force of the blow, the ship on its axis like top.  Then the flechettes hit, riddling the already disabled hulk of metal. It floated in space, aimless and crippled for a full five seconds before the third volley, four precisely aimed solid penetrators from the Empress Threedak, struck it, shattering its keel and reducing the ship to little more than scrap metal.


    Cheering erupted in the command center, eliciting a frown from Threedak.  Although the battle was decided, the invaders fought on, their screens and drones struggling at close range against their Dhajtel counterparts.  Even as the analysts and warriors of Meridian Station cracked open bottles of fizzy fermented drinks, Dhatjel bled and died futilely against their foes, their ships too close for the torchships to intervene, and their velocities too high to avoid the enemy.


    Quietly, Dahlass made to leave.  She¡¯d never been one for celebrations and she clearly didn¡¯t want  to be caught up in this one. Threedak shook her head and raised a grasper to stop her daughter.


    ¡°The battle isn¡¯t over,¡± she nodded at the plot where both green and red squares flickered and disappeared.  ¡°They are still dying for us. The least we can do is stand by and watch their sacrifice.¡±

 Chapter 20 - Jubilation

    Threedak stood tall in the armored palanquin, waving to her subjects as the military parade wove through the streets of Lament beneath her. She stood slightly unsteadily, her couch just behind her in case a break was needed. Between the drugs suppressing her nigh constant pain, and the strange feeling of actual gravity after years in space with nothing but centrifugal force providing a simulacrum, the possibility that she would need it hung heavy over her head. Still, she waved her graspers as the marines and naval crew women marched smartly below her. It was the least she could do after their service to the empire.


    She shuddered. Even after the space battle was won, the invaders fought back against the marines. The footage of the ground battle was particularly unnerving. The invaders fought in quadruped suits without any sort of definable torso or head. Just four equidistant legs connecting together in a hardpoint with a gun mount. More than anything, they resembled arachnids from her human memories. Except of course that each invader was almost eight feet from the tip of one leg to another with their center standing almost three feet off the ground.


    As soon as the Dhajtel landing craft dropped off the first company of one hundred and fifty marines and a walker, the full complement from one of the torchships, the invaders sprang from their city to attack. They skittered quickly across the moon¡¯s surface in absolute silence, occasionally setting themselves against the ground to fire a needle rifle or railgun as they charged the Dhajtel that outnumbered them. Worse, whatever pseudomuscles their suits used for locomotion, it was clearly more advanced than Dhajtel tech, letting the spider-like invaders periodically leap twenty to thirty feet at a time in the lowered gravity.


    The Dhajtel won the encounter, four more companies were more than enough to quell the rest of the invaders¡¯ defenses, but the battle still chilled her. The invaders fought in complete silence. They didn¡¯t issue challenges, offer terms, or reach out to the overwhelming landing force in any way. They didn¡¯t even communicate with each other via radio. Instead the leaping and skittering horde of two hundred invaders just charged.


    For the Dhajtel, it wasn¡¯t nearly as silent of an affair. The needle carbines themselves didn¡¯t make any noise on the airless planetoid, but soon the screams of the dying filled the comm channels as wounded Dhajtel gasped out the last gurgling breaths on sheets of methane ice. Quickly the major in charge of the operation ordered the company commanders to cut the feeds of the injured, but the first frantic minutes of the conflict took a heavy toll on morale.


    Of the seven hundred and fifty infantry that landed on the moon, just under six hundred and fifty returned to their landing craft. On paper it was a great victory. With the help of the drop ships and walkers, the marines achieved a two to one kill ratio.


    In practice, the survivors were haunted. Their units were literally decimated by the fight, with fewer than one and ten made it back to Dhaj. Amongst them, most couldn¡¯t help but remember their companions¡¯s final moments. Dying alone on a dark, airless sphere of ice and rock.


    Below her, the throngs of Dhajtel cheered as the last of the marchers cleared Threedak¡¯s stand. Following them were the military ground cars, sleek and silent electrically powered war machines, carrying the individuals who had served with distinction in the confrontation. Twenty five in total and heavily vetted by internal security, they would approach Threedak one by one to be presented with medals for their service.


    She sighed, glancing down at the velvet case holding their awards. Things had changed since the days when she could sprint into battle beside her daughters, sword flashing. Now battles were technical things, fought thousands of kilometers away. The deaths of thousands amounting to no more than an icon on a computer and a flash of light.


    Threedak labored for breath before sighing. Yet another sign that time was passing her by. She couldn¡¯t really place her finger on the point when she had gone from a vital day to day participant in building society to a figurehead and stateswoman, but the distinction bothered her still. Her role was important, they needed someone to make the final decisions and a society needed symbols to rely upon. She just loathed being stuck on Dhaj while her daughters fought and risked themselves for the betterment of their entire race.


    Trumpets sounded from the military band flanking the ground cars as the Dhajtel began to exit them and ascend the stairs toward Threedak. Kahtash led them, still wearing her armored spacesuit with the chips marking her as a marshal adorning her shoulder. Behind Kahtash came the fifteen marines and nine naval officers that distinguished themselves in the battle. They marched with backs straight, in time to the martial music blaring throughout the square.


    Threedak checked her notes and adjusted the microphone as Kahtash¡¯s soldiers came to a stop. In unison, they slammed their right graspers against their chest plates in an impressive rattle of metal on metal just as the music stopped.


    ¡°Dhajtel of the Empire,¡± the microphone picked up her voice and broadcast it throughout the square and up the packed streets where the Dhajtel of Lament had watched the parade. ¡°Today we celebrate a momentous victory. The invaders have always hung over our head, a Sword of Damocles that could come crashing down at any moment. That moment has come, and we have prevailed.¡±


    The crowd erupted into cheering. The faces of the officers weren¡¯t nearly as jubilant. Threedak nodded to them slightly, imperceptible to the general mob, but hopefully just enough that they could notice that she shared their hesitation. She¡¯d seen hints of the invader fleets in her human memories and she¡¯d seen the cost in people and materials to root them out of the system. The Dhajtel would secure their future, but there would be a cost in blood that would suck the air out of the celebration in a second if it were widely known.


