The chronicles of Shulth - Apocrypha

[ClymAngus]

Now before anyone gets too excited this is still a work in progress that said I can share a few little gems I've managed to cobble together without ruining the plot too much, so here is a taster of things to come. (actually sod it I'm up to chapter 30 now so I should have enough momentum to keep me going, although it is taking more and more brain power holding all this in my head).

Chapter 1 The Game (2593) Colonial laboratory of Science: Teorge
They were the first, the first few of the new master race. The rest of the colony was decadent, sexually litigious, debase and low. They fought, took drugs, murdered the indigenous life, intelligent or otherwise and polluted this new Eden that they had been blessed with. This had to end. The aberrations had to be controlled or they would kill this world just like they killed old earth. History could not be allowed to repeat itself, this would not be allowed to happen.

This is why Pinyin Gau existed, why his brothers and sisters existed. Genetically forged from the finest stock that the colony archive had to offer. Each DNA strand lovingly coaxed and grown. Each trait teased away from the lesser material and melded into a perfectly flawless whole. His name was more a designation, he was a Gau class or king clone. Intelligence just shy short of madness, logical to the point of detachment. A brilliant shining thing capable of taking this world of Teorge into a new pure golden age of enlightenment.

This awaited them in the near future, for now they must bide their time, grow. Become the rulers they were designed to be. So, all 8 of them, sat at a round table. The room was comfortable but minimalist and white. He knew why they were there, he knew the theory behind the reason why they were there. He knew what his creators wanted to achieve by doing this and he was quite sure his fellow clones knew too. That was the problem and incidentally why they were round the table in the first place; conformity.

You see some conformity is good. The higher up any naturally occurring social system you are, he mused. The more you get to like conformity, just as long as it's conforming in your favor. However if your starting a new order and taking the existing world by force conformity can be down right detrimental. Conformity makes you predictable, predictability leaves you at a tactical disadvantage. The predictable can be countered, repeatedly and successfully. In war this will slowly poison your chances of victory. This is why they were here, to hammer out the unilateral mind of the 8 Gau clones. To exercise; lateral thinking, psychological re-positioning, free thought, independent muse and separate them all from the will of the whole. So of course they were going to play a game.

It was an old game, dating back to before the exodus of earth. The chance tokens or "dice" as they had been know, were made up of varying Platonic solids. The game itself had no board, there were no real winners or losers merely continued survival. You played a character, forcing you to act in a way unlike yourself. A clever way of exercising individuality. Coda Gau opened the replica red box, it's surface was embossed with a picture of warrior with a sword and shield fighting a giant winged lizard. The box cover also acted as a viewing guard. One of their number, in this instance Coda, had to control the game and it was critically important that the others did not see his notes.

They played the game traditionally; using paper, graphites and ablative erasers. Coda tossed Pinyin's statistical character sheet to him. He thumbed it like a treasured document. He loved this game. A list had been generated with all the names in the colonies historical database, literature and other sources. To anchor the idea of individual meaning and foster personal attachment to the character they would be playing, they had all been given a different randomly selected list of five forenames and five surnames to choose from.

Pinyin remembered when it was his turn to choose; Rayban, Elrond, Panamon, Thorin, Mirias. He liked Mirias. The surnames were decidedly lack luster until he came to the last one. Which to him sounded like a knife being drawn. Shulth. Mirias Shulth, a good character name. A good name for anyone playing a game.

[Diziet Sma]

Oooohh...

<claps hands>

[Disembodied]

A great beginning!

[SteveKing]

and suggesting much...

...like a knife being drawn.

Looking forward to it.

[ClymAngus]

Chapter 2 Collateral damage. (2717) Upper atmosphere Teorge System

The grab had been swift but despite detailed planning, the Goda clones had horrifically outclassed the elite snatch force sent to secure the target. Gau had turned mere men into 7 and a half foot tall ogres. Strong, quick and well trained. Captain Aras had seen one of these things, pick up and toss aside a 6 foot veteran assault marine in full pack and exo-suit with one hand.

