Astralis - The War People

Part I

1

The ancient mystery

Under the rays of a dusky sun, small, tapering hands crashed against the colonel's chest.

The man fell backward over a pleasant turf to lie on it; the rustle of wings was heard, and, in the distance, shadows rose with effort. On that wild planet, ornithomorphs were the dominant species.

Lying down, the colonel became intoxicated at the sight of some feminine graces that instantly stirred his manhood.

But he winced in pain. No! Stop! He begged, Please get your foot out of there; how will I satisfy you if you damage it.

I am the one there to decide the fate of your little one! She had a ruthless or excited expression. He must be limp now!

But I-

I'm your mistress, soak him or I'll kick him!

He unleashed a warning kick.

No, stop! Stop, I got it!

Evolution had given the astralis control of their penis, and the colonel could comply.

But the despot was moody. Now I want it hard, forked, and black. Now!

Your every wish is an order.

I like it when you obey without objection.

She loosened her long black hair, perched on top of him. Come on Bugor, don't just stand there.

The colonel breathed voluptuously into her skin, so magnetic and desirable.

With brutality, he pinched her nipples.

Yes! Yes! She screamed like a demoniac. Good Bugor...keep it up.

He allowed few to call him by his battle nickname: Bugor (the shark).

A nickname they had irreverently stuck on him because of the large dissipation ridge on the back of his head; it was made of nanotek and retractable fabric; to the colonel it had nothing to do with a shark fin.

Something nearby emitted high-pitched screams and flew away in a flicker of color.

Bugor closed his eyes and gasped as the woman found what she was looking for and essayed its double turgidity.

You are mine! He told her. Without a chance.

The colonel's nuchal filaments came alive to embody themselves in her nerve plexuses all along her spine.

The woman arched, after a little cry of pleasure or pain. A muscle spasm spread from the cusp of her belly to the phalanges of her feet.

When the bio-synchro surged, they shared the same frantic breathing, the same quivers.

But Hugin IAS broke the idyll with a crescendo of Chopin's Nocturne.

He restored enlightenment. Mission nectunt. AA 345 30.04 07:00:00 SIC, Awakening procedure. End of dream stasis process in ten seconds - nine - eight -.... -zero.

Hugin's voice had never been so annoying. Starting standard waking mode for Colonel Alexander Aleinikov.

Swarms of nanotech-destroyers dissolved the hydrating membrane on the colonel's face. Through flickering eyelids, green light penetrated his head like an electrified biblade.

The colonel's EOS self-diagnosed his vital parameters, showing little sensory dips.

The man rotated his head with an amplitude limited by the numb joint. Shit!

He stood on deck number two in the control room. Why now? I was almost there. He would have gladly enjoyed the shapeliness of his virtual lover, in the CVI (virtual induced construct).

The other space marines were floating in midair, a foot above the floor, each in their respective anti-inertial stations; despite their yellowed moisturizing membranes, one could make out their facial features.

The colonel looked up at deck number three; he recognized Dr. Liukai Ugolini through the translucent ceiling and was annoyed to find himself five meters lower.

He would have awakened all his space marines, but protocol called for the awakening of only two officers, before re-entry into Einsteinian space.

Welcome back Colonel Aleinikov! Said Hugin.

Thank you. You may be one of the smartest artificial intelligences in the Empire, but you don't seem to be awake when it comes to awakenings. And an audible laughter erupted, rousing the space marine at the nearest anti-inertial station, toward the ship's bow.

It was Lieutenant Loganach, who seemed in muscle spasms.

Excuse me! Did I wake you up? Said the colonel under a grin.

[You were next on the list anyway; it was your turn.] He sent the joke into telepat, but exploded a vowel laugh.

Then, he pars-concentrated on two sensorial shared by Hugin: a report of the crew's physical condition, and an update of the ship's log.

Before the nano-destroyers' arrival, Loganach had shredded the hydration membrane with his fingernails. He occupied the fusion station, which was more complex than the others. To be an Imperial Navy pilot he had to be an astralis with special sync skills.

His eyes relaxed after the EOS stabilized.

He wanted to loosen his tongue. Have a nice life, Colonel Aleinikov.

Good life, lieutenant, I will not bring you coffee, but I urge you to initiate protocol in return. Immediately!