    ¡°From this day forward,¡± Threedak raised both graspers over her head, confident that the waiting cameras would catch and rebroadcast the dramatic motion. ¡°We are the masters of our own system. No one will interfere with our industrialization of the gas giants, or the asteroid belts. There will be no interference when we expand into the outer system and begin mining the planetoids in and about the Oort cloud for ice and rare minerals. These resources now belong solely to us.¡±


    She dropped her graspers, flicking her tongue out to taste the damp afternoon air. ¡°With them, we can build a grand fleet and reach out into the nearby systems. We can find new worlds for our eggs, land for our daughters to grow up and stretch their tails. The invaders obviously aren¡¯t the only menace hiding amongst the stars, they are just the most formidable. One day, we will meet them again, and they will be ready.¡±


    She paused, letting tension fill the air. ¡°We will be ready too!¡± She bellowed, neck pouches inflating and glad that the cotton ball haze of the painkillers kept her from coughing in the middle of the speech. ¡°Just as they hunted the humans to the ends of the galaxy we shall hunt them. Our ships shall be the talons that crack their eggs as we root out their nests wherever they might hide them. With others there may be peace, but with the invaders, only one shall survive.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    ¡°We must remember the cost of today¡¯s victory,¡± her voice quieted, almost to a hissing whisper. ¡°Captain Laksheer and eleven hundred of our daughters, sisters and mothers in the navy and marines perished between the two battles with the invaders. Senselessly murdered by a race that didn¡¯t even stop long enough to identify themselves let alone communicate.¡±


    A holographic image of Captain Laksheer appeared in the air behind Threedak. The Captain was in full battle regalia, her suit covered in the soot and blood of battle as the damaged bridge of the Ashley Koenig¡¯s bridge flickered around her. Threedak looked up at the image, and gently touched her right grasper to her breast. A salute to the fallen soldier.


    ¡°Captain Laksheer¡¯s last words to me,¡± Threedak continued, her voice choked with emotion. ¡°Her last words were a request that I tell ¡®her daughters to sing songs of her.¡¯¡±


    ¡°To me,¡± Threedak¡¯s eyes snapped back to the square, eyes taking in the enraptured masses. ¡°That is not a request for just her daughters. That is a request I pass on to all Dhajtel. Just as today we celebrate and award these brave souls who fought, bled and died so that we might grow, we must remember those who passed. There are many who would be marching here today if it weren¡¯t for the invaders. Each and every one of them gave their all so that their daughters could grow tall and strong. We must not let their sacrifice fade from our history. Say their names. Know that they are the first, but most certainly not the last to struggle and bleed for our people.¡±


    ¡°Now,¡± her eyes softened as she took in Kahtash and the other soldiers. ¡°In light of this great victory, we seek to memorialize the valorous amongst the living as well. Lieutenant Commander Tarosh, step forward.¡±


    A smartly dressed Dhajtel, wearing the dress browns of the marines approached Threedak, each step measured and efficient.


    ¡°For commanding the first landing company Hermes, the third moon of Michael,¡± Threedak opened a box revealing a silver star attached to a ribbon, a winged Dhajtel laser etched into its surface. ¡°For holding a landing site against a numerically superior foe long enough for relief to arrive and standing firm, at risk to yourself and your command, I have seen fit to induct you into the silver order of the angels.¡±


    The officers clapped politely as Tarosh saluted and the crowd went wild, cheering and letting loose great joyful bellows from their neck pouches. Tarosh stepped forward, and Threedak clipped the ribbon to her dress uniform, just below her rank insignia. With a brief shake of graspers, the ceremony was done.


    One award faded into another, and Threedak did her best to hide her boredom. As repetitious as the procedure was, every Dhajtel in front of her was a hero and deserved to be honored. The least she could do was ignore the monotony of repeating their achievements and clipping various medals and ribbons onto their uniforms.


    Finally, she was placing a gold starburst onto Kahtash¡¯s shoulder as her silent daughter beamed at her. For once, her taciturn nature slipped and Threedak could see the genuine pride and happiness adorning her daughter¡¯s face. Threedak¡¯s heart warmed as she lovingly wove the starburst¡¯s pin into the combat uniform. Even if it was only temporarily, it filled her with joy to see her Kahtash genuinely enjoying a moment like this.


    ¡°Let me talk to you this evening,¡± Kahtash whispered to her before Threedak could pull back. ¡°There are things about the aftermath of Hermes that we need to discuss. Things that I haven¡¯t put in the reports yet for fear of starting rumors.¡±


    Threedak, cocked her head quizzically at Kahtash but nodded. Her heart quickened. It wasn¡¯t like Kahtash to be so verbose or melodramatic. Whatever it was, it was likely important.


    She finished the parade distractedly, thanking the Dhajtel for their support and efforts, all while wondering what Kahtash wanted to speak about. Her mind flitted from thought to thought, always drawing blanks. Everything she could conceive of, Kahtash would have trusted to normal channels.


    Finally the celebration ended and Threedak returned to her home in Lament, dusty with disuse from her years on Meridian Station. Around dinner, Kahtash arrived, carrying a wheeled suitcase behind her. She nodded to Bahwel before stepping into the dining room where Threedak awaited her. On the simple wooden table sat two plates laden with hartden steak. In recent years, sauce had come into vogue, likely to cover up the bland taste of lab grown meat. Threedak couldn¡¯t stand the stuff. So long as she was eating a proper animal, she preferred to go about it the same way her ancestors did. Raw.


    Kahtash nodded to her, wheeling the suitcase up to the side of the table and taking out a tablet. A wistful look flashed over her face as she looked at the steak, likely remembering their pioneer days in early rustic Lament.


    ¡°Mother,¡± Kahtash¡¯s expression firmed. ¡°Unfortunately the bulk of your meal should likely wait until we are done discussing business.¡±


    She slid the tablet across the table to Threedak. It began playing a video. The camera shook slightly and then zoomed in on a suit of invader battle armor, the weapon blown off and struggling against a series of cables binding its four legs together. Two Dhajtel marines stepped into the frame, holding the creature down and preventing it from harming itself or its bonds in its thrashing. Another Dhajtel approached, also in armor. This one carried a whining circular saw, traditionally used for heavy ship repairs or removing a Dhajtel from malfunctioning powered armor.


    The saw spat sparks, and the invader redoubled its struggling as they slowly cut through its armor. Finally, the tone of the saw on metal changed and the marine carrying it stepped back.


    ¡°By Threedak¡¯s tail,¡± the marine officer whispered, the saw loose in her grip. Kahtash shifted slightly near the table, trying to suppress her amusement.


    The camera zoomed in on the leg. With the armor peeled back, Threedak could see the invader¡¯s true form. Nothing more than amorphous strands of muscle and nerve adhered directly to the side of its suit. A minute later, the marines sawed open the center of the armor only to reveal more of the same. Muscle tissue grown directly into the suit itself.


    ¡°Is this showing what I think it is?¡± Threedak asked worriedly, setting the tablet down as the video ended.


    ¡°Yes Mother,¡± Kahtash replied, reaching down to the suitcase and tapping a code into its locking mechanism. ¡°Despite the invaders fighting to the death we were able to disable and capture two of them. Both were literally part of their armor. Our analysts weren¡¯t able to determine if they were grown directly into the armor or if the suit was built around them, but the result is the same. Once they go into an infantry suit, they don¡¯t leave it.


