THE VROL TRILOGY (3 page)

He wiped his hand out through the air
to his front, creating a smaller view screen, more like what was
once known as a television, appear out of nothingness. The flat,
semi-transparent display showed nothing but the blackness of space
and a few stars, until what appeared to be a massive creature came
into view - but it wasn't a creature, although it was alive in a
manner of speaking; a Vrol Brood Carrier had just arrived at its
destination - Earth.

Mankind had no idea that anything was
headed their way. For years they had scanned the stars, especially
looking for the refugees who had disappeared after fleeing the
planet decades before, but they saw nothing until the Brood Carrier
materialized right outside Earth's atmosphere, accompanied by
thousands of other ships of various sizes and configurations, which
started to connect together and blot out the sky.

There was no warning. No waiting. No
negotiating. Death came crashing down upon Earth's collective head.
Man fought back, and although his cities were laid to waste, he
battled on and held off the Vrol for almost two years. He had
learned to capture the powerful and deadly Vrol Flyers and use
technology to access the Brood Mind through the creatures' simple
brains, which were only intelligent via their psychic connection to
each other. Even though it required a voluntary human sacrifice to
make contact, as the user would die shortly after having acquired
and shared critical information, mankind kept on and on until he
figured out how to conquer them. The Vrol were almost defeated for
the first time since they were created by rogue Prīmulī - created
to cull the unworthy from the galaxy.

There was one thing that was not stored
in the Brood Mind- the final protocol; their parting gift to an
obnoxious enemy that refused to lie down and die. Silent and
invisible, the cleansing strain flowed down upon the planet and
invaded every fresh water source it touched. Saline oceans were
immune, but nothing else was. It nearly decimated every land-based
species of fauna - including man - dissolving everything to dust
almost on contact. Even Vrol ground troops were susceptible. None
in its path escaped, and of those outside its path, very few lived.
Colonies built at sea and out of reach of the Vrol (who didn't fly
over large masses of salt water) didn't even escape the strain. It
settled down upon their heads and began to dissolve organic tissues
on contact.

The planet let out a collective scream;
it simply died. The Vrol then pointed their Brood Carrier back out
to the stars to begin anew. As the screen faded to black, the
floating face turned from the screen and looked at the
elder.

"My Lord. I understand that the
recording was from Earth, in the 23rd century. Query. Why do you
watch it yet again?"

The old man shook his head, displaying
a bit of remorse. He had seen much death in his eons of existence,
and it was for that reason that he wanted to help others to prevent
it from happening again. The Vrol represented an imbalance in the
universe, and imbalances always need be corrected.

"Socrates, please access view portal
1-3-2818 Azul Cargalia. I am entering primary 4D coordinates now
for Kamiliak calculations."

He finished entering a long string of
data into the light panel to his front, and turned lazily to the
left where the face, called Socrates, floated nearby. It looked
remarkably like a comedy/tragedy mask of ancient Earth's theater,
but with neither the laugh nor the frown, and more of a blank,
uninterested expression to its face. The other difference between
Socrates' face and an ancient theater mask was that it appeared to
be made up of ambient, glowing particles in the air that were
constantly undulating, as if a cosmic breeze flowed through
them.

The semi-transparent face slowly spun
360 degrees to port and stopped after completing a full rotation,
with various trailing particles catching up to the mask.

"Lord Draagh, coordinates have been
received and accepted."

Draagh, as the man was called,
thrust out a hand, and with a long sweeping motion wiped a new
3-meter wide view screen into existence to his right, effectively
covering the massive stones in the wall of his study. More light
flooded into the room, revealing his appearance. At 196 centimeters
tall (just over 6'4"), with a gray beard and mustache (the mustache
terminating in braids on both sides), gray hair pulled back into a
ponytail that went down past his shoulders, he sported an outfit
made of a scaly, black, unrecognizable leather-like hide that
consisted of pants, boots and a mid-length jacket, covering a dark
shirt of woven fabric. In essence, he resembled an old and very
kick-ass Viking warrior.

In the new display that he had
created he saw a young human male in a large warehouse, the man
being roughly 25 years of age and of mixed extraction, with hazel
eyes, messy, dark hair and an athletic, yet slim build, performing
what appeared to be mechanical work on a small, bulky craft of
unknown designation and close to 55 meters in length and 20 meters
in height. The young man was using a crane to drop complex
machinery onto the top of the craft, and although one without
knowledge of the craft would probably not be aware of its true
nature, it was an exo-atmospheric transport vehicle - spaceship for
short - and it didn't look to be in very good condition.

Draagh watched with keen interest
as the young man went about his various activities. Socrates
floated in the air, calmly watching the view screen along with
Draagh and showing a near-human bit of curiosity in his
expression.

"Lord Draagh, please note your
staff has been updated with both the primary insertion point and
those of your requested destination of 6-3-4267 EP for the
specified geo-spatial coordinates. Query. Shall I
verify?"

Draagh looked back at the floating
face and nodded in the affirmative, as he was always one who
preferred safety to haste. Socrates spun in a slow manner 360
degrees to aft and then stopped in place.

"All coordinates verified. Safe
travels. Query. May I ask what you plan on doing on SA28.18 EP? It
is sparsely inhabited, and mostly by superstitious nomadic tribes.
It could be quite dangerous."

Draagh grinned softly, the cycling
light levels causing his blue eyes to sparkle and reflect the
random flashing imagery on the view screen.

"I am going to change the future,
old friend…"

Socrates made what would be
considered a wry smile if he weren't a floating mask looking like
it could dematerialize at any moment.

"Ever the mysterious one, my Lord.
As always, I am here to help. Please do remember that once you have
left The Hub there shall be an access lag if you need to call on
me."