Shooting them had limited effect due to their heavily altered organ and bone structure. They where unparalleled in hand to hand combat. Capable of taking on 5 well trained, armed assailants and winning decisively with just their bare hands. Not that they were fighting in their skivvies mores the pity. Each clone was clad in carapaced molecular armour and armed to the teeth; capable of wielding heavy weapons and carrying large amounts of ammunition. Even their Bowie shaped boot knifes looked more like a short falchion when picked up by a "normal" human.

He would have fought. He wanted to fight and try to saved his men. They were being torn limb from limb that very second back on the surface of Teorge covering his escape. Orders came first; secure the target and retrieve it alive, no matter what the cost. The cost had been unbearably high. Of the two thousand man strike force send planet side, only four escaped the atmosphere.

"Do you like my soldiers captain?"

The voice echoed around the dark cargo bay of the atmosphere shuttle. Bringing the captain back to the present. Aras slowly looked up. Pure hate for the creature he had been forced to capture; the maker of those inhuman killing machines, pulsed behind his eyes. Pinyin Gau was an unremarkable looking human if you could still call him that.

"If the prisoner, wishes to address an officer of the navy, he will start and end his sentence with sir!"

Gau considered for a moment, "but, oh sorry, sir, there is information that you should be aware of. Which could impugn your capacity to complete your mission. The prisoner has also noticed, that although his hands are tied, he has not been sedated according to Galcop directive 7643. He has to assume that special directives are in place, that precludes standard protocol, sir."

Aras knew the directives and protocols, he was surprised that Gau did. Teorge was a blockaded world. Insular. It shouldn't know or care about the inner workings of the navy or Galcop for that matter. The prisoner had not been properly restrained because Galcop wanted him to talk. The entire flight bay was wired for sound. Recording capacity only due to atmospheric interference but enough to capture every word and syllable. "Out with it" Aras retorted.

"Sir yes sir, the prisoner fears for his safety if the.... Captain discovers the fate of his men... Sir." Confusion flashed across Aras's face.

"Sir, the Goda do not act like a conventional army, they act more like swarm insects or antibodies. They don't take prisoners and they will not stop, their jaw structure and digestive tract are based on a pigs. Sir" Aras sat back, trying to understand. Gau was relishing his confusion. He would not be even slightly prepared for the horrifying truth;

"Sir, your men represent aberrant genetic material, infecting the world of Teorge. The Goda will eradicate this threat, utterly. They will eat them. Raw. Flesh, bone, marrow, eyes, brain, teeth, everything. They will not care if your men are alive or dead, they will not be concerned by their screams for mercy or of pain. Then, when they have finished they will lick the blood from the ground where they fell." Aras could feel the blood drain out of his face. "The prisoner wonders, where do you think they will put the brass plaque marking their brave sacrifice?"

Gau leaned over conspiratorially. "maybe the sewers? It is where they will end up, after they've been processed by the Goda. Maybe you could go back on anniversaries, say a few words. 'Drop' a wreath. Salute the flow so to speak. You might want to wear some nose plugs, oh, actually, that would be a bit disrespectful wouldn't it? Honor their deaths by breathing them in. A noble gesture. Your looking a little pail, are you alright, Sir?"

[ClymAngus]

Chapter 3. Full of Stars (3170) Physical Gratification District 7, Spaceport 2, Trade Quarter: Leesti.

The few bright stars that could be seen from the streets of the city, span beautifully in the night sky. Izmee knew them all, her father, in several of his lucid and slightly more forgetful moments had pointed them out. Almost lovingly reciting their names; Lave, Diso, Zonce and Tionisla; where the Vidfac used to come from. You had to stay up all night to see them all as they danced round and behind the trade station hanging in the sky like a bauble. Sometimes they'd stay out, on the tin roof of their loan house, just outside the traders quarter. Watching the stars, the station, the ships engine trails and the laser battles. One looking up remembering the other in new wonder, both searching for a little peace from the hurricane slowly blowing itself out in the rooms below.

Izmee didn't remember their old house, their old life. The one that fuelled her fathers sorrowful addiction and her mothers simmering rage. She was too young to remember the good times. She did remember the fights. The constant put downs. Her father wasn't a strong man, especially when it came to mum. He was, or at least used to be, a damn good pilot, a trader and occasionally a fighter. But all that changed, it changed when Galcop fell.