    ¡°We found similar results in their ships,¡± Kahtash shrugged slightly. ¡°Their ¡®hallways¡¯ are nothing more than passageways for strands of muscle and nerve. Each ship is one individual invader. For all intents and purposes, the ship IS their bodies. It sure explains their coordination and reaction speed.¡±


    ¡°Something like this¡­¡± Threedak motioned at the tablet. ¡°This abomination couldn¡¯t have evolved naturally. Something else must be at play.¡±


    ¡°As I mentioned previously,¡± Kahtash continued, the luggage hissing as it opened and Kahtash reached into it, pulling out a squirming and pulsing mass. ¡°We had two prisoners. The first was eaten on the spot revealing some¡­ disturbing truths. The military put a moratorium on the reports from the analyst.¡±


    ¡°The second,¡± Kahtash plopped the mass of tentacles, writhing against heavy rubber bands binding them together. ¡°Is here. We thought it best that you see for yourself. After all, you¡¯re the one who will be leading us against these, things.¡±

 Chapter 21 - Dreams of Fire and Shadow

    Threedak slowly pushed her plate of meat aside.  The invader looked unappetizing, a struggling mass of raw muscle traced with just visible clusters of nerves and veins pumping a blackish substance that appeared to function as its blood.  Its surface was covered with sores and abrasions where it had been bodily pried from the suit.


    She wrinkled her nose and flicked her tongue to taste the air.  Beyond the musty scent of the room''s wood paneling, and Kahtash¡¯s pleasant dry/sandy taste, Threedak¡¯s sense detected the tang of blood metal.  She reached out and picked up the writhing invader. The thing was almost four feet long and required both of her graspers to keep its twisting form from slipping out of her grap.


    Hesitantly she glanced at Kahtash.  Her daughter saw Threedak¡¯s unspoken question and nodded.


    ¡°The invader is safe to eat,¡± her daughter responded.  ¡°The analyst that ate the last one didn¡¯t suffer any ill effects, but she was shaken by the experience.  She was checked out afterwards and showed no ill effects, but the information she gave us was fragmented and disjointed.  I suspect she didn¡¯t have the context to put everything in place, and that is part of why I came to you.¡±


    ¡°Both for your experience, Kahtash tapped the side of her head with a grasper.  ¡°You have more lives stored away than any of us. You have history absorbing the memories from a completely alien being in a way that the rest of us don¡¯t.  From our first awakening, we¡¯ve always grown up knowing about the humans and normalizing their lives. For many of us its second nature to adopt the measurements and idioms of an entirely foreign race.  We don¡¯t even notice the expressions that are native to Dhaj versus their entirely human counterparts anymore.¡±


    ¡°But Mother,¡± Kahtash continued.  ¡°You have made this leap before. You¡¯ve peered into new minds and made sense of the jumble within.  Plus with the experience and perspective of all of the humans as opposed to just a smattering, you¡¯re the most prepared to actually sort this situation out.¡±


    ¡°Also,¡± Kahtash shrugged.  ¡°There was also the matter of impact.  If you see what our analyst saw, you¡¯ll have a better idea as to whether she was exaggerating the situation.  With any luck you¡¯ll be able to garner an inspiration or insight into our foes that a less well rounded Dahjtel might have been able to.  If possible, I would prefer our decisions to be made by someone who has actually peered inside our foe.¡±


    Threedak nodded to her daughter and sat on her eating couch.  Usually consuming memories was a fairly straightforward process, but it hadn¡¯t been unknown to startle or stun a Dhajtel into losing their balance.  She pulled the vile wriggling mass to her maw and bit down into it. A thick black liquid, almost resembling oil, oozed out of the severed tentacle.


    Immediately the membranes covering her eyes flickered in disgust.  The texture of the limb itself was rubbery, the muscle just a little too smooth and elastic for her comfort.  Her complaint over the texture barely formed, Threedak recoiled as the taste hit her tongue. Bitter and peppery with a plastic finish.  Wretched. She let the flesh slither down her throat, still twisting as it danced to the charges from severed and forgotten nerves.


    Before the first chunk of meat hit her stomach, Threedak was already digging into the invader as it thrashed weakly in her grasp. Lump after lump wormed down her gullet as Threedak did the best she could to consume as much of the creature as possible before she started peering into its mind.


    Then the memories hit.  Threedak was no longer in her own scales.  She no no longer possessed anything resembling skin and scales.  Instead she¡­ was a massive spaceship. Nineteen kilometers long little more than a hanger for supply shuttles, ramscoop for fuel, an engine, and room for her.  Her body stretched throughout the entire ship tweaking nobs and electrical electrical circuits hooked directly into her nervous system to ensure that exactly the right levels of water, protein and nutrients were fed into her body.


    Satisfied with the added potential biomass, Threedak grew.  Her perception turned to cells near the rear of her ship and fed them the material and nervous impulses they would need.  Her flesh, a collection of nerves and muscle, expanded at a rate visible to the eye, a pinkish gray wall growing to fill her environment.  She felt the confines of her ship pressing up against her and constraining her. The feeling was alien, there wasn¡¯t any sense of pain or pressure.  Simply a knowledge that she could not longer grow any farther in that way.


    She stopped, mentally sending out a call to the rest of the fleet.  Floating next to her was another flesh barge and two of the heavy factory ships, all around the same size as her.  Adjusting her sensors, as naturally as she would her eyes, Threedak glanced around the rest of the fleet. Distantly she could feel her body on Dhaj gasp and fall back into her couch.


    A cloud of freighters and processing ships surrounded the three core vessels.  Only about 6 kilometers in length each, bigger than the Empress Threedak, they contained the resources and biomass the fleet needed for its task.  Beyond them were twelve great fleets positioned in a sphere around her ship.  The fleets handfuls of glittering sand in the emptiness of deep space, of deep space possessed well over one hundred torch and capital ships apiece.


    Threedak felt the black ichor that served as her blood run cold.  Those were the defensive fleets. The core of her race never actually entered systems, instead lurking on the extreme periphery where wormholes were more easily formed, they relied upon massive fleets of scavengers and smaller ships to scour entire solar systems for resources to feed into their massive maw.


    Essentially, it was impossible for any enemy to find the home fleet.  They never entered the system, instead hiding outside of sensor range where they could easily be warned away by in system scouts and relay stations, disappearing long before they could be discovered by interloping ships.  Their databases contained no information on its location. In fact, they had no databases to raid at all. All information was kept solely within the synapses of the cluster of muscle and flesh that ¡®crewed¡¯ their ships, theoretically impossible for an opponent, no matter how technically adept, to steal information from.


