AMP Colossus (26 page)

As the marching Targs arrived at their war machines, small shuttlecraft could be seen moving from side to side of the ships above. The movements between them soon settled. An audio broadcast was begun. Whatever this spectacle was, it was about to begin.

A voice on the broadcast spoke. "Welcome to the bimonthly Targ war games. Once again we have five thousand Targs manning each of the great machines. As always, all wagering must be concluded by post time. Any bets entered after that time will not be honored. I will now turn the mic over to the pregame coordinator for a description of the coming battle."

A second voice spoke. "Welcome, Gontas! We have a spectacular series of events planned for the coming day. Please get your wagers in early, as when post time arrives, you will be locked out of the wagering! I'll begin with a rundown of the configurations each side has been allowed and the placements they have chosen."

The voice continued, "Each side has been allowed twenty-six heavy abutment plates on their destructors. The Fergie have chosen to group those plates in the center, while the Hargets have evenly spread them throughout the face of their machine. Each destructor has forty-two fifty-millimeter projectile cannons along with one hundred twelve-millimeter rumble cannons and five hundred eight-millimeter mini cannons."

As we listened in, the Captain spoke. "Looks like the Gontas, or whatever they are, are using this other species for sport. I don't think we are going to be working out any trade deals with the locals. I doubt they have the authority to make any such deals. We need to talk to the others."

I replied, "Those battleships they have there are well armored, but we have our Yacabucci if needed. If we lock them down, we might be able to work a deal."

The weapons officer spoke. "Sorry to interrupt, Sir, but I don't think the Yacabucci will work so close to this planet. It is one giant ball of iron. We wouldn't be able to develop the field strength needed to capture much of anything, Sir. And that effect might run out to as much as twenty thousand kilometers."

I turned to the Captain. "Looks like we are stuck here until they leave. Ten credits say the Fergies take 'em."

With that remark I drew a cold stare from Ashley. My attempt at humor bombed. These were sentient beings that were being forced into battle for sport. Given our own constant situation of war, I could see how others might be sensitive to the plight of the Targs. I leaned back in my chair feeling at least a small amount of shame.

As the announcements continued, each of the great machines came to life. Hundreds of video feeds were broadcast from the different chambers within each destructor. Our view-screen was soon full of a half dozen of such feeds from the Fergie side. The furry green Fergies moved about carrying supplies of ammo from large armories in the rear up to the gun mounts on the face of the machine. War was about to begin.

I had watched many a video feed from our raids on Milgari ships. It was easy to get excited over death coming to enemy combatants from the hands of our Marines. At the time, every dead Milgari meant one less that could take one or more of our own lives. This event before us did not evoke that same sense of excitement. It brought with it a sense of dread at having to watch. These were essentially slaves, forced into battle for sport. I began to get a sickening feeling in my gut.

The one-kilometer distance between the two machines began to close. Cannon fire quickly erupted. The Fergie had positioned most of their large cannons in and around the heavy plating in the center. With the first barrage, the center of the Harget machine exploded with a flurry of flying metal plates. The Hargets returned fire, decimating the structure surrounding the Fergie stronghold. As the tracked machines slowly closed their distance, the smaller weapons came online.

The video feeds from inside told of the loss of life on both teams. The deaths were brutal, but each side maintained an order. Each side was determined to win.

I stood and began to pace the bridge, desperately seeking a way to bring about the end of the abomination that was playing out before me.

Ashley placed her hand on my shoulder. "Just let it go, Don. There is nothing we can do about this. We don't have the means to stop it."

I replied, "Can we at least turn off those feeds? It seems a bit too barbaric of us to be watching that."

Ashley replied, "As horrific as this whole situation is, we need to keep those feeds running. That is information streaming to us, and anything we learn now may work heavily in our favor in the future."

I sat back down and spoke. "How can you do that: just sit and watch? Doesn't this bother you?"

Ashley replied, "It bothers me a great deal, Don. In situations like this, we have to separate our feelings of humanity from our needs for analysis. It is a horribly bad situation, but we can learn from it, and should learn from it."

Our tactical officers focused on the view-screens as they typed feverishly into their consoles. After an hour of mayhem and death, I left the bridge and sat in the cafeteria with a coffee. Ashley soon joined me.

I spoke. "Had enough of your analysis?"

Ashley replied, "Just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling any better?"

I took a sip of my coffee and spoke. "I'm a tough guy. I've put down many an alien myself. I've destroyed ships and transports. I've stolen resources, interrogated prisoners. But for some reason, those images out there—I just can't sit with them. This galaxy has enough death and destruction without someone doing it for sport."

