Heroes

Hey everybody, nice to see that Nightmares is getting some publicity- now, I present to you the story of Commodore Jim of the Yggdoffl Empire and his trusty crew;

Jack the Lackey, also a Yggdoffl,

Barsnark the Demon, a Tezzok Bear with an attitude,

Ripper the Malfunctioning Alliance Droid,

Zero the Urthdweller, an aspiring Captain,

Terrahawk the Zorg, a GAU Secret Operative,

Ambiguous the Zorg, Terrahawks little brother,

Lukias, a little Lukian with a big mouth,

and General Orven, an Urthclan exile

Betcha you've never seen so many made-up words in one place, unless you play Spore...

Jim stood on the bridge of his faithful battleship, the Striker of Yggarf, Yggarf being Jim's homeworld. Right now he was deciding where he ought to put his colony Incredi-Pak on the surface of Dariache- having narrowed it down to two different, equally favourable places, he was now tryingto narrow it down to one. Site A was up north, which was fine, but the Pak didn't come with snow-rovers. On the other hand, Site B was near the equator, but was far from any oil- the nearest well was two point four tree-lengths away; in other words, five miles. However, both were reasonably close to spice geysers, and as spice was a valuable commodity-

"Terrahawk, what is the current T-Score of this planet?"

"After we terraform it, it should be three."

"Current, you dollop."

"One."

"What? Only one? Well? Don't just stand there, gawking at me- get to work!"

"Er... we need another two species of medium-level plants, and a-"

"What's the nearest inhabited planet in this system, Jack?"

"Typhlo. Would you like me and Terrahawk to visit it in the carrier, Commodore?" the smug voice of the Deputy Captain rang through the room, taunting Terrahawk ever so cruelly.

"Certainly. Carry on." Jim had retreated to his seat, and was now plotting a road system- he didn't even look up as he gave the order.

As Terrahawk gazed glumly out of the side windows, Jack tapped his crystals.

"What? Don't you know it's the height of bad manners to tap a Zorg's back crystals? It's a measure of age, you know-"

"Shut up and look out of the fore windows, like a good navigator. Isn't it beautiful?" At first, Terrahawk though the Yggdoffl was referring to a speck of dust on the thick diamond-reinforced glass, until he saw a largish circle-shaped object that stood out quite clearly on the starry backdrop of space.

"How far away is that lump of rock?"

"'Bout three or four parsecs."

"What, that far away?"

"Typhlo is the size of Vitron, you know."

"Oh, pleases don't mention that place to me. I still get the milonia'siz* whenever I hear the name."

"Vitron, Vitron, Vitron, Vit-" A large, squarish object made of lead hit the Deputy on the head.

"Shut up!"

Commander 771 surveyed the excavation.

"How long did you say it would take, 341?"

"Four hundred sectons, Commander." replied the Junior Undersecretary.

"16, I mean Admiral 16, will be pleased, yes indeed. 341, run the SETI again, I want to be sure that none of those annoying little Junior Captains are around."

"Yes, Commander." The corners of 771's mouth twitched, threatening to form a grin at any second. Strictly speaking, as a Commander, he was not to grin, or laugh, or show any signs of emotion at all. But he had only recently been promoted, so he had yet to learn of the many methods employed by his superiors and equals. This was his first ever mission as a Commander, and things were going pretty smoothly. Sure, they had run into a spot of bother with the tribes here, and maybe a few men were lost in fire geysers, but otherwise it was pretty good, at least for a new Commanders' first try. He had heard tales of Commanders being demoted as soon as they were promoted, just because an Admiral had thought that they looked shifty, or they forgot to sheath their sword in front of a higher officer. Yes, advancing up the ranks of the Schendulan army was certainly a tough job, and it just got a whole load tougher for 771.