    On Dahj, Threedak could distantly feel Kahtash press a damp rag against her forehead, trying to soothe her frothing and thrashing body.  She grinned. Despite the roiling emotions caused by the dissociation of the experience, this is what she¡¯d been missing. To finally be involved at the frontline of the empire once more, contributing in the same way her daughters did as she did out thought and out planned her foes.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Daughters?  Her perspective shifted once more to the fleet surrounding her.  She was Vanguard Beta, the second great flesh ship of the host. She did not have daughters, just extensions of herself, severed and poured into the ships, tanks and small construction suits needed for the host¡¯s mission.  She flexed her mind in confusion, feeling the extensions of herself dimly in about half of the surrounding ships.


    Each vessel had its own nerve clusters and was capable of limited thought, but they were all still part of either Vanguard Beta or her sister, Alpha.  When they acted, it might appear independent. Certainly she wouldn¡¯t have immediate knowledge of their actions until they moved within broadcasting range.  That independence was a lie. They moved without her will just as much as her tail would twitch when poked or prodded by Dormah, instinctively and without conscious control.


    Tail?  Beta¡¯s thoughts roiled.  She didn¡¯t have a tail. She was a ship with loosely connected peripheral organs in the shape of other ships used to fight off pests and claim resources for the host.


    She concentrated on the Vanguard¡¯s mission, having to center herself for the first time in centuries.  For some reason she could feel an alien inquisitiveness within herself asking questions, seeking basic knowledge that was the simple basis for her being.  The Host consisted of the Masters and the Vanguard. The Masters created the Vanguard over a millenia ago, dispatching the Vanguard into space to pave the way for them as heralds.


    Over the intervening years the eight great flesh barges of the Vanguard expanded, cleansing trails through the vastness of space away from the homeworld where the Masters waited.  Her sisters and her grew in size and biomass, fueling greet fleets which they used to cleanse their zones of the pests that might trouble the Masters.


    Once a zone was cleansed they would pause, and build the great gleaming cities for the Masters to inhabit once they left the homeworld.  They crafted paradises on worlds within the appropriate tolerances of the Masters and left extensions of themselves, slowly working on the multi century process of terraforming worlds that didn¡¯t quite meet those exacting standards.  On the moons and asteroid belts they built the stations, mines and factories the Masters would want once they stepped into their new homes.


    As the exodus continued, foe after foe ground into dust and their worlds perfected for the Masters, they never actually encountered the beings.  Beta knew that they existed. After all, how could they not. They created her. Despite this she never wondered why the great cities and fully developed solar systems never saw the arrival of the Masters.


    She still had extensions in many of them, even those a mere handful of light years from the homeworld.  They sent updates as they performed final tweaks, ensuring that moons had the right Oxygen to Nitrogen ratio to perfectly compliment the Master¡¯s lungs, fiddled with the albedo on a world to cool it just enough to make it a balmy paradise.  Still, after all of those years they never saw the Masters. Not even a single scout ship to check on their progress.


    Why was she thinking about these things?  Beta ruminated, trying to determine where the strange chain of intrusive thoughts had come from.  This should have been a perfectly ordinary day.


    Day?


    The wordthought was cycle.  It should have been a perfectly ordinary cycle during which she put together the final fleet to destroy the race of pink bipeds clogging up this galactic arm.  They had fought well, better than most but not as well as some, but ultimately their fleets lay dead in space, nothing but processed materials and biomass for the fleet.  All that remained were their last coreworlds, impressively guarded sanctuaries that would be perfect for the Masters once they left the homeworld.


    It didn¡¯t matter that this world was almost eighty years from the homeworld by the fastest series of wormholes.  Beta¡¯s directives didn¡¯t contemplate stopping. The Masters wanted the Vanguard to expand until told otherwise.


    Her engines rumbled.  What if the Masters were dead?  What gave her the right to simply snuff out races so far from home and steal their resources?


    Something was wrong.  These thoughts were not Beta.  Something insidious had invaded her.  An enemy of the mind that was not contemplated.  Frantically Beta swung her scanners too and fro, looking for a ship that had snuck close enough to her attempt to access her neural network.  This should not be possible, yet clearly it was so.


    She found nothing lingering outside her ship, yet those thoughts did not belong to her.  Distantly she felt a body. A small frail thing. This should and could not be so. Somehow this thing was invading her, attempting to rip the secrets of the Masters from her.


    Beta¡¯s vision pulsed and went red.  Her perception swarmed through her body looking for the offending parts, neurons that tasted alien and wrong. In a fraction of a second, she found them.  A cluster that would was set to be turned into a worker and ground warrior. Distress and anger flushed through her as she shunted the cells aside, frantically pouring them into the suit to which they were assigned.


    The blade closed over her flesh and with a slight tugging sensation, it was gone, part of the new worker.  Her perception blurred.


    Worker blinked its scanners, clattering its four metal legs against the ground as it stood up inside Vanguard Beta.  It was not set to incarnate for at least five days. Sloppy. It tried to contact Beta for information and was met with a wall of rage.  Alien and burning, Beta consumed the queries tearing them from Worker and refusing to respond. Worker queried again, unsure what to do as it poured through its neural databanks.


    Threedak lost focus, and came back to herself heaving.  Dormah stood nearby, speaking to Kahtash in angry hushed whispers.  She winced, feeling the pain of an IV embedded in her grasper. She lifted her head groggily.


    ¡°Are you MAD Threedak?¡± Dormah shouted at her as soon as she noticed she was awake.  ¡°Your mind almost gave out twice and your heart DID give out once. Please oh great Empress, tell me what in your infinite wisdom made you think that consuming an alien you knew to be completely foreign would be a good idea.¡±


    ¡°Water,¡± she croaked, taking a pull from the offered cup before responding.  ¡°I thought it would be safe, Kahtash said that the previous-¡±


    ¡°Paskon has PTSD,¡± Dormah interjected, throwing a heated glance at Kahtash.  ¡°The military only bothered to check her body. Of course they wouldn¡¯t worry about something as complex as her mind.  The poor thing is just whispering about the glory of ¡°The Masters¡± half the time. Of course she isn¡¯t doing fine!¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± Threedak raised a grasper, her head beginning to pound.  ¡°This truly will be the last time.¡±


    ¡°Dormah,¡± Threedak looked at her unconvinced doctor before turning to her daughter. ¡°Kahtash.  It is time for all of us to meet. I have¡­ not been well and there are many things I need to discuss with you and your sisters.  Both of a personal nature and with regard to the wellbeing of the empire as a whole. For now I need to rest, but all of you should return to attend me here tomorrow for dinner.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Kahtash trailed off slightly.  ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to return to Meridian Station?  If you aren¡¯t well it would be best to bring Dormah back to her equipment so she can care for you properly.¡±


    ¡°No Kaht,¡± Threedak replied affectionately, reaching out and taking her daughter¡¯s hesitant grasper in both of her own.  ¡°This is where things began and there is no need for Dormah¡¯s equipment now. If anything I am a Dhajtel of symbolism and habit.  If we are going to complete a cycle, I will do so on my own terms and in the proper way of things. Gather your sisters. We will meet again tomorrow.¡±

 Chapter 22 - Gathering

    Threedak¡¯s daughters gathered into her home on Lament one by one.  Kahtash was the first to arrive, having already been in the city after her meeting with Threedak the night before.  She greeted Threedak cordially, but with anxiety flicking her tail to and fro.  They made small talk for a while before Threedak realized that her presence was simply agitating her daughter, so she left Kahtash to review reports on the construction of a new torchship and awaited the rest of her daughters.