Mum didn't understand. She was used to the credits that a good trader, trading under the protection of Galcop could provide. You can learn a lot about peoples lives when they argue. They'll dragging up every transgression, every regret, every wasted moment and lost hope. Craft it into a weapon and hurl it at each other. From this milee she learned that mum really liked it when dad was away, with free access to his credit balance. Even with her rather expensive tastes, she was hard pressed to dent the money he made. She was aggressively socially climbing. The ravishing wife left at home whilst dad nobly plied the spaceways. She was a name, respected and all the respected people had a corporate approved child. So the last time dad was in port she switched off her nul-concept pack.

Her timing was by her own admission, catastrophic. Scarcely 3 weeks after she'd gone beyond termin-date with Izmee, everything changed. The war had been rumbling on for generations but this was new, aggressive; the blockages, the exodus, the whispered genocide and the racism. But she was getting ahead of herself. The end had started with the exodus, before she was born.

Hundreds of thousands of zoothrope ships, ran for lave's captured moon, to use an ancient gate to escape the world. It sounded like a fairy tale. Strange creatures, the aberrant children of man and animal as she knew them. Made in a lab to further the exploration of the universe. She was taught it at school. You don't send mankind into a hostile world, you send an zoothrope, a sub-human, then tame the creature when it's work is done and the planet is ready for their masters.

Izmee was never sure about this. But that's one of the things they drum into you at school. Respect the Federation, respect the Empire, Galcop will try and provide, zoothropes are always diseased and inferior. You know, the stuff you take for granted when growing up.

So most of the animals left, taking their cross species plagues and sexual depravities with them. The military way became the way of life for the citizens of Galcop. Dad's fleet was stranded in map 7, a stones throw from Lave and safety. So he sat tight, they all did. Any day now the gates would be reopened and the fleet would come though. 13 years passed before the military admitted that the gates were shut and locked forever and there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it. Not that this had stopped mum from spending dads credits.

The arguments must started gradually, a bill here, a hidden loan there. All Izmee could remember was when it hit fever pitch and ceramics started to fly, which was towards the end, almost every day. Mum took to the Lavinian brandy and dad took to the red waga and a few other things besides. Both of them wasted over a decade waiting for a ship to come in that was already lost at sea. Izmee grew up and everything else slowly got worse and worse while they waited.

Then dad died in 64 from an overdose, less than 6 months after Galcop, under pressure from the Imperials, admitted it was now one eighth its size and had little hope of contacting, let alone re-establishing trade with the other 7 galaxies. Worse, more and more systems, seeing the writing on the wall ceceeded from the already stricken Co-operative. It was dying. The next 6 years had not been good. Izmee didn't like to think about them too much. There was the day to day to focus on. The now to deal with. Which brought her neatly back to why she was looking at the stars in the first place.

So she breathed in, closed her eyes and prepared herself for the next punch in the face.

[Diziet Sma]

A very neat tying up of disparate loose ends.. looking forward to the next chapter!

[ClymAngus]

A very neat tying up of disparate loose ends.. looking forward to the next chapter!

Oh it gets better. There will be a lot of bow tying by the time this is over.

[Diziet Sma]

Oh it gets better.

Of that I have no doubt..

What I'm wondering right now is if the final line is meant figuratively, or literally.. knowing you, it's probably the latter..

[ClymAngus]

Dickens championed the cliff hanger ending. This was due to serialization of his books in newspapers of the time. As a fan of his works (fantastic stories and a sense of social conciseness slipped in for good measure) I am most at home when I get a good "wait, WHAT DID HE JUST SAY??!" from the viewers.

Leave em wanting more.... Next chapter is going to need some spell checking probably out Tuesday-Wednesday.

[Disembodied]

Yes, well, don't leave it too long <drums fingers> ... but watch those homophones, too! Last line in Chapter 2:

Your looking a little pail, are you alright, Sir?

should be

You're looking a little pale, are you alright, Sir?

[ClymAngus]

You know I've been watching my there's so much that one slipped through. I am improving.
I would post another up today but I tend to write fairly frenetically and spell phonetically as a result. So my re-writing "in neat" is a some what drawn out process. Kind of ironic. I have noticed that dyslexics feel the need to write, yet it is the one method of communication at which they are sadly lacking.....

