Hello again, after such along time. I am finally back to writing on my computer, and am glad that people hung in there and were patient in there wait. It has been a couple of moths at least since I updated my story, and the explanation as to why will require a chapter itself containing personal information. Let's just say that a very rocky chapter in my life has ended and a new one has begun. As for questions proposed by readers, I am continuing the story, and I'm going to see it through.
But enough of me. My story is back, and I promised a lot in the next chapter, including the first encounters on of others on all sides and a clearer understanding of the big picture by all parties. And, considering content in the chapter present, a lot of high speed action. So grab a Coke and a snack, Here is Chapter 8 of Fire in the Sky.
NOTE: The DRoP Series Belongs to Anne McCaffrey. I do however own my own OCs.
INFERNO
The T'Hranii Bomber Mind continued on with its mission: The direct assault on the planet below.
The bombers continued along, settling out at an altitude the Bomber mind determined would be suitable for the dispersal of its virulent payload. The wind patterns in the upper hemisphere of the planet would be the most ideal for its mission, as the winds were blowing towards land. The most prominent weather front, a large cool front, had begun to move over the large island, creating the ideal conditions for dispersal. And It was also still dark on this side of the planet, if for the moment.
One thing however that was oddly troubling were the results the probing of the minds of the humans on the surface by the Bomber Mind. It was able to do it more effectively when it was far closer to them, it could sense their emotions, even memories, so sensitive were its neural scanning. Although there was relative ease among the scanning, there was also a sense of… wariness, of anticipated danger. But not of the Bomber Mind or its twin vessels, it would have sensed that. The danger the humans felt was from… something else entirely.
It was truly puzzling, but it did not matter at all, as long as the human population was completely and blissfully unaware of their impending doom. And it would remain so that way, until the very end, when they were choking to death on invisible fumes.
The Bomber Mind suddenly detected that another advantage was falling in its favor; a heavy sea fog was beginning to roll in, typical over large bodies of water. It decided it would drop altitude in its first bomber, to settle in the fog and conceal itself.
It was during this maneuver that the Bomber Mind detected them. They numbered twenty altogether, flying slowly along the water at only about a thousand feet. They were also relatively large objects, probably some kind of aerial craft. Some kind of investigative party seemed to be the most likely assumption. Perhaps the Bomber itself had been detected.
But the pinpoint scanning revealed that they weren't craft at all but massive, living, flying creatures, probably indigenous to the planet, Then it detected the human life signs alongside those of the creatures. And those were definitely not native.
And then the Bomber Mind realized exactly what it was seeing: The humans were attempting to attack the Bomber with domesticated animals. Their species really was insane.
As the First Bomber began to penetrate the thick fog bank, it noted in the central log the foolish actions of the humans. This was beyond anything the humans could do; there wasn't even a word in their language to describe what they were attempting-
Suddenly and abruptly, all thought in the Bomber Mind's consciousness was instantly replaced by instant, sheer, total, agonizing pain. It would never last long enough to determine that the 'fog bank' was not that at all but something else far more dangerous, a complete unknown to the Bomber Mind. The pain penetrated into the heart of the first bomber, slicing though its arteries, nerves, simply everything. And then, in the last split second of its existence, as the emergency power failed and the core went critical, the Bomber Mind saw what was going to happen.
It all occurred in the span of a single second.
The very nanosecond the last emergency backup failed on the Bomber, the dense anti-atom cluster, confined rigidly inside the reactor core, was freed and went hurdling into the nearest side of the chamber. The collision instantly triggered the annihilation of both the anti-atoms and the core chamber itself, resulting in a massive explosion of which the likes had rarely ever been achieved..
In the next two to three nanoseconds, the crippled Bomber, the bizarre 'weather formation' that ended it, the nearby humans and their draconic mounts, and everything else nearby were all instantly vaporized as the mater-antimatter reaction converted itself into pure kinetic energy. The massive kinetic blast instantly heated the surrounding atmosphere out to a radius of fifty kilometers to a staggering sixty thousand Kelvin, ten times hotter then the surface of a G-Type star. It radiated outwards in all directions, up into the atmosphere where it quickly, and fortunately, dissipated. But the return slammed into the planet below, triggering a series of seismic events that would be felt throughout the planet and ring it like a bell.