    Pinrakt and Dahlass showed up together, chatting about an installation project designed to honor the valor of the marines that participated in the anti-Maxist campaign as well those who died in the struggle against the invaders.  Pinrakt simply greeted her Threedak by leaning in and clasping graspers with her, but Dahlass lingered a little more, clearly wanting to say something but instead letting her shyness take advantage of her.


    Finally Bekai completed the ensemble.  Almost immediately she began peppering Threedak with questions about her health.  She deferred all questions until later, a slight smile on her muzzle.


    Dormah had been right, the smug woman normally was.  Even if her daughters didn¡¯t know the specifics, they guessed and they were worried.  Well, except for Pinrakt.  Threedak vaguely suspected that Pinrakt wouldn¡¯t notice a missing tail on her part unless she needed Threedak to model for a painting or a sculpture.  They deserved to know and she¡¯d kept her daughters in the dark for too long.


    After all, the four of them were the pillars that the empire rested on.  Threedak couldn¡¯t be everywhere at the same time, and she had no choice but to rely upon her daughters to rule in her stead.  More than that, as much as she had inherited the entirety of the humans¡¯ memories as opposed to the curated versions she passed on to her daughters, they¡¯d spent a lifetime honing their skills.  Much of what Threedak knew was theoretical, based in the technology and social mores of a dead society.


    Although she was generally more well rounded and skilled than all of her daughters, each of them was far more talented than her in their specific specialties.  Most importantly, she trusted them in a way that she suspected the humans occupying her mind would find perplexing.  She knew her daughters as they knew her, and they cared for each other and their race deeply.


    Even if Bekai might be too impulsive sometimes, or Dahlass and Kahtash might fail to speak up, Threedak trusted their judgement implicitly.  Each of them shared her vision of what the Dhajtel race must become in order to thrive, and all of them were willing to sacrifice everything in order to achieve that goal.


    She walked into her study to speak to her daughters once more.  Dormah was already there, a constant companion these days.  Threedak sighed.  Yet another Dhajtel she¡¯d leaned on more than she should with too little thanks.  Dormah might not be her daughter, but over the years she¡¯d become as close as one.  It wasn¡¯t the same, Dormah didn¡¯t feel like immediate family to her, but still the deep bond of affection was there.


    Bekai stood up as she walked in, prepared to immediately bury her in questions.  Threedak raised a grasper, quieting her daughter.


    ¡°There will be plenty of time for that my love,¡± Threedak said, her voice harsh in her ears.  She hadn¡¯t taken her painkillers today and even speaking for a short amount of time rapidly turned into agony.  ¡°For now we need to talk about the shape of things to come.  I know you all wish to know about my health.  Suffice it to say that I am not well at the moment.  Dormah and I will share the details with you later, but for now we need to chart the course of the empire.¡±


    ¡°Yesterday,¡± Threedak walked over to a nearby couch and picked up the mug of tea placed in front of it.  Already her throat was beginning to burn and before long she would need the liquid. ¡°Kahtash brought me a still living invader and I consumed its memory.  As great as the threat seemed from the memories of the humans, it was understated.  The invaders refer to themselves as the vanguard and they are little more than biological robots, programmed to build infrastructure for their masters and kill any races that might contest their master¡¯s ownership of the galaxy.¡±


    ¡°They aren¡¯t taught how to communicate with any species other than themselves and their masters,¡± Threedak took a sip from the steaming mug.  ¡°There is no need.  They¡¯ve been programmed to dispose of all other races upon encountering them.  Humanity was not the first race to be dragged to a screaming doom by the vanguard and unless we stop them, they will not be the last.¡±


    ¡°The vanguard set out in four great fleets,¡± Threedak continued, eyes steely as she recounted the stolen memories.  ¡°Each building and cleansing outward from their master¡¯s homeworld.  The entirety of human civilization was destroyed by a portion of one such fleet.¡±


    ¡°Worse,¡± she blew the steam from her tea before drinking it once again, ¡°there isn¡¯t even a target for us to strike unless we wish to travel for almost a century to find their masters.  The vanguard exists as a series of great factory vessels that dwell in deep space, raiding systems to build more ships and then moving on.  Even if we defeat hundreds of their battlefleets, it would be nothing but an inconvenience.  The vanguard would simply move on to a new area, rebuild and attack us once again.¡±


    ¡°How do we fight something like that?¡± Kahtash asked.   Threedak smiled.  That was Kahtash through and through.  No time for wailing or panic.  Just a simple, ¡®what do we do next.¡¯


    ¡°We turn to Bekai,¡± Threedak nodded toward her other daughter.  ¡°One system no matter how heavily industrialized is insufficient to fight back against the overwhelming might of the vanguard.  We will need dozens if not hundreds of systems with scanners and early warning outposts looking for their factory fleet in hundreds more.¡±


    ¡°And we turn to Dahlass,¡± Threedak gestured toward Dahlass.  ¡°Humanity was insufficient to even put up a fair fight against the vanguard.  The Dhajtel were too primitive.  We must become something more than both if we wish to defend what we have earned.  It will be up to you to forge a polity that can span the stars and ensure that we maintain the drive and unity of purpose necessary to fight the vanguard once they come for us.¡±


    ¡°And Pinrakt,¡± Threedak smiled, noting that her usually distracted daughter was paying proper attention for once.  ¡°This polity will need myths and legends.  A shared culture and entertainment to keep our people connected even if the lag between messages from Dhaj might be weeks or months.  It will be upon you to prevent his empire from collapsing under the weight of cultural drift.¡±


    ¡°Kahtash,¡± she addressed her final daughter.  ¡°Your task will be the simplest but most vital.  One day, the vanguard will come for us and when they do it will be with the intent to crack open every egg and lay waste to everything we¡¯ve created.  That day may not come tomorrow, or even in the next century, but your duty will be to prepare for that day.  When the time comes, I want my daughters leading a unified and prosperous empire, capable of defending its daughters against any aggressor.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°In the meantime,¡± Threedak finished.  ¡°There will be other races, unaware of the threats that lurk in the dark.  If you can educate them of the danger coming for us all, that would be ideal.  The Dhajtel could use some friends.  If you cannot or they do not take our threats seriously, subject races will do in a pinch.  Even if they gnash their fangs and swing their tails at you remember, they are naught but whelps.  Ultimately conquering them is for their own good.  Now that I¡¯ve spoken of my ideas, please.  Let me know your thoughts.¡±


    For a moment that stretched on uncomfortably there was silence as her daughters digested Threedak¡¯s words.  Eventually, Bekai shuffled on her couch and spoke up.


