Publica Section 1 Part 1

Part 1

Ten thousand capes fluttered in the wind, each a different hue. The colours changed as Hasitus’ eyes passed down the column from a deep blue at the forefront to a gleaming silver. Each block of soldiers were from a different family giving honour to the new Imperator. It was a grand military parade for Thracus’ coronation ceremony.

Hasitus stood at attention with his plasma lance locked in hand listening to the sermon being given by the grand Agri priest of Porta. The words sound long and dull, but as centurion, he would show his subordinates discipline. Still, the ceremony lacked any sort of purpose to the collected republicans. The citizenry largely ignored it and the soldiers fidgeted endlessly in the afternoon heat.

No mass crowd of supporters filled the whitewashed structures, or burst out from behind the grand columns of massive architectural wonders. They busied themselves with the tasks of the day. The republic had never thought to give praise to leaders for their coronations, only for their deeds. There was no deed to honour here, and so they cared little.

“May I cross?” an old man mumbled behind a cart of apples.

Hasitus lifted a hand and his soldiers stopped their march. “You may cross, citizen.”

The man whispered thanks as he pushed the old creaking wooden machine pass them. Each soldier called him citizen as he crossed with a respectful tone. They marched again only after he had fully crossed the street.

“You hear that?” Posydin said. Hasitus shook his head. “It’s the prattle of the wife. He should have pushed the cart harder.”

Posydin gave a short laugh but Hasitus only gave him the benefit of a smile. The large beastly man never appeared intelligent enough to be his second in command, but the position was entirely his. Despite the lack of pleasing words, Posydin was a solidly skilled soldier with the accompanying lack of courtesy known for men in the military.

Standing amongst the shadow of the great Agri temple, Hasitus looked upon the new Imperator to be crowned. He stood at the top of the steps. The grand Agri priest, along with a dozen well armed praetorians conducted the ceremony. The republic may have been secular, but the people were religious. Thracus had his ceremony done by the highly devout grand priest.

“May the lightning of the Father of the gods strike down your foes,” the priest began. “The republic gives its respect to the Goddess Pilantope, to give us great harvests.”

Soon, the words become nothing but dribble until a praetorian roared out Thracus’ achievements. The man had become captain of a starship only two years out of the military academies. He had won a great many battles, but the only battle that interested Hasitus was the very last. Hasitus had fought under Thracus the Battle of Commodum only a week hence. In the chaos of battle, Hasitus found himself striking at the ship that threatened to unleash a volley of nuclear missiles at the now Imperator. They had arrived late to save Imperator Couratus, but early enough to destroy the Terra-born fleet.

He had earned the title of Vir that day, yet it seemed to have no value. Posydin would ask why he did not earn it at Londimin in the previous campaign, where they had saved the lives of several thousand refugees. Hasitus would ponder the question, why did other more successful captains not earn such recognition. Some in the fleet had destroyed six Terra-born ships without taking a loss, yet he had destroyed only one, merely damaged two and led a bloody boarding on a fourth that ended with the death of ten under his command. A centurion only had a hundred lances marching with him, ten was a severe loss against the practically crewless Fed ships.

“It’s who you save,” Posydin muttered, when the subject was brought up yet again, even here when they stood to honour the new Imperator.

Hasitus could feel the truth in those words. House Lupus, the wolves, were powerful. Now they held the position of Imperator, even many of the senators carried their blood. The rise in power of the dark blue wolves, contrasted the sudden loss within the Serpen family. The snakes, wearing their green capes, well concealed their disappointment and sorrow. Both the Serpen friendly Imperator Couratus and the Imperator-would-be Julian had died at Commodum.

Thracus turned to the crowd carrying the Imperator’s blade and raised it toward the sky. He cried out, “Long live the Publica” and the soldiers cheered. Even the citizens waved to him with smiles displayed across their bright faces. For a moment, the city belonged to him. Porta was one in celebrating a new Imperator but in an instant it disappeared.

“Defenders of the republic, I shall lead you wisely and justly. We shall not let the Federation endanger the Publica for any longer. They rape and pillage as they will in the lands of our allies, but we shall stop them. We shall prevail. Justice, honour and civility shall always prevail against the barbarians at our gates,” Thracus announced, leading to another cheer.