Loganach nodded, and the colonel took sadistic pleasure in being unbearable.

The antigravity beam laid the lieutenant down and then dissolved.

The man lay down on top of a mass of nanotek that looked alive. Initiating fusion mode! He said that substance was first absorbed by his body, then rejected by every pore of his skin. The limbs liquefied and flowed out.

[Fusion successfully completed,] Loganach communicated.

Billions of the lieutenant's cells and nanobiotes had poured into the fusion conduits of the Ω-Imperium.

Pilots like Loganach achieved awareness of every single nanotek module of which their ships were composed. But advanced sensing was useless; the laws of sensor physics did not apply in subspace.

I love subspace, but I hate it. Said the lieutenant; he must have felt in a cage prison, blacked out to the outside world.

On the large holographic screen, subspace flowcharts, probability-route diagrams and re-entry point distributions came alive.

In Colonel Aleinikov's mind, dozens of perspective images of the Ω-Imperium occupied an entire channel of thought. What magnificence, what grace. He thought.

He felt a chill rise from his gut. The ship reminded him of a sea manta ray, but swimming through the billows of space-time.

Would it withstand the impact of a battle with that invincible enemy?

He snapped his lips and said:

Sorry, honey, for neglecting you all these months for that virtual whore.

The Ω-Imperium slid between the super-chaotic strings of subspace.

Lt. Loganach was tracking the probability course thanks to Hugin's computing power. It was the IAS's job to intersect the re-entry curves.

Every detail had been planned on Enceladus-1, but as a far-sighted astrophysicist, Colonel Aleinikov knew the dangers of the dimensional transition. Lieutenant! Report.

[Reentry coordinates, elaborating.] Communicated Loganach.

Colonel Aleinikov was heartened by the etymology of the word Hugin, thought, in an ancient Earth language.

[Come on Hugin, show us what you can do.]

[Trust me,] replied the IAS, but colored the bulkheads a faint orange of danger.

After you truncated me with a double synchronic orgasm? How could I trust you? He held back a snort because he had to remain totally concentrated. After the transition, the Ω-Imperium would be like a boulder thrown into a body of water. He worried about gravitational ripples, which could be located hundreds of light-years away.

For prudence, the point of re-entry into Einsteinian space had to be chosen in areas of interstellar wilderness, far from the first target, the Gynsian sector, and from the routes taken by the Xentinel and Andronis-1 colonists.

[Graviter ready for gravitational pulse.]

[Transition. now!]

A slight vibration preceded the stillness.

Aleinikov instantly sensed cosmic rays, the radiation of dim stars.

He had the reassuring feeling that Ω-Imperium was where it was supposed to be: in a space of low stellar density, between the outermost arms of the great Andromeda spiral.

We are in the Merangolo Desert, fifteen thousand light-years from the Salis system, said the lieutenant. According to the navigation code, not everything was to be communicated via sensorial, or telepat, and the vowel was a reminiscence of the past to be preserved.

The Ω-Imperium adapted to Einsteinian space, regaining a more compact and monolithic form.

Inside the ship, the nanotek bulkheads flowed into each other, or disappeared by merging with different structures; at the control room they thinned to translucence. The large observation portholes reappeared.

The ship continued its course by inertia. Then, it slowed with uniformly decelerated motion.

Prepare the long-range sensors, said Colonel Aleinikov. EMCON5.

It was necessary to ascertain that the Ginsian sector was clear of danger.

Lt. Loganach shared the feeling of distant space that translated into a gentle breeze on Aleinikov's skin.

I am not detecting any signs that can be attributed to artificial phenomena, the lieutenant said.

Colonel Aleinikov flashed a bristling smile. Not bad for newbies in this galaxy.

He turned back to the bodies in bio-stasis. Time to wake up! Hugin be as cruel as you have been to me!

Hugin was a pragmatic intelligence and had started the operations to terminate the dream stasis. But he could not keep up with the colonel's irony.

Colonel to better understand his jokes should allow me to raise the levels of empathy.

Later maybe!

All the bodies moved.

Sergeant Cyrus Kadyvar had torn through the moisturizing membrane; young men were the most sensitive to arousal stimuli. He exhibited a turgid penis sprayed with veins that climbed his abdomen like a spider web.