    ¡°Mother,¡± she said with uncharacteristic hesitancy.  ¡°What you¡¯re saying sounds very final, are you-¡±


    ¡°Enough,¡± Threedak cut her off.  Whether it was the pain or her own sense of irritation, the word came off unnecessarily harsh.  ¡°There will be plenty of time for such discussions later Bekai.  I know that I¡¯ve said this before, but the issue of my health will be resolved tonight.  Needless to say, the empire is larger than me.  I want our future course charted before emotions and sentimentality cloud our collective judgements.¡±


    ¡°A confederation,¡± Dahlass interjected quietly.  ¡°The distance between worlds will be too great for central rule.  It takes almost a month for a ship to travel far enough outside a solar system to safely open a wormhole and return, and that will only be for Dhaj¡¯s immediate neighbors.  Anything further out will take much longer.  The only way for the empire to flourish will be a collection of strong governors ruling each system.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t that system fail the humans,¡± Kahtash frowned, her brown scales furrowing around her muzzle.  ¡°Eventually they turned to interstellar corporations because their democracy was too disorganized to actually get anything done.  It devolved into constant squabbling and disagreement rather than any form of actual governance.  By the time the invaders arrived, the humans were too invested in their corporations'' profit figures to organize and put up a proper defense until it was too late.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Dahlass agreed, nodding her head in the study¡¯s dim light.  ¡°But we are not humans.  I am envisioning a system like the one Mother devised.  Unitary rule but with heavy reliance and deference to representative advisors.  If we make those advisors the actual rulers of their home systems and let them appoint governors to rule in their stead, what will happen?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll appoint their daughters,¡± Threedak concurred.  ¡°We all know the bond between Dhajtel mother and daughter.  We literally share the same memories and will.  I might disagree with your recommendations, but I could no more betray you than I could my tail.  It is simply not in our makeup.¡±


    ¡°The major weakness in the human confederation was that their advisors were largely powerless,¡± Dahlass¡¯ voice gained strength as she continued speaking.  ¡°The governors held all of the power and ruled their homes as despots.  Before long the senators sent to the central government became little more than corrupt showpieces in an ineffectual debating society.  By the time the senate made any decisions and their edicts were brought back to the governors, they¡¯d already acted.¡±


    ¡°Month to month decisions would have to be left to the governors,¡± Dahlass shook her head.  ¡°There¡¯s simply no other way, but we can centralize all of the race¡¯s other goals.  Our rulers and advisors could set production goals, manage our military and determine where to invest our collected resources so that we could expand.  Any new family lines of governors/senators would be selected centrally to prevent family loyalty from overshadowing devotion to the race and our cause.¡±


    ¡°That could work,¡± Bekai mused.  ¡°Planning across the empire would be centralized on Dhaj, but we would let the various systems handle their problems in their own ways.  So long as we made the senators or advisors, whatever we¡¯re going to call them, the actual rulers and the governors their representatives that serve at their pleasure, we would centralize all decision making authority on Dhaj.  In the case of an emergency, they wouldn¡¯t have to send dispatches home and wait for an answer, they could simply convene and decide.¡±


    ¡°It is settled then,¡± Threedak smiled tightly, trying to ignore the roiling pain in her chest.  ¡°Executive authority will solely be invested in Dhalass.  She will be assisted by advisors representing the various systems as well as major concerns.  Obviously Bekai will represent industry and development, as she has always done.  Kahtash, or her representative if she is in the field, will speak for the military.  Pinrakt will speak for art and media.  Dormah will represent medicine and public health.¡±


    ¡°Dormah?¡± Pinrakt asked confusedly.  ¡°But she¡¯s our niece rather than a sister?¡±


    ¡°Hush Pin,¡± Bekai cut the confused Dhajtel off.  ¡°Mother and Dormah have grown close over the years.  Even if Dormah isn¡¯t an advisor in title, she¡¯s been fulfilling that role for a long time.  Your head has just been too far in the clouds for you to notice it.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Pinrakt cocked her head before beaming.  ¡°Good.  Mother had always been so isolated.  I¡¯m glad she found someone other than just us to confide in.¡±


    ¡°I have an objection I¡¯d like to voice,¡± Dahlass interjected meekly.  ¡°Why am I the executive?  This isn¡¯t a task that I¡¯m suited to.  You all know that I prefer to act behind the scenes, managing the economy and setting quotas.¡±


    Threedak smiled, remembering years ago when she and Dahlass had engaged in this same debate when she¡¯d joined Kahtash in the conquest of the surrounding tribes.  As much as the complexity and size of their empire had changed, it seemed that her and her daughters¡¯ core nature remained unyielding.


    ¡°Dahlass,¡± Threedak spoke wistfully.  ¡°I expect your sisters to shield you from the press, to prevent you from becoming as much of a symbolic ornament as I¡¯ve become, but you are the only one suited for the task.  Bekai is well adapted to her role, but she¡¯s too prone to acting on emotion to lead.  Kahtash is intelligent, but she approaches problems very directly, and straightforward solutions aren¡¯t always going to be what the empire needs.  As for Pinrakt, she¡¯s too wrapped up in her art.  She wouldn¡¯t even know where to begin.¡±


    ¡°Look at your sisters,¡± Threedak motioned to the trio of nodding Dhajtel.  ¡°You are the only one that objects.  Whether you realize it or not, you¡¯ve been more or less filling the role for years.  I mediate disputes, but the economy, development and political makeup of the empire has always been your handiwork.  I know you¡¯re hesitant to step into the light and take on that role publicly, but I heard the passion in your voice when you spoke of founding a confederacy.  This may be a difficult task for you at first, but ultimately I believe it will be an enriching one.¡±


    ¡°More than anything,¡± Threedak looked around the room, her eyes misting slightly, ¡°when I step back I want each of you to be happy.  Bekai is at home in her factories and labs, Kahtash simply wants to be the best admiral in recorded history, Dormah cares about the health and wellbeing of all, and Pinrakt only cares about producing more art.  Deep down, I know that you need to be in control of the levers that control the system Dahlass.  Even if you can¡¯t voice that to yourself, I just know you wouldn¡¯t be happy otherwise.  Just accept it as one of my final edicts if it helps you come to terms with it.¡±


    Dahlass opened her mouth to respond, but ultimately closed it.  She hung her head, unable to make eye contact with Threedak or her sisters as her tail flicked contemplatively.