Again and again the soldiers cheered after every short paragraph. Hasitus had not seen any other Imperator crowned, but he felt it was just the same in the other ceremonies. Perhaps, Hasitus thought, he would see another coronation. Imperators did not last for more than decade, let alone five years. The Federation was adept at retaking worlds in the war zone, while the Publica far exceeded their preservation with overly brave Imperators. An early grave awaited the commanders of the republic forces who would charge alongside their soldiers in battle.

Then, before Hasitus could complain again in thought or in words, the ceremony was over and the soldiers began to disperse. With Posydin and Harma at his side, he led them toward their first location to visit. After each campaign, it had become a tradition for them to visit Jacobi, Hasitus’ uncle, to hear news and eat fresh fruit. Jacobi was well stocked with goods given to him cheaply but the populace who loved to vote for him at each election. It was a materialist pleasure for Posydin but more of a restful location for Hasitus.

Publica

Here is a new story with some editing having been done. Comments as to the plot development and such would be great. I haven't spent a lot of time really to edit it, so there might be some mistakes here and there.

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Publica

Section 1

Prologue

A horn bellowed through the halls of the ship signalling the imminent battle. Its sound carried an ominous overtone, amplified by the constricted halls. The Imperator found the long drawn out horn a disconcerting sound. Pain would rise in his stomach when armies clashed about him.

In long strides, he stepped into the command hall of the flagship, dipping into the chaos of a commander’s view of a battle. Holographic displays fluttered about in the centre surrounded by the blurred chatter of a dozen officers surrounding it. Displays showed every ship in the fleet, but the most drawing scene lay at the end of the room. Splashed across the entire scope of the wall, a screen glowed with the images of the planet directly ahead of their fleet. Almost indiscernible at this distance lay a dozen capital size enemy ships.

“Imperator, the Publica fleet awaits your command,” a voice stated clear and loud beside him. Soon after the words were spoken, an armoured soldier shouted out his presence to the officers.

“Show me,” he said in a quick but polite tone. He did not appreciate the common courtesies of speech. Instead, he valued his words closely, saying only enough to convey his point to another man.

The officer led him to the centre of the bridge, waving his hand at the holographic display. Only two high ranking officers stood before him, ready to give advice. The Imperator knew, what they really wanted was his approval for their plans to show their ingenuity and let them rise in rank.

“Imperator Couratus,” the first officer said in a slow drawn out tone. He was Dactavian, a loyal man who had served him many years already. Like him, he was never one to be polite in talk. “There are, perhaps, a dozen Federation ships as expected. They have no Imperial allies to guard them this time.”

Julian, the other man, a cautious soldier having risen in rank due to his incredible ability to survive the most suicidal of missions, threw in his advice. “I suggest we fire a volley from our barrage cannons and let them launch their slip dogs at us,” he said. The Imperator sensed something beneath his words and waved his hand for him to continue. “Imperator, if I might be so bold, I do not like what I see. This is a trap.”

The comment brought a loud scoff from Dactavian. In a mocking tone he said, “We have chased these barbarians from the Grandeur system of Palidinium to this worthless gas giant Commodum. They are cut off, without supply and with no friends of their damnable honourless barbarians.”

“These barbarians,” Julian spit, “launches a limitless supply of these living ships at us, without care and without end. A dozen of these Federation ships can only be a small piece of whatever fleet they came from. Undoubtedly there are in reality five hundred ships to our hundred here and with countless more fighters.”

Dactavian was to counter the man’s argument when the Imperator put up his hand. Battle could not be fought with bickering officers. “Enough,” Couratus began, “It is obvious twelve Federation ships do not comprise more than a small wing of a fleet. I do not trust it,” with those words Julian smiled. “However, they must still be destroyed. We will begin with a standard barrage and then send the Serpens Wing to spearhead an attack alone.”

Julian nodded, realizing his ships were just volunteered to make the attack. The orders were given, and each officer settled back with the Imperator’s mixed plan. Only sigils and three dimensional shapes were visible on the holographic display but on the massive screen in the command room, all eyes watched the powerful blasts of firepower from the barrage.