Even though the explosion was nearly eight thousand feet above the sea level, it took less then a microsecond for the hypersonic blast wave to reach it. The liquid water below the explosion instantly converted to superheated steam, along with whatever had been in the water at that time. What liquid water that hadn't been vaporized carried the supersonic pulse underwater, far faster then the air above. What fish and aquatic creatures that were within a hundred kilometers of the blast were either instantly pulverized into chum or crushed by the sheer decibel level of the sound.
The instant the blast happened, anyone on nearby land who had been looking south would have been instantly blinded, their corneas fried as the flash of light was briefly brighter that that of ten suns. Only minutes later, those same people, staggering around wherever they had stood, would have been blasted from their feet as the concussion wave finally hit land.
Nothing would be spared. Trees would be knocked over and be blown away like matchsticks. Rocks and boulders would turn into ballistic missiles, destroying everything they hit. Houses would simply disintegrate or crumple, depending on what they were made out of. And all of it caused mostly by hurricane force winds, far stronger than anything created naturally in any natural world.
It was, in a certain sense, the most destruction the planet may have ever seen.
2nd Fleet, 1121 hundred hours, above Rukbat 3
Lieutenant Hawkins was in the fight of his life. Flashes of light to his left, a glimpse of red, the thudding sound as those flashes hit into the sides of his craft, cracking and chipping at ceramic armor plating. He desperately struggled to stay on top of, ahead of, whatever the hell was also desperately trying to kill him.
He flipped around, hanging left as hard as he could, even through the sounds his craft made as individual components were pushed beyond safe limits. The groans and screeches the B-31 Vanguard Bomber made as he pulled maneuvers some fighter pilots dreamed of executing were warnings enough of the imminent danger.
The B-31 Vanguard, argued to be the best carrier based bomber ever produced. Its original intention was to provide carriers with an anti-ground target capacity, although most had long since converted to anti-capital ship. The modified AC version was a bit of both, configured to attack capital ships, but still held the atmospheric flight capability. The version Hawkins flew most had also been skunk-worked up with super dense composite armor, as well as a more efficient fusion propulsion system.
The only problem anyone could have with the Vanguard was its speed. It was slow as hell. Hawkins could honestly care less, as this was his hardcore favorite craft.
The things that Hawkins currently fought, however, were the exact opposite of slow. They weren't like any craft Hawkins had ever encountered. They seemed suicidal, as several close calls seemed too evident. And they were tenacious as hell, refusing to back off fore more that a second.
He had phased out everything else, the world outside a mere blur. All that now mattered were the enemy and himself. Only one would fly away. Only the lone Terran or the alien Crosseyes would survive.
He heard sounds, off in the distance. The sounds mattered shit. He saw the path a bandit was going to take well before it actually took that path. He let loose a burst of railgun fire across it, shredding the target and sending it adrift. The next was even dumber, swinging out in front of his guns and coming at him head on, in some kind of crazed kamikaze run. A short burst from his cannons and it died too, Hawkins swerving narrowly to dodge the smoking hulk.
The sounds again, they seemed familiar.
Blasts raked the fuselage of the bomber, error warnings sounding, indicating a sudden loss of power in the port engine. Hawkins compensated almost instantly, swinging around in an almost flawless bootleg turn, blasting and killing the rouge Crosseye.
Three down, three to go. Another came from behind, letting of a burst of plasma bolts right across the hull of his craft. Shattered ceramic clattered off into space. The Lieutenant executed a forward roll and strafed the fighter craft behind him. It abruptly exploded almost instantly. Two to go.
And suddenly the sounds filtered through into the zone he had entombed himself in. piercing into his thought train. "The doors man, we got 'em open! Get in here man!" the message and others was repeatedly screamed over and over in his headset. He briefly glanced over to the enormous Monolith, where a gaping hole the size of a hoopball court had appeared. A new objective appeared in his mind.
He suddenly made a beeline for the gaping maw, hell-bent on safety. He never noticed the remaining pair of Crosseye starfighters making a hasty retreat. Only the safety of the interior of the superfreighter mattered.
