The Crash

[Qi'Lar]

The night sky can be beautiful.

Look at it.

If there are no clouds in the sky, and if you are far enough away from the ambient lights from cities and towns, you can see the stars. If you are even more fortunate and are high enough up, or surrounded by a flat enough land, you can see them stretch out from horizon to horizon. Countless stars and nebulae, a source of wonder.

And these are only the stars that can be seen; for what we see are not the true stars, but the stars as they once were. Thanks to the speed of light, these stars-unimaginably distant-present to us the image of what they were billions of years ago. A new star can appear in the sky, previously unknown-and yet in truth, that star may already be dead, burned out into a dwarf star, or worse-collapsed into a black hole.

There are other lights in the skies. Far closer, there are the planets-you can see the closest with some ease, even with the naked eye, such as Mars, and Jupiter. There are the comets, flying their elliptical orbits around the sun. Man-made creations, such as satellites and space stations (those that are publicly known, of course; there are many who prefer their presence to be unknown).

And meteors. Flying across the Earth’s orbit, sometimes skimming its atmosphere. Mostly benign, rarely falling far enough into Earth’s fragile envelope of air to reach the surface of the planet. When they do, they are usually very tiny, burned out by the friction and the pressures of entry. On rare occasions, however, they fall and devastate an area, able to hold enough intact to make an impact.

Imagine it. A force detonating with the power of an atomic weapon. It is fortunate indeed that so many of the catastrophic meteors have managed to miss inhabited areas. The latest to hit a major habitation was at the island of Bloody Bay, when fragments of a world-killing meteor rained down in 1989. Over twenty years ago-perhaps a once in a lifetime event-or perhaps once in a generation.

Do you see them?

If you look into the sky tonight, you can see them coming-meteors very close to Earth. The newspapers have been reporting on the spectacular show they will be giving off. Astronomers have concluded that there should be no harm done by their passing.

They are wrong.

A new generation is about to face the horror that struck decades ago. New heroes will have a chance to stand against what it represents.

What they do not know is: humanity will not be its first victim.

* * *

Autarch Qi’Lar opened her eyes slowly, her entire body aching with pain. The sound of alarms blaring continued to blast in her ears; the smell of burning metal strong. She looked herself over, and noticed the green blood staining the side of her uniform, knew it to be her own. She got to her feet, painfully, hoping to assess the situation. “Exarch?” she said, and cursed herself for her shaking voice.

A cursory glance told her what she needed to know. Most of the crew on the command deck was dead. In the command bubble, she could see Exarch Llan Llenthoril, slumped down in his seat, his three eyes staring at infinity. The bubble had been shattered, and several sharp pieces had been pushed through the Exarch.

Qi’Lar muttered a soft curse. She wished she knew the Tredexian views on death; her own species, the Akklesh, favored sending the bodies out to the stars, to blaze the trail for the living to come after-but there wasn’t time for that, no time for any prayers-and no time to look up the best way to honor the Exarch. There might not be enough time for the living.

“I’m in command,” she stated, feeling numb. How did she end up in this position? The Exarch was supposed to see this through to the end-that had been the plan. But he had seen, with his strange visions, that this campaign would be his last-that he would not live to see its end. Qi’Lar had laughed it off-his version of a joke. She didn’t realize at the time when he had assigned her as his Second, that he was hoping that she could carry on when he couldn’t. “I need status.”

One of the pilots looked back at her dully. “We’re dead.”

“We are not dead!” Qi’Lar snapped. “Give me a status report now!”

“The Slags hit us too hard,” came a voice from behind her. One of the techs-what the frell was his name, anyway?-was saying, “We came too close to the asteroid. They infected the ship.”

Memories opened at the words. Yes, the accursed Slags. Ever since they wiped out their base at Touchstone, the Null Division had been in pursuit. The Exarch had said it was their responsibility. He’d said a lot of things. Nobody questioned him-he was the force that drove the Null Division, had been its father and its mother. He had obtained the ship, the Song of Discordant Unity, a name he said fit the Division perfectly-a plurality of alien species all acting as one. They joined the Division, and set aside their pasts-no matter how painful, how terrible. The Division became their family, as it became Qi’Lar’s.

They’d fought in star system after star system, fighting for the cause of right, and while they didn’t win them all, they had never been truly defeated. Qi’Lar vowed that it wouldn’t happen now. “What do we have?”