A series of bright white balls vaulted forward from the barrage cannon of every ship. Even if the weapons made no sound in space, Couratus could hear the loud pulse of energy inside the ship. Another series flew forward from the fleet. Another was fired. Each fired before the shots had even reached their target, eventually creating a field of explosions no enemy could escape. Couratus was no scientist, but he knew enough firepower raced forward that could level whole cities.

White flashes erupted in the distance. Soon more explosions tore apart the space, screening the planet from view in a glorious display of fire. Couratus raised his hand, and the screen focused deeper at the planet, displaying the Federation ships in whole rather than mere dots.

Couratus watched as the last volleys erupted above the planet’s sky. One of the sharp angle designed ships was hit directly and an entire wing shredded from the impact. Colourful gases vented from the ship; its antimatter core had ruptured. Pieces of the hull tore away at the heat of the rapidly reacting antimatter. Suddenly, its forward piece swung into view and for a moment, Couratus could imagine the scream of the living ship and the cybernetic crew onboard. It was over in seconds as the lights faded in the ship and he knew it was dead.

It seemed cowardly to him to use such firepower against enemies. On any day Couratus would value honourable melee combat with his foes but the Federation knew no honour. The words valour and courage meant nothing to those barbarians that hailed from Earth. It was odd to know that all humans had originated from the planet.

Finally, a wing of two dozen ships broke off from his fleet and moved into formation. The Serpens ships began launching wings of fighters, still firing lighter barrages at the enemy. These were more focused blasts, using hyper-event cannons. They were hardly deadly at this range, but the light-speed movement of the shots made them more accurate.

The Federation ships scrambled back into the resemblance of some formation but it was obvious that they were already too injured from the initial barrage. Three ships lay dead in space, and the others were visibly damaged. They waited at the planet like maimed lambs for the slaughter.

Slowly, the Publica ships reached their target, and powerful repeater negative energy cannons bellowed out their fury. Rapid successions of bolts punched through the lead Federation ship. Holes were rent across its side, spilling its contained atmosphere into space in great decompression explosions. The craft gave no response in weapons, instead, dipping to the side and flying forward awkwardly. A secondary explosion tore through the ship, and it lurched forward spinning to its death.

Fighter craft swept into view just as the remaining Federation ships launched their missiles simultaneously. Streaks of plasma traced the path of the projectiles as they ignored the fighter craft and slammed into the hulls of the Publica ships. The damage was dispersed across a dozen boats, leaving a hole in each but crippling none.

Debris began to create a treacherous path for the Publica fighters to tread but the capital ships left their fire power for each other. In a series of strafe runs, each wing of fighters cut swathes of armour off critical joints in the ships of the Federation fleet. Open holes were struck again by massive beams of death from capital ships.

A Federation ship erupted in a brilliant explosion of colours as its core detonated. It was soon followed by two more terrible displays of death and destruction. Another starship was torn in half from the firepower of Publica weapons. Couratus mouthed a word of honour to the brave Federation soldiers.

“Imperator!” Julian shouted, startling him. The man’s fingers pointed at a single sphere that had suddenly materialized on the holographic display. Couratus narrowed his eyes, while Dactavian whispered “no” under his breath.

Immediately, the command crew switched the screen to display the spherical Federation probe that hovered above their fleet. Purple flashes, like stars a hundred times their size blinking in a black night sky, erupted in the hundreds across his view. With half a thousand Federation ships hyperspacing into combat, the Battle of Commodum had suddenly become a deathtrap for Couratus.

Streaks of plasma followed after the thousands of missiles swirling toward them in unison. Couratus watched, thinking, the Federation must be using nuclear missiles, for antimatter was too much a waste to use upon his fleet. They reserved those to burn planets. The metal shook with pain underneath his feet as the first missile struck his ship. Nuclear flashes blinded the screen, but not the sensors.

Cubes and spheres disappeared rapidly on the holographic display. The screen displayed nothing but white to them. Outside, Publica ships desperately defended themselves against the onslaught. One ship managed to fire off several volleys from its repeaters, tearing enough holes in a Federation ship to breach its core but it was not enough to stop it all.

Another missile struck his ship, and this time the metal floor slipped from underneath him as the entire craft lurched to the side. The artificial gravity was failing, and he needed no calls of a horn inside his ship to know everything was falling apart. Fires burst from overloaded electrical systems, and support beams ruptured from under the impact of more than a dozen conventional shell ammunition.