Draagh made wide, swiping motions
with his hands and arms to the left, as he caused the wall display
to fast-forward through time, in a manner of speaking. Images
passed by in almost comical fast motion, but still maintaining
perfect clarity and resolution. He fast-forwarded over much of the
work the young man was doing to his craft, like harnessing the
equipment he had set on top, and welding pieces of conduit to it,
until arriving to the point where the work appeared to have been
completed. He made several smaller swiping motions, going forward
in a much slower fashion, until he saw the subject of his interest
standing outside his craft, holding a small jewelry box in his
hand. The young man seemed to have a sad, downcast look on his
face, as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. Turning and
entering the craft from the back, he shut the loading ramp and
massive doors behind him.

It was at this time that Draagh
watched with increased interest and displaying more than a touch of
concern on his face. As the craft's engines roared to life,
concussion waves from the atmospheric drive caused items on local
workbenches to fly off, with tools and pipe wrenches impaling
walls, the massive metal benches themselves vibrating on their legs
and rattling away from the craft, with two flipping over end on end
and making loud, clanging noises. The vehicle then started to lift
off as the warehouse roof parted down the middle, opening up and
exposing the clear blue sky.

Before he could take off, and
without warning, dozens of armed, military-looking individuals
dressed in black, full-faced helmets and articulated body armor
burst into the warehouse, firing projectile and charge weapons at
the craft while it still floated upwards.

A blaring loudspeaker, projecting
enough volume to be heard within at least a five-kilometer radius,
announced the true intent of the invasion.

"
Attention Commander Gunnarsson. You
are in violation of the Federal SSCC Non- Proliferation Act and are
to be taken in for questioning. Land immediately or we will be
forced to disable your craft
."

With Socrates still floating close
by, Draagh clenched his fists while rocking his head forward, as if
he were trying to move the craft through mental will
alone.

"Move boy, go now," he hissed
under his breath, but the craft just hung in mid-air, shrugging off
the small arms fire being laid upon its hull.

Then, without warning, the
spaceship shot up and out of the warehouse into the upper
atmosphere at Mach 7, violently blowing a good percentage of the
invading army back into crumpled piles of unconsciousness. Pieces
of the roof, dislodged from the concussive blast, fell back to the
ground and took out five more soldiers.

If it weren't for gravity
dampeners the craft's pilot would be been crushed like a tomato,
but the young man wasn't out of the danger yet, so to speak. As he
burst up toward the blackness of space, Five Draeder class
exo-atmospheric attack fighters pursued in tight formation, quickly
catching up to the dilapidated craft. Weapons fire erupted from the
Draeders, rocking and buffeting the small transport as it screamed
out of the atmosphere, still being trailed by the attack
fighters.

The fleeing man pulled a lever
back on his dashboard, and glowing machinery pushed out through the
top of the ship, causing a rippling disruption in space that
somehow followed his flight pattern. The machinery of his ship
reached up and into the newly created rift, as he increased his
velocity in an attempt to buy himself time and avoid certain
death.

Over their communication devices,
or comms, the attack fighter pilots then received their latest
instructions.

"
Shoot to kill. Destroy Gunnarsson
and the craft along with him
."

Then, as they raced out of orbit,
six individuals - the apparent fugitive and the five Draeder pilots
- simultaneously pressed buttons on their control panels.
Fortunately, for the man attempting escape, his touch was just a
fraction of a second faster than the pursuing craft pilots, and his
ship, the Machu Picchu, disappeared from sight and the local solar
system. Charge weapons flashed into the space with silent,
concussive force where the escaping ship was located only a moment
prior.

"
Return to base,"
blared the comm. The attack craft then turned
back to the planet below and screamed through the atmosphere, with
Draagh's vid display turning dark.

The old man bolted away from his
display and moved across the room to the table where his lit
candles flickered, providing their weak illumination. Setting his
gnarled hands down on the worn table, he made a slight gesture
toward the candles with his head, causing the flames to
self-extinguish, leaving the room dark, except for the two view
screens which provided only enough ambient light for one to be able
to see an exit path. He paused for a moment before reaching over
and picking up a large, ornate staff made of a wood that looked
like mahogany. Then, leaving his study in a hurried fashion, he
snapped his fingers as he departed, causing the two view screens to
blink off into nothingness. Socrates also faded from view, his
ubiquitous visage slowly dissolving into a stream of beautiful,
bronze-colored particles which then dissipated into the
atmosphere.

###

Seated in the
captain's chair on the Machu Picchu, the young man that the
military called Gunnarsson wore a terrified look on his face,
gripping the yolk as if it were his only link to existence - trying
to calm down by taking deep, slow breaths. The forward view screen
displayed wild, shifting colors and energy currents going in all
directions, and it didn't help that his vision sharpened immensely
when he was in stressful situations. He looked upon pure and utter
chaos - a definite sign that he was not in normal space, but he was
on course - at least his computers told him so. He had initiated
the Side Space Carrier Current Hook Drive, also known as
the hook
, which he had
helped to develop for the Military Scientific Complex, and it was
taking him to the home of his ancestors - Earth.

Chapter 2
- Max
Gunnarsson

Maximilianus Xavier Gunnarsson
(called Max by his family and friends) was born on Azul, a planet
that orbits twin stars in the Cetus constellation. His ancestors
had emigrated there hundreds of years before as part of a secret
project initiated by a corporate consortium, after the discovery of
a new metal and the development of advanced propulsion technologies
helped to facilitate deep-space travel. Found deep in the Andes
Mountains of Peru, Argentina and Chile, and then later in the Swiss
Alps, the new metal, quadrinium, enabled the construction of
star-faring craft due to its superior strength, heat resistance and
ultra-light weight.