“Not much, Autarch. Armory’s gone-the Slags infected almost every weapon in it. The tanks, the heavy weapons, the small arms. It rampaged towards the engine.”

Qi’Lar felt a sudden chill. “Are they all dead?”

“No-but the engine is. We’re in the gravity well of the planet.”

There wasn’t much worse news than that. They’d been approaching a planet, didn’t have much in the databases. It was the endpoint of the Kheldian Migration, and a gathering point for a number of alien races-many of whom were apparently the “last of their kind”. Qi’Lar remembered calling it an endangered species reserve. The natives called it “Earth”.

The asteroid cluster had made an adjustment, and had aimed itself directly at the planet. The Unity had to stop them-backwater primitives they might be, but they deserved better than obliteration. But as the tech had said-they had approached too close, and let the energies of the asteroid infect the ship.

“They infected the navigation bubble,” Qi’Lar said, not realizing she was talking out loud. “The Slag attacked us. I couldn’t stop it from....” Killing the Exarch. She remembered hitting the thing with all her strength, her fists demolishing the metal components of the Slag. She remembered it hitting her even harder-she felt something inside of her break. Even now, she still felt weaker than she should have. Something in the cyberskeletal structure, she thought. She didn’t look forward to the repair work; the implants were going to ache for days.

“They infected the entire ship. We’re heading for a crash.” He didn’t need to add, A crash that will kill us all.

“No.” She checked her wrist-the comm had managed to remain undamaged. “This is Autarch Qi’Lar,” she said, setting it for general broadcast. “The Exarch is dead. I’m assuming command for the duration of this crisis. Get me propulsion, or we’re all dead.”

“Working on it, Autarch,” a response came. She didn’t recognize the voice offhand-but then, with all that was going on, she was grateful she could understand the response.

She made her way to the pilot who had just stared at his control board. “I need to know what is happening out there.”

“We’re all going to die,” he said, tonelessly. Qi’Lar had to restrain herself from slapping the pilot; in her current mood, she would probably take his head off. She glanced at the other pilots-no joy. Unconscious, or dead, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t have time.

She grabbed the uniform of the pilot, spun him around to face her. “Let’s try this again-what is happening out there?!” The words were a shout. Qi’Lar’s temper was well known; under most circumstances, she kept it reined in on duty, but her off duty activities had passed into Division legend. She counted on the angry tone to penetrate the haze. It worked.

“We’re in the gravity well-we’re going down too fast.”

“I know that. What about the Slags?”

“They’ve already penetrated atmosphere. They’re coming down hard.”

“Then we have to fight them there. Get us out of the planet's gravity well.”

“We’re not facing the right way!”

Qi’Lar repressed a scowl-it was true. The structure of the Unity was straightforward-a tapered point in front, a cylindrical body, separating out into three long elegant propulsion units, each equidistant from each other. An elegant design, for space-but it wouldn't do any good in dealing with an atmospheric entry.

And right now, the Unity was falling towards Earth like a dart. “All right-then we need to turn around. Do we have attitudinal thrusters working?”

The tech, still working his way through the wreckage of the command deck, said, “I think we do.”

“Work on it. Get in touch with any tech who can do the job. Just do it fast. How long until impact?” The last was directed to the pilot again.

The pilot seemed to be regaining calm. “Ten segments-maybe less.”

“Turn us around.”

“Shields are gone, Autarch,” the tech reported.

It was just getting better and better. Without shields, the only thing keeping everyone on board from burning to a crisp was the outer hull-and anyone unlucky enough to be in the lower decks were probably as good as dead from the heat. She just had to hope the propulsion units didn’t melt before they kicked up enough thrust to get out of the well. If the ship ended up crashing, given the engine’s power core, it would end up leaving a large crater at terminal velocity-although in truth, a crater would be the least of the indigs’ problems.

She felt a subtle shift. The ship was turning.

Qi’Lar looked around. A couple of the officers were waking up. Great timing. One looked at the corpse of the Exarch and groaned in despair.

She turned back to the pilot. “How long until we’re aligned?”

“Another segment. We’re almost there.” He’d calmed down a lot-Qi’Lar wondered if he’d gone fatalistic on her. As long as he doesn’t get us killed.

She had time to check the other stations. The ones who were still unconscious would need med-techs. The ones who weren’t-well, there wasn’t much she could do about them.