“Retreat the fleet, but Faction Couratus shall remain to guard their movement,” Couratus spat out with contained fury. “If I’m to die, I shall die with sword in hand,” he announced. The short lived Imperator of the Publica turned to his helms man and pointed to the closest and largest Federation ship on his display. “Board that,” he drew his sword then, feeling the heat wash onto his hands as a layer of energy enveloped the blade. It was the last order this Imperator would give.

A Picture

Hey, this took about three hours (I think) to draw. I ate dinner inbetween that time period so I'm not sure how long it actually took. I do like the result.

Here's the link to it. http://www.neoazeroth.net/sketches/Curis%20Militis.jpg

Jilid Short Story Page Five (Last Page)

“Come on, run!” Keswyn shouted at her face as he dragged her away from the battle. Shelsa could not feel her feet as it moved through the grass. She could not feel the grass, or smell the flowers. Only horror filled her.

“EVER VIGILANT!” Hargor shouted out behind her. Explosions rocked the ground and more screams filled the air. Shelsa turned her head to watch Hargor’s last stand. The Earth vehicle turned its turret and fired. She could see every spiral of the black shells that vaulted from the cannon. They tore straight through Hargor’s shoulders before slamming into the ground behind him and exploding in a blinding flash of light. She rubbed her eyes, trying to force away the red cloud that lingered in her vision. Her legs gave out and she fell to her knees looking into the pillar of fire that had once been Hargor.

Keswyn lifted her by her armpits dragging her away. Light, childish voices spoke about her but she could no longer understand the words. Other hands touched her and she knew they whisked her away from danger.

“Hargor,” she let out in a voiceless breath.

Slowly, her comprehension returned to her. “Why?” a voice said.

“I have no idea. The Growar brought us peace between the Peasosh and Jilid, Earth shows us war,” another responded.

“Why are they so terrible,” said another sobbing. Shelsa looked upward at a teary face Jilsian. She was so young and so innocent. They were all innocent.

“What are we going to do?” Yawnen asked.

“If they have come this far, the Peasosh are dead and so are the Growar. We must run,” Keswyn answered. “War is not our way.”

Shelsa sobbed, along with Jilisan and there was even a distinct tinge of open sadness from Yawnen. Keswyn kept a hard face, a one harder than Shelsa had ever seen. Maybe, she thought, she could never see his soft face again. Hargor was gone, and before the end of the day, how many more could be lost? Shelsa gave it no more thought. She stood on her feet and ran through the fields with the others. She could bear no more thought on death. The fields were open and vast. Running was the only thing left to her.

Jilid Short Story Page Four

One man pointed toward them and fear gripped Shelsa. The Earth people pointed their rifles toward her, and she could tell, despite the different technology, they were weapons. She did not know what power they held, but she could feel no need for them to react harshly. She was not Growar, there was no war for them to fight here.

“Hello,” she called out to the soldiers. “We are Jilid, there are no Growar here! There is fruit to share at my camp if you wish.”

The other two warriors stood up beside her, waiting for the Earth people’s response. One man pointed, and several men gave a curt nod. They lifted their rifles into action and rushed in unison toward her. She could not believe what she saw. One man shook his rifle up and down at her, but she could not understand what he meant. They began shouting, only a single word or two words, over and over in louder voices. Keswyn slung the immolation rifle from his back while Hargor, fully armoured, stepped in front of Shelsa. The giant of a man blocked her view of the Earth soldiers.

One sound brought her to scream in terror. There was a dull thump before an explosion tore grass and dirt upward, leaving a small crater. Hargor brought up his arm, now with rifle gripped tightly in it and pointed it at the Earth soldier that had fired.

“No!” Shelsa screamed out, tears filling her eyes. “Why are you doing this?” she yelled both at the Earth soldiers and Hargor. “Stop!” she said, whimpering toward hopelessness. She could feel Hargor slipping away when they could live together for years and years together in peacefulness, in the green fields where they could run free and breathe the sweet smells of flowers.