And then it happened. Whether it was a chunk of his own superdense ceramic armor or a chunk from the wrecked Crosseye fighters, He would never know. But a piece of debris suddenly punched a neat hole through his canopy, venting every molecule of air instantly.
Hawkins suddenly jammed down the throttles as all sound ceased. The hole sped at him, his gaze fixed in a death watch on it. He never even noticed a strange shadow pass over his craft the moment before he flew through. The very last thing the young Lieutenant remembered was entering darkness, although whether it was from the lack of oxygen in his brain or the darkness of the cargo hold he would never know either.
Lieutenant Thomas Falsner knew almost immediately that something was wrong. Despite the sudden retreat of the Battlecruiser and its escort fighter squadrons, and the sudden realization among the remaining fighter pilots that they had won by default, Falsner could somehow sense that all was not right. Instead of retreating out to space, away from the battle at hand, the battlecruiser had retreated toward the planet. That didn't settle right. There was something else going on here. The question was, what?
And, like other times before, the dominoes fell inside his head.
His sensors had recorded energy fluxes from the northern end of the planet, disturbances signature of a release of pure energy. Falsner had noted once that pure energy could only be created artificially through a few methods. Antimatter reactions ranking chiefly among them. Specifically, the detonation of an antimatter device. Or a core chamber rupture in an antimatter reactor.
Another note pulled from his memory. The Battlecruiser they had just engaged lacked wingtips characteristic of that particular class of Crosseye warship. At least the simulator version had wingtips. But the wingtips could detach and become independent starships, even capable of atmospheric flight. This would mean that the wingtips had disengaged prior to the battle. The Crosseyes may be on the planet's surface. If they were not on the surface they would have revealed themselves during the duration of the battle.
The Wingtip starships the Crosseyes used utilized matter-antimatter reaction for short-range propulsion. If the reaction chamber were to, say, become compromised, the result would likely be a massive explosion in the gigaton range, certainly one large enough to produce the recorded energy fluctuations. Such propulsion systems of course had a myriad of failsafe mechanisms to prevent such a catastrophe, but still.
But what would be capable enough to critically damage a Crosseye Wingtip Bomber? They weren't as heavily protected or armed as their battlecruiser mothership, Certainly it would take a considerable force to destroy one. Such as a ground-based offensive attack.
And then the last dominoes fell into place, the final realization dawned on Falsner: The abandoned colony ship, the errant activity of the battlecruiser. The weird feelings he had been getting earlier. And now the finale:
The world below them was still inhabited. By fellow Terrans who very likely were in grave danger.
Holy freaking shit.
"Sargasso, Bloodtail Leader calling Sargasso, we may have a problem," Falsner barely got out with a single breath.
Exclamations of surprise and puzzlement were heard over the Comm. "This is Colonel Skye. Explain yourself."
"Colonel Sir, I think the planet below us is still, ah, how would I say it, inhabited," Falsner said.
Back in the CIC Room of the Sargasso, eyes looked up from frantic work and towards the Comm. station when the word 'inhabited' was said. A look of surprise followed by a bizarre look of shock flashed across Captain Falcanar who stood nearby. Colonel Skye, who had been standing over the Comm. operator, barely even flinched. "Lieutenant Falsner, try to explain your, ah, deduction to me."
"Our sensors just detected moments ago a massive explosion in the northern hemisphere of the planet. The battlecruiser may have used its wingtips to attack the surface, and the explosion was likely from one of those bombers being destroyed by a planet-based force. And the Crosseye battlecruiser retreating? it wasn't retreating but relocating to the planet-side battle, to continue that. And you have to consider the colonizer too sir."
"Give me a moment to confer with the Captain. This is all very sudden." Skye switched off the Comm., startling the station operator. "Don't reactivate it until I'm done," He said to him.
Skye turned to Captain Falcanar, a questioning look in his eyes. "So, Captain, what's your take on this development?"
"Me? I think we would have detected something, anything, indicating habitation," Falcanar replied. He seemed to be straining to maintain his calm.