The colonel detected a strong smell of sexual stimulants. [I see you've been at it, sergeant!]

Charging erotic CVIs during bio-stasis was the favorite pastime of all space marines.

Hugin released the bio-mechanical actuators and lowered the anti-gravity. The sergeant quickly freed himself from the invasive nanotechnology and leapt to the ground on his legs.

Barely awake, Corporal Igner looked like a bloodhound on the prowl. He spat out organic residue and said:

Wow Cyrus, what are your intentions? You know, after nine months of bio-stasis I'm feeling puckish! He said, rubbing against the sergeant's abdomen like a cat in heat.

The space marine was loose-tongued and sensitive to Kadyvar's testosterone.

It had not escaped Aleinikov's notice that the two, already on Enceladus-1, had become regular lovers.

Kadyvar emitted a burst of laughter. Hot little star. Let's wake up the others first, and then I'll fix you. He said, as the uniform, which crystallized on 80 percent of his body, muted the sound of an accelerated beat like that of a hummingbird.

Sergeant Kadyvar had a bad temper, but an unimpeachable sense of duty. The colonel himself had wanted him on board.

Come on Sleeping Beauty, you want a kiss? Kadyvar hissed at Corporal Gunnar Silvestren, breathing near his nose the fruit of nine months of bacterial fermentation.

Corporal Silvestren moved slowly, tore through the membrane and poked his head out. He was in the state of post-awake disorientation with an expression that seemed to say:

Fuck Chopin and his piano. Fuck the sergeant. Fuck you all around me.

Corporal Silvestren was an invincible war machine, but also a difficult soldier. Managing him would help Corporal Igner, who had a way with men. He had demonstrated this on Enceladus-1 where he managed most of the space station's men.

They mollified their feet.

Hey Gun, you don't look so good. Said Igner.

[Wait till you say that, I'll let you touch yourself,] Silvestren communicated, snickering.

The woman bent down to stretch, regain control of her numb legs from those months of immobility, or provoke Silvestren.

Captain Schmitz had freed himself from the actuators but was gasping on the floor in a pool of vomit. Resolutely, Igner and Kadyvar helped their captain up.

Corporal Aguilar also successfully disentangled himself from all the nanotechnology inside and outside his body.

The colonel sensed all his men rushing into sensory space as thirsty. The communications between the space marines created a background of telepat signals.

He called them to order. [Spartak Squadron! I would like to remind you that when you are in the presence of bakku, using telepat is forbidden and you must use the vowel; the Lubhan Convention stipulates this].

He first shook his head, then with a quick movement placed his right hand on his left shoulder.

Voices overlapped in a chorus of mighty timbres; bodies synchronized for the pose of the imperial salute. Glory to the Empire!

But what was happening on command deck number three, overcrowded with bakku?

The colonel watched one of the two astralis on that bridge, Dr. Ugolini, hold up Dr. K'Prock with a strange thoughtfulness.

I have blackouts. Said Dr. Akia K'Prock, gasping.

Don't worry, you have to be patient.

What? replied the woman after a greenish ballistic spurt.

During a prolonged dream stasis, t-nanobiot can't always compensate! said the man. You'll have to endure some nausea, migraines and a good dose of neural decay.

Yes, but where are we? And who are you? Said Dr. K'Prock. Her almond-shaped eyes thinned and lost.

I am Liukai Ugolini, we are aboard the Ω-Imperium, we should have arrived in a stellar desert on the outskirts of Andromeda.

He turned to the man, looked at him with a face disfigured with terror. Perhaps thinking about being millions of parsecs from his home planet, Estyr.

Now I remember you! She smiled as if something pleasant was caressing her mind.

IAS show me our relative position to Galaxia Nostrum. He said. Her face stretched with the hologram of Galaxia Nostrum, of its logarithmic arms made luminous by billions of mapped stars.

Dr. K'Cun slumped on his weakened knees; he was not an astralis and at his age could not expect a flexible body at the end of bio-stasis. But he looked like a vigorous man and rose with little hesitation.

The two vanobians, Sciurt and Scialat, looked like puny bakku. They kept spilling their metabolite fluids on the floor, and they vomited so many that the natotek grid took too long to reabsorb each organic offal.