One Earth soldier shouted a single word, one that made him spit it out, and at once, the field erupted in fire. Earth rounds struck the ground tearing open a crater. Hargor stumbled backwards one step as two rounds slammed into his armour. They exploded in bright sparks and shattered metal, but he still lived even as blood trickled out from his suit. Hargor fired back, unleashing his fury on the soldiers. One white fiery bolt struck the ground expanding into a cloud of fire searing away the soldier standing above. The man shrieked only when the fires burned him black, but the plasma flames would not stop until he was but bone. The lead Earth soldier was struck in his chest. The blast lifted him from his feet and his body burst into flame as he spiralled backward. He would never stand again.

“Shelsa, come we must run to the others, we must warn them,” Keswyn said pulling her away from Hargor. The Earth soldiers fired more rounds, digging a trench in front of Hargor, and striking his armour more times. Fires raged around the Earth soldiers, but they seemed fearless and without remorse.

Jilid Short Story Page Three

Thumping behind her, Hargor walked up and brought his hands onto her waist. Keswyn had not followed but he still lingered in the distance, too afraid of Jilsian the girl but did not wish to disturb Shelsa the woman. She let herself be engulfed into the massive body of Hargor, forgetting all thoughts. She simply let herself feel every touch, every moment and every little movement.

Hargor began to strip himself of his equipment, first setting down the helmet and gloves he had already taken off. He moved his hands toward his chest, ready to remove the atmospheric seals that ringed his neck. As sudden as it had all begun, his hands jerked to a stop. Shelsa gave a confused face, but she could feel tension and anxiety. She could read his face even if he turned it to stone. There was something terribly wrong.

In an instant, he stopped low, donned his helm and gloved his hands. He turned to face her, whispering fiercely, “Stay quiet.” Shelsa became fearful, and lay down onto the ground. Slowly, a slow constant rumble grew in the tunnel. Hargor could hear it long before her, but now she could hear it as well. This was no noise of a Jilid band pulling fur sleighs with barking brown dogs.

Keswyn crawled up beside them, laying a reassuring hand on Shelsa. “What is it, Hargor?” he said. Even if Keswyn claimed to be the greatest warrior, in combat, he became every soldier’s equal. “What is that noise?”

“Can it be true?” Shelsa asked. “The other Jilid tribes that went to trade with the Peasosh came with stories of war.” Then her face darkened realizing what truth those stories may have held. “They say the Growar cities above us were destroyed by someone. Some people from a place called Earth have brought war to us.”

“Shelsa,” Hargor whispered back. “These Earth people were known to the Growar. They call themselves the Federation. They’re human, just like us, but,” he paused, almost for dramatic effect, “they make war. They may burn everything.”

“But we’ve done nothing!” Shelsa said, sorrow lacing her voice.

“They see us as Growar,” Hargor said, unable to give justification. “So they war with the Growar and burn their lands.”

“We aren’t even Growar,” Shelsa said, although she caught Keswyn staring at Hargor at those words. “Not even you,” she said with almost tears in her eyes.

It was then the rumbling broke into the cavern. The noise spilled into the fields, flooding every ear within. The noise was unbearable, like a herd of running game but pushed into a single point. She hazarded a look on the people and found unrecognizable beings. A craft greater than the size of a big man’s fur tepee, hovered slightly above the ground. Two barrels jutted from a rotating piece on the top, while metal wings spread out to each side below it, with air blowing out from underneath. The men standing around the machine were human in shape, but the devices that stuck onto their bodies and even their face made them look like monsters. They talked in a sharp tongue and only in short phrases. It was almost as if language was an unnecessary knowledge for them.

Jilid Short Story Page Two

“Try to laugh a bit,” Shelsa whispered quietly to him. She let him lead her deeper into the field, toward a tunnel that led to another great underground expanse. They were quiet as they always were together, never speaking but always knowing. They never needed to say they loved each other, they always knew it.

As they walked further away from the others, one of Hargor’s long time friends, Keswyn, sprung from the ground where he had been napping. He was not in powered armour like his comrade, as he had never joined the Growar military, but he clasped an immolation energy rifle nonetheless. The technology was Growar, given freely, but to be used in the Jilid fashion.

Keswyn often boasted about his high stature as Jilid warrior but for Shelsa, Hargor was no less Jilid when he said the vows than when he did not. The Growar never took him away to some far off land to be distant from family, or teach him things undesirable amongst the nomadic Jilid. Shelsa could picture the Growar only as she pictured Hargor, a strong man who could force a boar to the ground with his bare hands, but gentle to everything and everyone.