Down in the Dry Desert, several thousand Schendulans were mining for Uranium 73, a high-order B-Classified dangerous substance, which their superiors had been searching for deposits of for months. Now they were heaving pickaxes at the sandstone floor, every other hour stooping to pick up a faintly glowing green stone and place it almost lovingly in a Hexa-Crate. Some of the higher-ranked ones had pneumatic drills, but that wasn't a big improvement. The sweltering heat was getting to some of them when finally, from the edge of the clearing came a shout of triumph. All of the Secretaries and the Commander, 771, boarded a hopper and came to take a look.

Hoppers where fast, yes, but not built for comfort. They basically consisted of two 'legs', that used a complex spring mechanism(to leap long distances or, as a slower alternative, walk), connected to a cockpit that was suspended in midair. The controls were rather basic- just a steering wheel shaped like a square, a lever to adjust the power, and a mini-computer that, when there were passengers inside, was used to plot a course, and when nobody was looking, the drivers used to play 'Space Invaders', the number-one video game on Schendula. So it was a rather shaken-about 771 who stepped out of the vehicle, but not one of the workers or slaves dared comment on how askew his scabbard was, or how bruised he seemed. Perhaps it was his renowned cruelty, or maybe there was still a shadow of his menacing aura. Whatever it was, nobody laughed at him. In fact, the throng of sunburnt miners who had gathered to see the end of their harsh job, if anything, took a step back from their Commander.

"Well? Let's see this."

"Yes, C-c-commander! B-behold, the d-d-desposit, I mean d-depos-sit of Uranium 73!"

"Really? Let me have a closer look," Grabbing an eyeglass from one of his attendants, 771 swooped down onto the unassuming patch of glowing green in the sand, "Yes, it seems quite like it. Okay, then, soldiers! Now we dig again! I want the whole rock uncovered in three hundred and twenty sectons!"

Terrahawk was whistling cheerfully in the cockpit of the carrier, while Jack, sporting a throbbing violet bruise, shot him malevolent glares of reproach. The Zorg hadn't enjoyed himself this much since the last Junk Race Tournament back on Minoan, his home planet. Seeing as Jack didn't seem to fond of conversation just then, Terrahawk cast his mind back to his old life as a scholar on Minoan, studying terraforming and bioengineering. Good days, he thought.

Terrahawk had been walking down a street with his friends, Endeavour and Technical, chatting about the Junk Race Finals and Sporeball Games.

"Did you hear that the Observatory is looking for a Zorg with a level four in Terraforming, and level two in Cleaning, and a level three in Ecology?"

"Really?" Everybody knew that the Observatory was in the employ of the mighty Galactic Union. Races from as far away as Zenqua and even Rummynorpe worked there, and the pay reportedly exceeded several thousand Sporebucks for good jobs.

"Wow. Did you hear why?"

"The poster said something about a job as Terraformist on a Yggdoffl craft."

"Awesome!"

Later that day, instinct made Terrahawk deviate from his normal route to the Feed House and head to the abnormally-shaped building located in the middle of an artificial crater. It was the Observatory.

Fashioned from large crystals, the Observatory vaguely resembled the shell of a Galvic Turtle, minus the noxious gas that it secreted when threatened. A large cuboid telescoped out from the main frame, supported by a sturdy support cable of zinc and hydrogen. Emerald flames danced in the holders, and Cleaners scurried around the behemoth of a building, sweeping up litter and debris from the floor. Terrahawk strode in through the immense portcullis, and was amazed by the sheer vastness of the interior. Little service mechs circled around the polished floor, and a large machine, dead centre of the whole hall, throbbed and pulsed merrily. Several aliens dashed out of the tower-like structure, which Terrahawk rightly guessed to be a Space Silo. Then, he made his decision. True, he never really liked taking off. Sure, he was half-afraid of supernovae. And yes, maybe he could get the tiniest bit spacesick. It didn't stop him from signing up at the officer's desk.

"Oi! Terrahawk!" Jack's loud voice broke through the Zorg's flashback.

"What is it?" asked Terrahawk, perhaps a little snappily.