    ¡°Now,¡± Threedak continued, reaching her hand into the carrying bag she carried slung across her shoulder and stroking the lump of metal and plastic that lay within.  ¡°Is there anything else we must address before moving on to the topic of my health?¡±


    ¡°There is one thing,¡± Kahtash stood up from her couch, graspers formally clasped behind her back.  ¡°I would like to speak of the invaders¡¯ construction project after we removed them from the system.¡±

 Chapter 23 - The Last Supper

    All eyes locked on Kahtash as she spoke.  Her voice was its usual self.  Clipped, reserved and dignified as she addressed Threedak and her sisters.


    ¡°They were building a ship,¡± she continued her address.  ¡°A massive capital ship just over four kilometers in length.  Despite its size, it was fairly lightly armed and armored.  Most of the interior was devoted to open space and what appeared to be large tanks of water for growing kelp, a fairly standard environmental and biomass preservation apparatus.¡±


    ¡°A meat barge,¡± Threedak frowned, worry trickling into her voice.  ¡°There aren¡¯t supposed to be any of them outside of the main fleet.  The vanguard shouldn¡¯t have been building one all the way out here.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what the analysts are thinking,¡± Kahtash nodded.  ¡°Whatever it is, the ship looks like a gigantic transport devoted to hauling around organic matter.  We only got fragments from the analyst that ate the other invader, but we learned enough to be worried.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Threedak responded slowly.  ¡°The vanguard wasn¡¯t meant to build new meat barges.  I think the masters wanted to prevent them from expanding out of control, but each and every barge was created in their home system.  The great factory ships and their warships were built and rebuilt as necessity demanded, but there were never more than repairs done to the barges.  That they would build a new one now means that something has changed.¡±


    ¡°The invaders are far from their main fleet,¡± Kahtash shrugged.  ¡°The final wormhole the humans took away from Earth was an unstable jump, we¡¯re years away from their core fleet.  Maybe they were just going to make another one to clean our area of the galaxy.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Threedak replied, unconvinced.  The vanguard wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to make a risky jump home.  They lacked individuality so the loss of a ship would impact them just as much as shedding scales would her.  Only in great numbers would it even begin to matter.


    The vanguard was doing something new.  Her vision of their memories wasn¡¯t complete, the soldier drone she ate was little more than a clipping of their whole.  It frustrated her that even now she didn¡¯t know the full shape of their enemy, but there was no cure for it.


    The room lapsed into silence.  For almost a minute the only sound was the crackle of the fireplace and an occasional shuffle as Pinrakt shifted restlessly on her couch.  Finally, Bekai tired of the lull.


    ¡°Mother,¡± impatience bubbled in her voice.  ¡°You¡¯ve been deferring questions about your health for too long.  You told us that we¡¯d finally hear the truth today, and I¡¯m tired of being put off.  Just let us know what¡¯s happening.  Right now the worry is worse than any news you could actually give us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure about that,¡± Threedak¡¯s chuckled devolved into a cough.  ¡°Fine, you¡¯ve sat patiently through all of this planning and rambling.  I appreciate that you¡¯ve held your tongues as long as you have.¡±


    She took a deep breath, steeling herself.  Part of Threedak knew that she¡¯d been delaying this moment selfishly.  Finding excuses to avoid this very conversation.


    ¡°I am dying,¡± she replied simply.  ¡°Dormah says that I have a matter of months at the best, but I¡¯ve become more and more reliant on painkillers.  Today I am simply enduring it, but usually I am in a fog.  Hazy and unable to operate at my best.  Already I¡¯ve begun to notice mistakes.  Small things, a misplaced item in an itinerary or a missed question to an expert.¡±


    ¡°So far I¡¯ve been the only one to notice,¡± Threedak smiled tightly, ¡°but it¡¯s unacceptable.  As I slow, I¡¯ve become a liability to the empire.  It isn¡¯t a sustainable state.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t age as the humans do,¡± Bekai interjected, standing up from the cushions of her couch.  ¡°Our geneticists have confirmed that as time passes Dhajtel simply grow larger.  We simply don¡¯t die of natural causes.  This must be some kind of mistake or ruse.¡±


    Threedak chuckled, her throat scratchy and dry from talking.  She shook her head, motioning with a grasper for Bekai to sit back down.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t a natural cause,¡± she responded sadly.  ¡°The very gift that lifted our race up from squalor cursed me.  The shuttle that crashed into Dhaj¡¯s great desert was leaking radiation.  The vanguard hit it with a fusion warhead to bring it down and I went inside to eat the twelve.  I didn¡¯t even know what gamma rays were, but I more or less received a fatal dose that day.¡±


    ¡°From the beginning I¡¯ve been consulting with our medical establishment,¡± Threedak continued, nodding to Dormah.  ¡°Chemotherapy, biological agents, transfusions- we¡¯ve tried everything.  All they¡¯ve done is slow the spread of the cancer.  You may have noticed my recent difficulty speaking.  It¡¯s almost consumed my lungs.  Each day it grows harder for me to breathe.  I might be able to survive another six months, but I would be in constant agony.¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t how I want you to remember me,¡± she smiled, dampness pooling in her eyes.  ¡°I want to exit this plane on my own terms rather than as an invalid.¡±


    ¡°There has to be another way,¡± Dahlass blurted out, her shyness forgotten as she stared at Threedak with wild eyes.  ¡°Even if we don¡¯t have the technology to fix you now, we can cryogenically freeze you, wait until the technology is advanced enough and bring you back.  You can¡¯t just leave us like this!¡±


    ¡°Dahlass,¡± Threedak smiled down at her.  ¡°You¡¯ve grown so much over the years, but I¡¯ve always been there as a crutch.  Your ideas are good and your reasoning is sound, but you defer too much to me.  I can¡¯t help but feel like my presence is the last thing holding you back.  You¡¯ll miss me.  I know you all will, but this is simply what must be done.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no must about it,¡± Dormah snorted.  ¡°We¡¯ve already talked about cryogenic freezing.  It¡¯s perfectly viable, but you¡¯re just too stubborn to go that route.  This isn¡¯t about what HAS to happen, it¡¯s about what you want.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Threedak agreed.  ¡°This is partially a selfish decision on my part, but it is what the empire needs.  Without me you will all be regents, placeholders making decisions in my stead rather than rulers and ministers in your own right.  I don¡¯t want to fade into our empires mythology as some sort of heroic figure that can be called back in a moment of crisis to save the Dhajtel.¡±The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had my moment in the sun,¡± tears were streaming down her face as she beamed down on her daughters with pride.  ¡°It was beautiful. Together we accomplished so much, dragging the Dhajtel kicking and screaming from a collective of savages bashing rocks together into a technological and artistic powerhouse.  We claimed the stars themselves for our daughters.