“Hey, wait!” Keswyn shouted, hefting his spear in one hand. “You can’t leave me with Jilsian alone!”

Shelsa snickered at him. He could not understand why Keswyn, after all these years after Jilsian had been born, was incapable of dealing with a little girl’s whims and tantrums. The sound of a little girl crying may have been a stampede of buffalo to him. “You’ll survive. We won’t be gone long.”

“She’s quieter when you’re around,” Keswyn complained. “Besides, I saw a few trees back there. It’s dark, it’s concealed. She won’t see!”

The man sounded not unlike a little boy to Shelsa. “A warrior as mighty as you should be able to cope with a little girl of Jilsian. She had only become a woman three years ago.”

“A warrior,” Keswyn said, lifting his chest proudly to defend himself against Shelsa’s insults, “is no parent. I chase down dangerous boars, I hunt with dogs, I tend to the lizards.”

“Run,” Hargor suddenly said, standing between her and Keswyn. He struck down his legs into the grass as if to make a stand. Shelsa could see a sculptured masterpiece before her of man, love and even Hargor’s well concealed sense of humour. She turned and ran through the grass laughing as Keswyn was held back by arms as thick as tree trunks.

“That isn’t fair! He’s got powered armour!” Keswyn shouted out. The voice dwindled as she became breathless, having run so far. The tunnel entrance was now only a short stone’s throw away.

Jilid Short Story Page One

(This story is set in 3100 of Circa Universe, link at side)

A sweet fragrance swept past her in a gentle breeze. The grass rustled underneath like music to Shelsa’s hair. She raced through the green rolling hills, dipping her hand into the sea of flowers. It was a free world and she could run wild with no care. She ran faster, heading toward the brightest point of light on the sunny cavern ceiling.

When she was only a child, she was amazed to realize the sort of technology that was used to make the cavern ceilings shine bright and swirl in colours of blue, green and white. Then when that wonder ended, night would come and the cavern ceilings painted a new art. The entire world she lived in had been carved out with that technology, from the grass that grew at her feet, to the air she breathed. All these wonders and they could still enjoy their lives with only a wooden spear and iron tools.

She stopped laughing, drawing the attention of Hargor. The man seemed to be built from rock. A dull metal sheen came off the powered armour suit that covered him from head to toe, but Shelsa could almost imagine the muscles waiting to burst outward. Hargor looked toward her with his armour detached from his head. Their eyes played a game and she could feel lust swell in her chest.

Behind, there was laughter and conversation as her friends caught up. There was Jilsian, a cute small girl from the village and Yawnen, another boy older than the girl but with a lust far larger. They walked toward her, but they paid no mind to Shelsa. Theirs was an intimate relationship built when they were young, and grew only stronger later in life.

Shelsa stood up to Hargor, but he was far too tall for her to reach upward. Still, she tried and he grunted, the only sign of laughter that would ever escape his mouth. Then she played the little girl in front of him, pouting her face upward and shortening her height by bending her knees. He looked down, still keeping his rigid stature.

“Lift me up!” Shelsa said in her lightest voice. Hargor had said his vows to the Growar collective, joining the Ever Vigilant forces. It meant no marriage. Still, Shelsa knew it did not mean they could not share genes.

He let out a long breath, almost exhausted from keeping his face void of emotion. “You’re too much for me,” he said slowly, before lifting her up. Gleeful with joy, Shelsa wrapped her hands around his head, brushing her arms against the cold metal of his power suit, and kissed him for the longest time of her life. She felt the moment draw out and her only wish was to stay there. She wanted to be with her long time village protector, the only man in the village who swore the vows joining the communist Growar force on the planet, the man she loved with all her heart.

Hargor took off the armour from his gloves and held her hands tightly. The grip was strong, but he was gentle with her. Shelsa could hear Jilsian giggle as Yawnen had undoubtedly tried to kiss her, or even just hold her but she was focused on the man in front of her.

Introduction

Hey,

I'll be using this blog to post the stories I write and I welcome any kind of constructive criticism, comments or anything else you'd like to say about them.

I'm just going to go ahead with posting the story.