"The navicomp's picked up some alien radar signals. Something knows we're here."

"So?"
"What I'm trying to say here is that we could get into the tiniest of scrapes."

"Were you trying to be sarcastic there? It didn't work."

"Look, just be on guard, okay?"

When the two finally landed amid much bickering and retorts, their scanners went haywire. After a dozen miles or so of slow progress through sandy dunes and craggy landscapes, forests of rock and eroded canyons, a triple exclamation mark appeared in the bottom right of the viewscreen, accompanied by an irritating whine that drilled through their skulls and Terrahawk's exoskeleton.

"Whoah. There is definitely something here."

"Uh... This may not be the time or place, but I have to tell you..."

"What? Are you apologising or something?"

"No, of course not. It's just that you left your backup oxygen tank back in Vacuum Storage."

"You just had to tell me now, didn't you? Great, let's just turn back around and get it." Exasperated, the orange insectivore turning around and trudged back the way they had come.

"Yes, Cap'n!" Terrahawk was hard pressed to keep a straight face all the way.

Commander 771 was pleased, to say the least. In fact, he had a stupid grin plastered over his distorted, lizard-like face as he pictured the looks on his equals' faces as he showed off the piles of uranium he had uncovered on this unassuming little planet. They would make for excellent bombs and rocket fuel, he decided. Oh yes, and the Admiral would need half. Still enough to power several hundred antimatter missiles, though. He reached over to his comlink to give his boss the good news.

Admiral 16 was having a bad day. As he sat glumly in his headquarters, awaiting the Emperor's orders, he surveyed the dismal terrain provided by Jasmine. Several years ago, Jasmine was a right jewel in the galaxy, one of those rare worlds that possessed all the qualities that made life possible. However, the arrival of the Schendulan forces quickly changed that, transforming lush, green plains into the desolate landscape that dominated the view. The one thing that kept this planet in one piece, in fact, was that the Admiral was lucky enough to find several vast deposits of pure uranium calcite just below the crust. Now crews of his reptilian species were hard-pressed to dig several thousand miles into the ground within the short space of eighteen months. 16 put his head in his claws. What was he thinking, promising a hundred tonnes of uranium in less than two years? The digging alone would take around fourteen months, leaving only four to collect enough uranium to satisfy the Celebrated. What an idiot-

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. The comlink was playing it's ringtone, the Admiral's favourite song by Djinx Morreni, imaginatively called Ring Ring. Frozen by nervousness, it took 16 a whole minute before he dared open an eye, and ten to extend his scaly palm and activate the hologram.

"Admiral! Hey, wha-"

"Never mind that, 771! What have you called me for?"

"Uh... right!" The Commander regained his previous euphoria and said, "I found the uranium, sir! We'll have four hundred tonnes before the year is out!"

His joyous mood must have been catching, thought 771. If lizards could cry, tears of joy would have splattered across 16's cramped metal office.

"Excellent! Send me the first hundred tonnes you collect!"

"Yes, sir!" Springing backwards into a smart salute, the holographic Schendulan vanished, leaving the Admiral alone with his beautiful joy. Never before had an emotionless killer been so happy and full of mirth that he could barely stand, let alone walk. After five hours of pure joy, 16 began to register that something was wrong. His boss hadn't called yet. Evil and bent on destroying life he may be, the Celebrated 15 did not miss appointments without calling to postpone the meeting first. So then something was amiss. Maybe 15 had died, maybe he had suffered a sudden attack of amnesia, or maybe his craft had been lost in Deep Space without any chocolate for a week, but whatever the cause, this meant promotions. In the official Book of Law (a slim thirty-two page paperback in size fourteen type), Rule Sixteen of Clause Four stated that once a high-ranking official died, his immediate inferior would be given his title. And as the highest ranked Admiral beneath 15, 16 would acquire the title of Fifth Celebrated 16 of the Schendulan Armada, which was only three steps from the title of Grand Omnipotent, the impossible golden bar that all Schendulans slavered for. For the first time that day, 16's face resumed his usual cynical smirk. If he was to get his badge that day, he needed to be as intimidating as possible.