Activating her comm again, she said, “Attention-anyone who isn’t essential personnel to the ship, get out. Use the life pods. We’re going to try to save the Unity, but it’s a long shot. Unless you’re tired of living, abandon ship.”

A response came back. “Who’s essential?”

“Whoever is keeping the power going, and whoever is flying the ship!”

Another response, another voice. “There aren’t enough functioning pods-not after the Slags got through here.”

Frustrated, Qi’Lar said, “Pull a random number, low numbers lose and stick around-or find volunteers. I don’t care-just get the frell out of here!” She shut down the comm.

The pilot called out, “We’re aligned! Activating emergency thrusters!”

The gravity felt like it had doubled; the systems that kept things at a steady gravity had apparently been one of those destroyed by the rampage of the Slags. It just kept getting better.

She heard a short scream as one of the officers discovered a break in their leg that couldn’t deal with the sudden gravity shift. Qi’Lar hoped that there was still a medical bay after all of this-the bay was near the propulsion units, at the back end of the Unity.

Qi’Lar made her way to her bubble. It was as wrecked as the rest of the stations on the deck, but she hoped that she could at least get some readings. She didn’t even consider using the Exarch’s bubble. Instinct had taken over. One of the display monitors was still working in her bubble-and to her consternation, it showed the planetary surface closing in.

Too frelling fast.

“We need more thrust!”

“There isn’t any more!”

Alarmed, Qi’Lar watched the display as the surface began to show more details-a city of some kind, it looked like. Looks like we’ll be making an impression on the indigs, she thought darkly. But...it was slowing down.

“Almost there!” The relief was palpable from the pilot. Qi'Lar thought, Can we do it? Can the engine hold out?

Then the power went out.

At least four languages worth of curse words echoed on the command deck.

“Crash positions!” Qi’Lar shouted. She repeated it over the comm. “We’re going to crash!”

She hoped that they had slowed down enough, were close enough to the ground, that they wouldn’t all die.

* * *

This is how the Song of Discordant Unity dies.

The graceful ship is falling, dropping from the stars that are its home. Meteors drop around it, crashing through buildings below, destroying homes, destroying lives. Heroes and villains are at war below, human beings imbued with tremendous power-and helpless to stop the end of their homes. Worse still are the beings that the humans call “Shivans”, the beings that the Null Division referred to as “Slags”, animating the devastated buildings around them and using them as raw materials for their sentience. They attack anything that moves, any survivors.

But the Unity’s fall manages to miss the intact buildings-although one of the propulsion units nearly clips one-as it tilts toward a side. It will not be a neat touchdown on the propulsion units; it will not land cleanly on its side, nor will it stab the earth with the top of the vessel. It slams into the ground, one propulsion unit first-it snaps and shatters and breaks under the weight and mass of the Unity. It cannot remain upright-it never had a chance to be upright-and collapses into the ground upon which is built as Galaxy City-in a place the people there called Gemini Park.

The crash is not over, though.

As it impacts the ground, the ground itself gives way. Like most of the area nearby, the underground was honeycombed by tunnels, caverns, used by mystics and paramilitary forces alike. The force of the crash shatters their ceilings, partially burying the Unity as it finally comes to rest upon its final home.

On the command deck, the impact throws the unsecured debris around-and the bodies. Unconscious bodies do not regain consciousness-they simply pass into the next life without comment. Living bodies are damaged further-some stripped of their own life as debris slams into them, cuts them, pierces them. Some live through the damage. None come out unhurt.

It is several moments before anyone stirs. Autarch Qi’Lar groans under the weight of a collapsed bulkhead. With a strain, she pushes it off of her, long enough to crawl out from under it. “Outside,” she gasps. It doesn’t matter if the atmosphere is poisonous-with life support gone, they are dead anyway if it is. She activates her wrist comm and says, “All hands...abandon ship.”

The hull has cracked open, she sees-rendering the question of atmosphere moot. She climbs above the debris, and pulls the metal open, wider, wider. There is pain-her cyberskeleton’s damage making its presence known. But it is wide enough to see the sky above. It is raining fire.

She makes one more announcement on the comms. “I’m activating my beacon. All survivors, form on me. We have a world to defend, an enemy to put down, and an Exarch to avenge.”

She climbs out of the ship, and heads to the sound of battle.

Several miles away, and fathoms deep, the arrival is noted by one of the most sophisticated computers on the planet. The Lovelace Core of Hyperion Force logs a note that the Shivans have not arrived alone.

-Finis