"You mean the Firecross would have, Sir, but it blew to bits before it could even begin a sensor sweep of the planet. And it makes sense with that abandoned colonizer. Dammit, I should have realized this," Skye said.
"Colonel," Falcanar asked, "Do you trust your lieutenant's judgment? That this planet is inhabited still by Terrans, despite the apparent lack of any communication attempts whatsoever, as well as who knows how long a span of time may have passed? Those colonizers are from thousands of years ago. Do you trust your Second's judgment?"
Skye hesitated, but for only a moment."I do Sir; I trust Falsner and his hyperanalytical mind as much as anything else of potential value. He has gotten us out of more that a few scrapes with his abilities, so if he says he's on to something big, I believe him."
Captain Falcanar considered something for a moment. "Very well then, tell your men to follow the retreating Crosseyes, but tell them to be very quick. I do believe your skunk-worked starfighters have atom, right?"
"Colonel Skye made a halfway smile, a true rarity. He turned back to the Comm. Station and told the operator to reactivate it. Speaking into his headset he said, "All remaining squadrons, new orders. Sphinx and Luger Squadrons, continue with the capture of the primary target. Image, Squadron, RTB for damage assessment and repairs. And Bloodtail Squadron, investigate the retreat of the Crosseyes, report anything unusual that may be discovered. You have clearance to engage in atmospheric combat if absolutely necessary. Good Luck. Skye Out."
"Wilco, roger that," Falsner said with enthusiasm.
"Well looks like you guys get to have all the fun again, see you soon," Parker said, disappointed.
"Aw man, I'm gonna have to get my suit dirty again," Lt. Winston said in his border world drawl.
Benden Weyr, early morning.
Darkness. A voice in the midst. He felt the presence of someone familiar nearby. Who?
F'lar slowly woke, opening his eyes to the darkness around him. He somehow knew he was in familiar settings; somehow he had ended up here from the Yoko. The Yoko?
And then it all flooded back to him. The Vessel, the Second Vessel, the massive explosion and his injured dragon-
He bolted up straight, remembering Mnementh's injuries, only to collapse back to the bed, sharp needles of pain shooting through his head.
"F'lar, please, lie down. "Someone in the room, right nearby. "It's all right, you're back at Benden Weyr."
F'lar struggled with the perplexing riddle as to how he had gotten from the Yoko to his bed in the Weyr. "H-How did I get here? Where's Mnementh?"
"Mnementh is in his weyr, mending his broken wing. He will be okay again soon," Lessa replied. "You'll be felling better in no time too. You are fortunate that the concussion you received was only a mild one."
F'lar then sensed from his mate that there was something she wasn't telling him. Something she was hesitant to lay on him so soon after being injured.
"What is it?" He asked.
"What do you mean, 'What is it'?" she replied.
"I have been by your side too long to know when you're hiding something important. What is it? Did something else happen while I was out between?
"Even in the darkness of his weyr, F'lar could sense Lessa's change of expression. "You're right, something did happen, and you are not going to like it."
What then, just tell me."
Lessa began. "Ista Weyr lost many dragons today, at least twenty died, and I don't know how or why."
What Lessa had just said had momentarily stunned F'lar into mute silence. "Twenty? How?"
"I, I really do not know," Lessa stammered. "All I do know is that an advance wing was sent to scout the Threadfall over the south Ista shores today. The last message that the Wingleader sent through his dragon was that he had seen a strange red object. Then they all…passed. Other riders were sent to find out what happened, but they died instantly as well when they arrived. And then some kind of explosion, like the one that hit the Yoko, hit Ista Island itself. Many hundreds or thousands more may have died F'lar, we still don't know." Her voice was cracking.
F'lar was mortified beyond comprehension. Twenty dragons and their riders and countless others had died in a short span of time, according to Lessa, and they were powerless to prevent further loss. He felt helpless against some invisible hand pushing against Pern. Totally and completely helpless.
F'lar then remembered the stories that the Artificial Intelligence AIVAS had stored in its data banks, the stories of how the original colonists had fled a galactic war between human beings and another feared, dangerous force. And now, F'lar believed, that force had returned.
He now believed that the Vessels no longer were interested in communication or anything of the likes. All they wanted was the total, and complete, destruction, of his world.