"Hey, that looks like a good tree!"

"What, where?" Jack looked around wildly, only to realise that Terrahawk was pointing in the opposite direction. The two of them had spent an hour trekking through thorny vines and other painful hazards, looking for ideal plant specimens to transfer into sterile stasis cubes, which kept them in an impenetrable force field of Time until deactivated. As soon as they collected all three different species, they would be free to return to the Striker of Yggarf and report their success, and then terraform the planet Dariache to meet the colonies' standards. Then there would be the simple process of transporting all of the colonisers to the planet surface, after which the Striker would then be free to continue selling it's services to it the highest per usual, things weren't really going according to plan.

For one, neither Jack nor Terrahawk were armed with the correct weaponry to tackle a forest of vines.

"Oh wait, the sensor says that it's more suited to desert temperatures... Hey, hand me the probe, Jack!"

"Which one is that... Oh, you mean this?" asked the Yggdoffl, holding up a purple, long and pointy stick.

"Hey, where'd you get that? That's my Sporeball pole!"

"Oops. Heh heh... Just great. Er... Is it this thingy over here?"

"How did you get my Junk Racing Car's spare wheel? Have you been taking my stuff?"

Secretary 341 frowned. Her first scan had shown that nothing was travelling towards the planet at all, but her second scan just to make sure revealed the presence of two non-registered life-forms on the planet. This of course meant that the species' in question would have to be eradicated, as they possessed a level three Intelligence at the very least, meaning that they were sentient and dangerous.

Standing up, she made to exit her carefully concealed radio station, switching on her Zap blade as she did so. One of the first things, indeed one of the only things, the old coaches at the Soldier Institution back on Gridion drummed in to their students/victims was that you should always be ready. Always leave your blade within reaching distance. Always be prepared to shed some blood, and, if necessary, guts. Be prepared. Most Schendulan soldiers, in fact, had been taught this so often that turning on their weapons was second nature to them now. Of course, no sword could have deflected the dart dipped in the blood of a Venomous Skroot that killed 341 anyway.

Pacing around his office, 771 was nervous. One of his higher-ranking officials had just been assassinated, and none of his forensic investigation experts to tell him how, or why. Well, sure, they'd found the dart a-ok. The snag was, though, that the venom found on the tip wasn't even remotely dangerous to a Schendulan, and the sharp blade didn't even break through the scales that protected the fragile skin of the reptile. The experts were all of the opinion that the cadaver had been put in that state by some choking, as there were reports of damage in three of her lungs, but that didn't explain why her fourth lung and trachea were totally unharmed. Something was missing.

A few days later, the Commander found out something that made him even more nervous than before. There were two sentient beings on the planet. True, they were on the western hemisphere. True, they didn't seem to know that there was a mine here, and they probably didn't mean any harm. That didn't stop the native of Quasar from pressing the big red button.

"Captain 63? Captain 63?"

"Yes, Soldier 904? What is it?"

The green Schendulan looked around furtively before continuing. "My scanner's picked up two sentient beings. They're sixty-three degrees north from our current position."

"Take two Expendables and check it out. Captain 63, out."

"Roger that. Soldier 904, out."

In the vast Schendulan Armada, there are fourteen billion individual soldiers. These soldiers are divided in to seven groups, each headed by a Renowned. Each Renowned is in charge of two billion soldiers, which are separated in to five groups, each led by a Celebrated. This makes four hundred million soldiers per Celebrated, which again are split between ten Admirals, like our mate 16. The forty million soldiers beneath each Admiral is further split into forty factions of a million, all of which are controlled by their own Commander. Commanders have to assign a number of Lower Commanders, Secretaries and Commodores, who all receive a platoon, which basically consists of four hundred or so soldiers. The Secretaries or whatever get to assign who in their platoon is a Soldier, a Captain, or who is an Expendable, although their opinion can be overridden by a higher-ranked official. And in this orderly manner, the soldiers are assigned.