Ashley placed her arm across the middle of my back and leaned in close to me. "You were fighting a war. Fighting for what you believed in, for the people you cared for. This is a first for us. We are sitting on the outside looking in. We have no attachment to any of those species down there. And yet we somehow feel compelled to protect them, to help them. I think that is what separates us from most of the species in this galaxy, Don. We care when so many others don't. We can't stop that monstrosity going on down there, but maybe we can learn how to stop the next one."

As the battle continued, the two machines closed to within a few meters of each other. In an instant the guns all went silent. Walkways were extended from either side where enough structure remained for connections across to be made. The bulk of the warriors on either side picked up hand weapons, axes, blades, and maces. They raced across the walkways into the remains of the machines on either side. It was a bloody spectacle of a battle as each side slaughtered the soldiers of the other.

After nine hours of the hand-to-hand fighting, the hostilities aboard the great machines came to an end. Four hundred twelve Hargets remained. I rejoined the others on the bridge when the fighting had ended.

As I sat back in my chair, I spoke. "So it’s over. They slaughter each other to the delight of those watching. All for what? For a little entertainment?"

The Captain replied, "I don't think it is over yet, Mr. Grange. They are moving both machines back towards the Fergie starting point. And look at the mass of Hargets that are gathering in their territory. I don't think they are celebrating. I think they are mobilizing. Look... here... they are armed with the same hand weapons as those on the machine."

When the two machines reached the original starting point of the Fergie machine, the Harget machine came to a stop. At that moment, a great horn sounded and the Harget hordes began to move en masse towards the buildings to either side.

What happened next was even more revolting than the war we had just witnessed. As the Hargets moved in and about the buildings, we could see Fergie being dragged out into the streets and butchered. Men, women, and children, all were victims of a kilometer-deep purge.

Buildings were not destroyed or damaged. Only the occupants were dragged out and killed. It was a barbaric sight. An occurrence that I could not comprehend a reason for. When the purge ended, Harget families could be seen moving into the newly captured buildings.

Once teams of Hargets had finished cleaning up the piles of bodies from the streets, the new residents gathered and began a celebration that lasted for several hours. When it was all done, the conquered section of the city looked as it would on any other day: kids played and adults conducted business or moved about with their daily lives.

The steel-gray ships of the wagerers soon lifted off towards wherever they had come from. Except for those who had perished, the lives of the Targs had returned to normal: a normal that I had trouble identifying the basis of.

Over the next few weeks, our harvester ran nonstop. Every two days, a shipment of highly refined ore arrived on the Grid for final processing. In the two weeks following the first, two of our new harvesters were ready to put into service. New sites were selected and the harvesters deployed.

A decision was made to send the
Granger
out to the nearby star systems in search of the sleek steel-gray ships and their origins. Only by stopping their return to Targ could we then stop the bimonthly slaughter that took place. Just before we set out for the first star system, I received a much-needed surprise.

A familiar voice spoke. "Don Grange! At last we have found you. I was beginning to have doubts that the Grid had survived the jump. You are well short of the intended destination. I am certain you have a story to tell. The Durians caught up to our position not long after your departure. We lost some good ships and good crews, but the bulk of our fleet remains intact."

I could hardly contain my emotions. "Frig! Wow! Man, I am so happy to hear your voice! And yes, we have had our struggles, but we are mostly OK. How far out are you?"

Frig replied, "I am still two years’ journey from your position, Sir. We managed to evade the Durians, but they have gone before us. They are two thousand ships strong, Sir, and their ships are more powerful and more heavily shielded than ever. They are following your original trajectory. You should make plans to move as soon as possible."

I sighed as the thought of a new conflict with the Durians took hold. "We just arrived where we are. Hydrogen tanks are empty, and we only have five hydrogen harvesters at the moment. We are working on getting more. We just need time. Really glad to hear your voice, though. It's music to my ears."

Frig replied, "It always was, Sir, music to your ears. Only perhaps now you are not so tone deaf."

I spoke. "Aw, now you are just going to make me tear up! I have so missed that sarcasm!"

My good friend replied, "Truth be told, Sir, I missed your dull wit and gargantuan mistakes too. And I have the Swift here with me, Sir. She is as ready and capable as ever. I have made a few minor enhancements to her, but we have much to discuss, so I will tell you of those later."

I stood with nervous energy as I replied, "You are right. We have much to discuss. There may be more Grid stations, with other alien races that have no prior history such as ourselves. If they prove to be real, it will be the first clues we have had as to our origin. Open a portal so I can come through and see you!"

Frig replied, "I am sorry, Sir. This comm link is all that can be opened. It seems the wormhole consumes ever more power at greater distance. I estimate it will be another year before a full doorway can be opened."

I plopped back down in my chair. "OK. Well, we won't be going anywhere anytime soon. So, go ahead and tell us more about your Durian encounter and I will tell you our follies."

~~~

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