Odd. Maybe it's just sheer bloody mindedness. There is always one teacher who thinks your just dumb because dictation and spelling is another country to you. Especially when conversationally you can talk them out of the room. So Yeh, screw you Mr Gillard: My names on the credits of Gravity. You however wouldn't know intelligence if it sat opposite you as you tutted at it for being "thick". On the plus side his dismissive qualities did make me want to prove him terminally wrong. So in that instance I should thank him for his professional shortsightedness. (P.S. it would appear they're giving degrees out to "thick" people these days and keeping copies of their "thick" dissertations in a good number of university libraries for reference.)

Ok I'm done. Rant over back to the story.....

[ClymAngus]

Chapter 4. Bound Demons. (2717) General Garrett (Galcop Military Frigate): Within the Teorge System.

The planet side shuttle had docked successfully but the general was so concerned, he had personally come down to the ready room to meet it. These older shuttles still docked on the outside of the ship and connected through an air lock. Everything about this mission was old fashioned, the ships, the troops, the weapons, even him. Old and expendable.

Apparently there had been an 'altercation' with the prisoner. Captain Aras, charged with Gau's safe transport had apparently attacked him. The medical teams were on standby, as were a detachment of troops; just in case. It was cramped and claustrophobic as a result. Lots of well trained people waited to do their jobs, it was a tense few minutes, as the pressure equalized.

The airlock unsealed automatically and the squad immediately rushed in. Seconds later came the muffled cry for a medic. The general rubbed his temple, he'd have Aras's commission for this. Most unlike him but still inexcusable. Minutes passed and two grave looking medical personnel exited the craft, they were carrying a body bag on a stretcher. Correction, the general would have him court marshaled; for single-handedly turning a successful abduction into an unmitigated and catastrophic failure.

Then something odd happened, something that the general hadn't expected. The troopers came out flanking a tall, thin, eastern looking man. He was dressed in a neat collarless shirt and dark trousers. He had a small strip of medi-seal over one eyebrow. Other than that he seemed unruffled and unconcerned. He was still handcuffed. A court martial immediately transformed into a gun carriage funeral with full military honours. The general hid his anger neatly behind his training.

"Dr Gau, or would you prefer the The grave-master of Teorge?"

Gau, smiled slightly. "Oh, hello there. So nostalgic, and a General no less. You of all people should know that we are not bound by the mistakes of the past. Merely the lessons learned from them, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?".

"Hundreds of Millions Gau, your personally responsible for every single one."

Gau leaned his head slightly, "I know, strange isn't it? It's just me and the supernovas. Nothing kills more. But I do not kill indiscriminately. Still looking for a name here."

The general looked over at the body bag, then back to Gau. Raising an eyebrow.

"Fine, be coy. You know it's funny," Pinyin continued. "However well you think you've trained them, the flaws in their genetic code keep shining through don't they? Consider yourself for example. You strange nameless official." He leaned forward and sniffed. Tasting the scent of the general like a fine wine. Gau's face wrinkled like a prudish woman smelling an open cesspit.

"A family history of digestive cancers, shortsightedness, dry skin" Gau moved closer than the general liked and inhaled long and slow, his eyes lit up "and premature strokes!" The general looked at Gau, he was visibly shaken. Gau stepped back, satisfied.

"You may withhold your name and with it a small modicum of your identity but in a breath I know you intimately. You understand I could fix all that for you, don't you? Iron out every last one of those nasty little genes waiting in the shadows. The ones that will weaken you, make you less, kill you, eventually. I could double your life span, more. They'd be good, youthful years too." Gau looked down at the ground, then back to the general, no, he looked further; into the general.

"But all those people you say I killed, died for the research that would cure you. The cure does not care, but do you? Do you really care that much for strangers when you send dozens of men to their deaths every day? Which is more important I wonder? Your sense of justice or survival?"