Even a bakku without advanced sensory skills would have understood that the other astralis, Dr. Zhang was on the verge of a breakdown.

The colonel also sensed an accelerated heartbeat and excessive pressure on the optic nerve; he trusted the self-medicating subprograms. Within seconds Zhang's heart returned to normal.

The seven space marines were on deck two, while the six civilians were on deck three, all in fair health, but their beards were long and smeared, their bare chests encrusted with organic secretions.

The astralis had the ability to inhibit their sense of smell to avoid disgust, but the colonel was not the squeamish type.

They scampered off to resolve the sloppiness. In the quarters they could give themselves a shine.

Dr. Akia K'Prock sprinted off with a stride that was no match for space marine speed.

Protocol called for a briefing on deck three, thirty minutes after bio-stasis ended, perhaps too little for female vanity.

But they were all on time to step onto the same deck three. An aseptic place, a polymorphous environment that could have been a command room, a tactical room, or simply a bio-stasis chamber.

In its most used configuration, as a command room, it was semicircular in shape, completely bare.

No astralis needed instrumentation anymore; they could interact with the ship through a techno-telepathic metaverse: sensory space.

Instead, the bakkus needed furnishings and connecting terminals, holocameras, holoemeters, and all sorts of control panels. Primitive systems, but easy for aggregative nanotechnology to generate.

Nine months earlier, Dr. Ugolini himself had issued summons to the space station Enceladus-1 to all scientists.

Instead, the Spartak squadron was commissioned directly by Chancellor Trajan himself, albeit photonically.

Embarkation was immediate and the bio-stasis operations so rapid that there was no time to get acquainted with the entire crew.

Even Ugolini, who was born and lived on Estyr, knew the importance of pleasantries for Earthlings. Good life Colonel Aleinikov ... how are you? He said.

He stiffened his right hand and carefully oriented it on his left shoulder; that greeting lacked the soul of the space marine.

The colonel proudly flaunted his two-tone, silver-black, complete with metal buttons, imperial friezes and a glittering array of medals. A concentration of blazon and heroism.

He smiled in satisfaction at that act of respect from Ugolini.

She rewarded him by instantly crumbling any formality. Hey there doctor, how are you? He said, as his large hand came down on Ugolini's shoulder, causing him to stagger.

The imperial salute I demand only from my space marines, and he tensed his lips, but not too much; he did not want to accentuate the first wrinkles of a young septuagenarian.

Finally, Aleinikov's laughter exploded.

Ugolini looked interdicted, paralyzed.

Don't worry! Said the officer in the explosion, I am immune to the euphoria of post-awakening.

With a reputation as a formidable warrior, how could he admit to suffering the effects of prolonged bio-stasis?

Then, he slipped his gaze into Dr. K'Prock's cleavage, a blossoming flower in the quarters, too fragrant to be ignored. And too attractive those breasts compressed by the black nanotek suit, worn like a second skin.

With the AS-1 sensory enhancer, the colonel appreciated that mix of floral aromas, while the pheromone sniffers found that the woman was ovulating. He was pleased that he smelled no emissions of anxiety and fear.

Dr. Ugolini inhaled at length. He too seemed to want to enjoy Dr. K'Prock's nisian berry scent.

And he approached that very woman, instead of the second highest-ranking crew member in order.

The man stiffened at the black eyes; too much to be casual.

Dr.'s lips seemed hesitant on the verge of a smile. From what the colonel knew, on Estrian women, physical contact would be irreverent.

Still, it was Dr. K'Prock Akia who bridged the gap, before Ugolini recited the endless ceremonial Hesotrian greeting. Have a nice life. she said, extending her hand.

That little hand was supposed to be velvety and sweetly warm, and Dr. Ugolini maintained his grip for a long time.

She lifted herself up on her toes to whisper to him something Estyrian, which the colonel translated as:

It's been a long time! Maybe five years, hasn't it?

He struggled to hide an understanding, but thanks to the sniffers, the colonel sensed a tsunami of excitement sweep over Dr. Ugolini.

They were lovers; it was obvious to Aleinikov.

Dr. Ugolini was an earthling born and bred on Estyr who must have felt a great affinity with the Estyrians because he once again skipped greeting Captain Schmitz to turn to Dr. Satik K'Cun.