    ¡°Almost more importantly than the empire,¡± she continued, vision hazy as she made eye contact with each Dhajtel in turn.  ¡°I¡¯ve forged bonds with everyone in this room.  These emotions and feelings yet another gift from the humans for which we will never be able to repay them.¡±


    ¡°But my moment in the light is drawing to a close,¡± Threedak pulled an object out of her satchel and set it on the table in front of her.  ¡°My day is done and now it is time for my daughters to take up my mantle.  Together you are stronger than me and I¡¯m sure that you¡¯ll make me proud.¡±


    ¡°Mother,¡± Kahtash¡¯s eyes were fixed on the table.  ¡°Please tell me that isn¡¯t what I think it is.¡±


    Threedak picked up the needle pistol, an ugly block of plastic and metal designed for a smaller human hand.  She turned it over in her grasper, the metal smooth and cold under her grip.  A red six glowed faintly in the indicator built into the weapon¡¯s hilt.  For years it had been her constant companion, but she¡¯d never found the need to use it again after that fateful day in the swamp when Lament was nothing more than a pile of bricks and a lofty idea.


    ¡°I¡¯m a sentimental Dhajtel,¡± she chuckled, her eyes still hazy with tears.  ¡°The symbolism of the human artifact that protected me in the first years of our civilization being the tool to usher me out of this world was simply too much for me to pass up.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand,¡± Pinrakt spoke, frowning as she stared at the human weapon.  ¡°Please speak plainly Mother, what are you planning.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Threedak asked, a hint of mirth on her face.  ¡°I stand before you a prophet that ushered in a new age and tonight I have gathered around me my disciples.  This is the last supper.¡±


    ¡°The human religious event?¡± Dahlass asked, choking back tears of her own.  ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you have just made things simple and gone with a Dhajtel ceremony?  Why the need for mysticism and religious overtones that you don¡¯t even believe in?


    ¡°Because we are more than Dhajtel,¡± Threedak chided gently.  ¡°By consuming the memories of the humans, we have become more.  Dhajtel in body, but a hybrid in mind.  We can reason and feel in a way that the Dhajtel before could not.  Plus, I may not believe in the human religion, but its words have a certain power and they apply now.¡±


    ¡°After all,¡± she smiled, staring lovingly down at her daughters and Dormah.  ¡°She who eats my flesh and drinks my blood shall have eternal life.  By eating my flesh and drinking my blood they will live forever in me as I live forever in them.¡±


    ¡°Are,¡± Kahtash began but paused, a hitch in her voice.  ¡°Are you asking us to do what I think you are?¡±  Her daughter¡¯s eyes flicked to the needle pistol once more.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Threedak said simply.  ¡°I haven¡¯t taken my painkillers today because I want the memory transfer to be as clear as possible.  When the agony becomes too much, I will finish things with the needle pistol.  It is too important to pass down everything I know to all five of you and I simply wouldn¡¯t have the biomass for the transfer to be accurate post mortem.  I will need to be alive for as long as possible.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Bekai stood up, pacing back and forth.  ¡°There needs to be another way.  This is barbaric, the very thing adopting the trappings of humanity was supposed to prevent.¡±


    ¡°Please,¡± she turned to Threedak, tears streaming down her face.  ¡°Ask us anything but this.  Anything at all.¡±


    Slowly, Threedak plodded over to Bekai, blossoms of fiery pain dogging her every step.  She put one grasper under her daughter¡¯s chin, gently forcing her muzzle up.  The other wiped the tears from the side of her face.


    ¡°Bekai my sweet,¡± Threedak comforted her.  ¡°I am dying and this has always been our way.  It is my duty to my daughters, my tribe and my empire to step down and pass on my memories.  I have taught you all I could, but my time has come.  This is the way that it has to be.¡±


    She turned to the rest of her daughters and Dormah.  They were distraught.  None of them truly understood her decision.  At first she¡¯d railed against the unfairness of fate and sought a cure, but once none had revealed itself, Threedak had been gifted with plenty of time to confront her options.  Long ago she¡¯d come to peace with the fact that this was the end of her story and the beginning of something new.


    Something wonderful.


    ¡°Please,¡± she spread her graspers, encompassing the room.  ¡°Although there is sadness in this moment I want you all to rejoice.  What I am doing today is an act of love and a celebration of my life and accomplishments.  Soon you¡¯ll be able to view my life through my own eyes, to see how I cared for each of you.  As my memories become yours, the imperfection of language will slip away and I will truly live on forever in each of you.¡±


    Threedak returned to her couch and picked up her needle pistol.  She rolled over onto her side and closed her eyes for the final time.  Her tail slapped the floor.  Once.  Twice.


    The first set of teeth bit into the haunch of her hindmost left leg, almost hesitantly.  She hissed in pain.  Agony exploded from her tail as a chunk of scale and flesh was removed.


    Whatever trepidation held the rest of her daughters back faded.  Threedak¡¯s mind almost blanked with pain as she endured bite after bite.  Despite the agony a smile stretched across her muzzle.


    She struggled to remain conscious.  Her thoughts went to her daughters, when they barely made it to her waist, insisting that they were just as capable as her as they struggled to use crude bronze implements.  Even now, all she could think of was her pride in their accomplishments.  From Pinrakt¡¯s sculptures, to Bekai¡¯s inventions, each of them was a savant in their own way.


    For a crude savage born into a violent and unstable world, they¡¯d blessed her.  Truly, she didn¡¯t know if her grand plans for their race would have amounted to anything without their constant protection, chiding and help.  But they¡¯d done it.  Conquered a hostile planet and struck the first blow against an implacable and ageless foe.


    Threedak didn¡¯t know what awaited the Dhajtel in the darkness of space beyond their home system, but she trusted her daughters implicitly.  Whatever might lurk on nearby worlds, her daughters would break and bend it to their will.  All that was left were her memories.  Each of them only had a share of humanities knowledge, but after today they would possess the full codex.


    She gritted her teeth against the pain, the coppery taste and smell of blood on her tongue.  That knowledge was the final and most important gift she could grant them.


    The agony ground into her like broken glass, jarring her system with each bite.  Threedak gasped for breath, lightheaded from the combination of blood loss and pain.  It was enough.  The years of suffering as a figurehead, serving as an ornament and symbol for her people while others worked, fought and died for her.  The mornings, prodded and stuck with needle to slow the advance of the cancer, always hiding her infirmity from her people lest they divert their focus from the vanguard.  When her daughters moved away, governing various facets of society and often too busy to visit even for a moment of small talk.  Throughout her life and now in the moment of her death, she¡¯d endured.


    Struggling she raised her grasper to her head.  The needle pistol was heavier than she remembered.


    A single shot rang out.