At birth, a Schendulan is given a number and a division. Each army led by a Celebrated is considered a division, so that clocks up to around four hundred million soldiers per division. Soldiers can move division, although that tends to happen only when appointed a rank beyond mere divisions, like Renowned, Omnipotent or even Secret Service. Divisions had their own ranking system, as did the individual platoons inside them. At all major Headquarters, there was a large screen about forty meters wide and forty meters tall displaying which division was currently the highest ranked, and which platoons out of all the divisions were the most successful. Out of thirty-five divisions, the Celebrated 15 led Ore Division, which was top ranked in both most useful whole division as well as best platoon. Seeing as 15 had created a vacancy when he moved up, the guys at Control Panel had to elect a Commander underneath him to take the place of Seventh Admiral. They chose 771.

Jack frowned as best as he could while hauling butt with his largish wings. Since arriving on the planet, there had been relatively few life forms. Sure, maybe a couple of irritating flies or something had shown up, but for the most part, there was nothing there. It was deserted. At least, until about five minutes ago, when a number of strange mechanical beings had started pursuing them through the forest.

Terrahawk, on the other hand, used his powerful antlers to discharge his chasers while simultaneously digging deep into the loamy ground with his sonic shovel. Within a matter of minutes, he had already dug a trench with sufficient depth to hide or defend himself for at least an hour. Hoisting himself into the hole, he reflected that he had always been more conservative than the Yggdoffl. And now it would pay off.

"Captain 63. Repeat, Captain – buzz – 63. Can you re – ee – ead me?'

"Roger. What have you got to say for your – flick – self? Five hours in the forest and you still haven't- what in Spode's name are you doing with that gun? That isn't a toy!"

"Kerplonk fjord nine don't green dissolve Viet Na..." Without warning, the Schendulan trooper rammed the musket straight up his right nostril.

"Huh? Nine-oh-four, what is the meaning of this? Nine-oh-"

"I'm a drunk Skroot. Now bye bye!" With that, 904 sliced his arm off and died. Captain 63 frowned. His soldier's records had always shown the late Soldier to have been a very stable character, and while many of his comrades had often went a little overboard with their Karro Bien and gotten severely drunk, 904's maximum alcohol consumption rate was around forty litres a day. And if you think that's a lot, Schendulans have metabolism rates around a hundred times better than humans, so it takes a lot to poison or drug one. Scratching his chest, the way all Schendulans do when they're thinking, 63 tried to figure it out. But although nobody ever told him, one of the reasons he never made it to Commodore rank was that he was, quite simply, too dimwitted. Actually, there were lots of reasons, like how his bad breath was a dead liability in hunts, and his weird habit of chewing the scales on his arm when nervous. But it was mainly his foolishness and his inability to see the obvious that kept him from acquiring the rank of Commodore.

Back to the point, 904 was dead, and he was one of the best in the platoon- so obviously something was out there, killing the soldiers, one by one. 63 didn't know what it was- only that he was going to kill it before another star soldier died.

Inside his little cave up on the mountainside, a Gremlin cackled gleefully. His new data-scrambling machine had worked perfectly, and now the soldiers were under the impression that 904 had gone insane and died. Actually, he had gone insane and died, but that was of little concern to the demon. Flicking on his Traveller, the Gremlin returned to the Timeless World, a dimension where time flowed upwards rather than forwards.

Okay, hope you liked this. If you want to see any of these creatures, just go to terrahawkthezorg's Sporepedia and find my page (search terrahawkthezorg for optimal results). Once on my page, click "see all of this player's creations" and look for stuff.

Oh, and if you want to check out the little Gremlin at the end, it's under the name "Gremlin".

Finally, I'd just like to say that I do not own Spore-or anything else, for that matter.

*Melonia'siz is rudimentary Zorgian for 'bejeebies'.