K'Cun was a typical Estyrian of Cadogj ethnicity: strong-willed jaw, black hair, and ebony skin; although he was only seventy-two years old, he was wrinkled.

Ugolini gracefully contrasted his forehead with K'Cun's. "May the Holy Nume grant you a place in the Ruh'Uk, Satik K'Cun, son of Abek. I am honored to collaborate with Alpha's iconic archaeologist."

Dr. K'Prock's amber lips revealed a crescent of teeth.

Dr. K'Cun was a bakku who had been lucky enough to discover the lost city of Aknuchia (Alpha site). He would never have succeeded without imperial geo-resonators. That discovery increased his fame as a scientist and brought astro-archaeology to the forefront.

The colonel had prepared for the mission as best he could. Still, although he was fascinated by the mystery of pre-astralis civilizations, he was wary of astro-archaeology as a science for winning conflicts. He advocated the art of war, the more traditional one as an idea, like a game of chess: a few simple rules that gave rise to an endless array of creative combinations.

He was impressed by Aknuchia because that city was not just an ancient human settlement of Estyr, one of many in Galaxia Nostrum, forgotten by time and history.

The remains of the buildings comprised slabs of an alloy-like nanotek but assembled using techniques from Earth's Iron Age. It was as if, after increasing with the latest nanotechnology, they had been given to a primitive people to build an entire slum.

Dr. K'Cun had unearthed Aknuchia, but the beautiful Dr. K'Prock hypothesized those plates were the remains of a spaceship of extra-Estherian origin.

K'Cun bent his one hundred and ninety centimeters to complete the greeting ritual. He brushed Ugolini's temples with extreme precision by opposing his index fingers to his thumbs. May the Holy Nume grant you a place of honor in the Ruh'Uk, to you and a thousand generations of your descendants. The honor is all mine! He spoke.

Aleinikov snorted.

Finally, Ugolini took care of the space marines.

The entire Spartak squadron waited for the man to give them attention. The soldiers were lined up in descending order of rank, and though despicable, Ugolini reviewed them.

They were proud and formidable. Nine months of bio-stasis had not affected the bodies designed to cope with any fatigue nor the minds psycho-modified to overcome the extreme states of space travel.

Aleinikov knew Captain Schmitz as a courteous and etiquette-minded officer. He was a white Caucasian, human looking. Small ridges of dissipation arranged in a crown on his parietal bones gave him a regal appearance. He was known as Rex—a king, but not of that mission.

The captain performed the posture of the imperial salute.

Have a nice life, Captain Schmitz. Nice to meet you. Ugolini said to him, passing him quickly to focus on the second officer: Lieutenant Loganach, who was more interesting because he wore the marks from the fusion. He was skinless and with some of his muscle tissue undergoing regeneration. Take care, we are all in your capable pilot's hands.

Under bionoid appearance, Sergeant Kadyvar's face was a neutral composite of the predominant genetic types on Earth. Nothing to do with somatic traits of bakku, or other bastard humans. Even though he was often intractable, he was a good military man; everyone called him blackbull.

Ugolini approached him too quickly.

To the colonel, the scientist was too stupid or too irresponsible. Or, he had not sensed Kadyvar's high levels of aggression.

Have a nice life sergeant! Ugolini said.

The space marine growled; he had the look of someone who despises pleasantries. He puffed out his chest and swiftly crossed his right hand over his left shoulder. Glory to the Empire! he shouted in a mighty voice.

The imperial salute was all he had to say, and Ugolini had been lucky to remain unscathed.

Corporal Silvestren was the most powerful of the Spartaks, his large bare arms sprinkled with bio-interfaces, heat-dissipating plates and fins, and extra-body enhancing aggregations.

Low-ranking space marines loved the enhancements, and the corporal was one of those astralis, more like a bionoid than a human. His body was a plastic combination of natural biology and artificial protobiology. The polymorphic muscles were flesh fused to nanotek modules, ready to crystallize into all kinds of heavy weapons.

Ugolini seemed fascinated by the corporal's body; or perhaps horrified.

Have a nice life Corporal Silvestren, he said.

The corporal remained motionless, breathless, and his eyes calm. He absently stretched his lips.

Aleinikov smiled, proud that