The general's jaw set like stone. "In accordance with recently ratified Galcop international trade law. You are under arrested for breaking a planet wide curfew order. You will be detained until such time as your culpability can be ascertained. Extra charges maybe brought if evidence of further criminal activity is forthcoming." Now it was the Generals turn to invade Pinyins personal space "Galcop takes a dim view of genocide, Gau, a very dim view indeed."

Gau smiled, broadly this time. "We shall see. The military is tactical. To capture me just to kill me is not tactical. It's idiotic. You could have done that from orbit. So, I'm here because someone needs me. After someone higher up the food chain has explained the situation, we will talk some more. Maybe you'll let me run some of those fixes I suggested. The doctor is always in for important clientele, such as yourself."

The general motioned to the troopers. "Put him in the brig".

[Venator Dha]

You know I've been watching my there's so much that one slipped through. I am improving.
I would post another up today but I tend to write fairly frenetically and spell phonetically as a result. So my re-writing "in neat" is a some what drawn out process. Kind of ironic. I have noticed that dyslexics feel the need to write, yet it is the one method of communication at which they are sadly lacking.....

As someone who doesn't see the words as words themselves if the story is interesting, I say don't worry about the spelling (it's a modern invention anyway) the story's what matters. There was a interesting snippet in the recent way with words board cast that you might like.
http://www.waywordradio.org/vonneguts-a ... r-writers/

[ClymAngus]

Chapter 5. Ungrateful (3170) Physical Gratification District 7, Spaceport 2, Trade Quarter: Leesti.

There were 1001 ways of setting Joh-joh off. Truth is he didn't have a trigger, he liked to keep people guessing. Fearful. The best way to do that was by being unpredictable. One minute he could be buying you flowers the next he'd be trying to shove them down your throat. It's how he kept his "little skin credits" in line. So yeah, Izmee had looked at him funny after she'd lost that punter. That was enough. No word, no threat, out of no where; a clean, efficient rabbit punch and she was down. Stars, so many stars. But this wasn't the finish. She was damaged goods now. Bargain basement. High class meat for any micro-cred skank with a need who didn't mind a bruse or two. It could take months to climb out of that hole. The injuries would heal, but then there was the collateral damage that a month or two of bad clients would inflict. That, too would require fixing.

Of course she had to survive the beating first, which was never guaranteed. Joh-joh would probably miss her input into his little business but he wasn't the kind of man to let business get in the way of pleasure. Izmee felt herself being picked up by the throat. She struggled feebly like a mouse desperately trying to escape from a tiger. Any second now; three, two, one. But the blow never fell. A shudder ran along the arm that was holding her. 'Oh fac it'. Thought Izmee, 'not Velva'.

Velva was a hex slave. Once she could have been pretty but that was a long time ago. She had been brutalized by several owners since then. Not that she knew, her brain did not remember the insults her physical scars bore testament to. She was a white wash, waking up every couple of years with a fresh mind and a body that was slowly getting less and less functional. Izmee, wondered what it must be like to get cross hexed like that. You can't feel loss if you can't remember having something in the first place. Not like her, not like Dad. Wakey wakey sleepy head! Can't remember yesterday? I wouldn't worry, this is your life, the dragged down sexual refuse of the universe; get on with it.

There were downsides of course. Hex editing, especially cheap hex editing removes the useful memories too. Memories that teach lessons like; don't front up to your boss, especially when he's a psychopathic whore murderer. Terror and respect had to be beaten into her with every new owner. Joh-joh had tried but she was just not getting the message. Her brains were beans, but she'd do anything for anyone. Maybe that was why Joh-joh stopped short of killing her. But never by much.

His ham hock of a hand released her, she fell into the shadows like a rag doll, only dimly aware of the slamming sound of bone on flesh as Joh-joh slapped, punched and kicked Velva. First into submission, then into unconsciousness, only stopping when her breath was ragged and two of her limbs lay at horrible angles.

He took out a Lavinian silk handkerchief, on which Velva's and Izmee's blood mingled as he wiped his hands clean. As the darkness spun around her, Izmee heard his words ringing out almost musically.

"I love you. Why you make me do this? Why test me so? I ask for little and give so much. Why you so ungrateful?" If Izmee could have been sick, she would have. As it was, all she could do is hurt and bleed as his footsteps receded into the darkness.