And all that stood between them and their goal were the Dragonriders, the defenders of that world.
Ista Island, Early Morning
Terellan drifted in out of consciousness, believing he was dead. He vaguely remembered hearing a massive roar while looking with awe at the lights above him in the sky, then looking over his shoulder and seeing his own house flying towards him. Or maybe he flew at it. He could not tell from his memory.
He was pinned under something, or at least his legs were, for he could not move them. He could feel a dull throbbing from his left foot, so he somehow figured that that was somehow a good thing. He was in total darkness, his face against something rough. All he could move was his lower left arm, and even only slightly.
He wondered where his brother, Maranan, was. He also had no idea where his Mother and Father were either. He then decided he was somehow underneath his house.
He tried to call for help, but only a strangled gurgle emanated from his lips. He had lost his voice. He heard nothing in the dark, no sounds of any kind anywhere; He was trapped with no one around, no one to help him. He was alone.
And then he was resigned to the fact that he was going to die soon, very soon.
He drifted back into unconsciousness.
Somewhere in Orbit above Pern
When A'rak had entered the black, gaping void through which the last injured craft had passed, he had expected to be greeted by something, anything.
All he met with was blackness.
The short but spectacular battle that had taken place only moments before had been nothing shy of amazing. The strange crafts had dodged and rolled, made flips and somersaults and countless other moves not even dragons could execute. The majority of the craft struggled to defeat the minority of red craft. Both sides had dodged and evaded each other in an epic battle. Within what seemed like moments most of the reddish craft had been defeated. Lageth had even claimed to have briefly heard the thoughts of one of the craft, but had not been so sure.
And then a gaping hole had appeared in the side of the Vessel, only to have the surviving craft fly in through it into darkness. All but one made it through before A'rak instructed his dragon to maneuver towards it. The last of the craft to enter the hole was, as it seemed to appear to A'rak, very badly damaged in comparison to its others. it had a lot of holes in it, and it leaked gases of some kind in several places.
They let the injured craft pass, by comparison to them it had suddenly gained speed and shot into the entryway. A'rak saw with momentary shock the craft pass Lageth's shadow. But it did not even hesitate the slightest and vanished into the hole an instant later, gone, only puffs of smoky vapor remaining.
A'rak and Lageth drifted in front of the hole, gazing into the darkness beyond. And Lageth now had less than a minute of air in his lungs before he began to suffocate.
A'rak I need air, Lageth's tone was desperate.
One last push my love, and we will fill our lungs at Ista, A'rak said to his dragon, promising.
Alright, one last push for discovery, for Pern. And he moved himself with some speed and propelled them both inside.
Once inside the opening, a seemingly endless chasm of darkness met them, but suddenly strange, bright lights slowly flickered to life in the darkness, towards what seemed to be the floor of a very large room or hangar of some kind. and Then A'rak noticed two things. One, there was a slight gravity in the room, and that there was atmosphere; it was breathable.
AIR! Lageth rejoiced through his mental link, exhaling stale air and inhaling a fresh breath. It tastes old but it is air nonetheless!
A'rak's eyes were riveted to the sudden action taking place in the distance in the cavernous room, where what he could now discern as the place where the fighter craft from earlier had landed on the floor. As he watched, figures clambered over and out of the craft, in seemingly random fashion. Side panels on the three larger objects swung open and more of the figures poured out. A'rak could also perceive massive, hanging shapes in the twilight, barely visible.
Lageth, hide us behind those whatever-they-are hanging over there. I don't want to be seen just yet.
I will do that my love, I do not trust them as to expose ourselves.
Lageth slowly flapped his wings until he reached the nearest hanging object, a large, ovoid structure of some kind, with large enough holes to rest his claws in.
A'rak began to formulate out a new course of action when the sheer flood of mental anguish hit them both, wrenching the Rider's mind with agonizing pain. And his dragon, foregoing any semblance of stealth, let out a massive, mournful roar, filling the entire chamber with its sad tone.
Well, that's a wrap. It took nearly three months to get this here. I hope you guys and gals enjoyed it. Stay tuned for the next installments, it only get's better from here.
The Merc