Well, this is my first attempt at actually beginning AND finishing a story. Feedback is very appreciated.
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Galien awoke to the first rays of sunshine pouring through his window, and the chirping of birds. Not real sunshine, of course, and merely recorded birds. Only a simulation, as humans had been sequestered underground for decades. Running, hiding from the sun, scurrying across the dead earth. The first caves had been miserable; cold, wet, muddy. Now all was blank white, efficient, and sanitized. Automated. And, although he knew the sunshine was merely tempered light, and the birds synthesized by a computer to fit someone's vague memory of the Upperworld, it generally amused him to be awoken in such a manner. Not today, of course. Not much could amuse him today.
He shook the last traces of drowsiness from his head, and quickly dressed. The lift would be waiting, and tardiness was, along with humour, something which Galien could not afford on this day. After a quick breakfast of something which vaguely resembled eggs in appearance and completely failed to in taste, he left his quarters. There was no attempt to make the halls look like anything other than what they were: harsh, bright and orderly. Even if the government couldn't provide real security from the Outsiders, they could provide a false sense of it in uniformity. A 'bot scuttled by his feet, carrying household supplies to something. Probably tissues. If the tunnels were penetrated, at least people would be able to blow their noses, Galien laughed bitterly.
Enough of those thoughts, though. Dangerous thoughts, and ill-fitting as well, considering his job. Galien made his way to the lifts, and once aboard, closed his eyes against the glaring blue and white lights. The low hum of the engines grew louder as the lift accelerated, and he laughed wryly at the patriotic billboards urging young men and women to enlist. He too had once been fooled by those posters. The colors, the bright uniforms, photos of the brave warriors defending mankind. Pity he had joined. Otherwise he might now be blissfully unaware. But he did, and he wasn't.
Regardless of might-have-beens, and not slowing for any man's pondering, time proceeded, as did the lift. Unlike time, however, the lift soon came to a halt, and the doors slid open silently to reveal a grossly obese man squeezed into a military uniform.
"Ah. Mr. Dilavni. So good of you to grace us with your appearance," the man snarled. "And how prompt! Only five minutes late, instead of the usual fifteen! I do hope that you remember what today is? Good. Now get in your suit and get ready!"
Galien climbed out of the lift, letting the comments wash over him, and traversed the wide staging area to the outfitter. More 'bots scurried around him, this time carrying not household supplies but weapons and equipment. Amidst the bustle, he saw a group of young recruits, looking lost. Poor fools, Galien thought.
The outfitter greeted him in the manner of 'bots: succinct and subservient, and quickly suited him. Standard Fleet issue, the suit was essentially a pressurized shell-capable of preventing some blows, perhaps, and enough to keep him alive in hostile environments for a day or so, but beyond that, not much. The suit would eventually lose integrity, or the heating system lose energy, or the oxygen run out. If he was lost, there was little hope of anyone ever finding him, much less within a day.
The suit on and sealed, Galien perused the recruits marveling over the technology, and snorted derisively. The equipment may seem shiny and new now, but let them try to match the ships against those of the Outsiders, and they would soon comprehend the losing battle that was being fought. Even the newest fighters seemed like wallowing hogs in comparison to the largest carriers of the Outsiders. Faster, stronger, and with more firepower, one Outsider could easily occupy ten Earth ships. And often did. They never shot to kill, either, it seemed. Rather, they toyed with the human ships, destroying the missiles shot at them, firing to disable, letting the humans flee when they chose to. It seemed as if they were biding their time, waiting for some scheme to ripen.
The Government told a different tale, of course. The Outsiders were but heathens. Savage thieves, bent on pillaging and destroying the human race, while the heroic pilots from Earth beat them back. That's what the Government said, at any rate. The war was nearly won! We'll finish them off soon, but we can't do it without your money and your children. No longer only sons--the Government was very equal in that respect. The only flaw was that the war was a lost cause, and that, if the Outsiders truly wanted to destroy Earth, no human force could stop them.
Why, then, did Galien return again and again to do battle? Why did he wake up every day, take the lift to the base, endure the abuse piled upon him from his superiors, and watch as new recruits went to their deaths, arrogant and cocky? Why did he strap himself in to his ship, leave Earth, and risk his life against superior forces, fighting for ideals he loathed? He had pondered many times, and could reach no viable conclusion. It wasn't akin to the early astronauts, who were stunned by the beauty of Earth from space; there was no longer anything beautiful about the birthplace of the human race. All that was once green was gone, the oceans were filled with refuse, and the clouds, once white, were a dirty shade of brown. Anyone who thought it was a dead world which had never held life would be excused.
Perhaps it was the vast expanses of space. For one whose world consisted of cramped white corridors, the sight of the entire cosmos laid out before him was intoxicating. The entire universe dancing before his eyes, planets whirling around their stars, stars moving in harmony with each other, waltzing to unheard music, and signaling the end of the dance with a nod and a supernova wink, all measured in thousands of generations of human lives.
Whatever it was that drew him back, he cursed it with all his being. But it was of no matter now. He was here, and the time of departure was swiftly approaching. Pontifications aside, he set his mind to the task in front of him, losing himself in the familiar routine of equipment checks, strapping himself in, double-checking the equipment, powering up his craft, and waiting for departure permission. Since this was a special mission, the control tower quickly authorized him, and the roof above his ship-a small fighter, agile by human standards-blossomed open to show a patch of sky. Far away, of course, seen through a long tunnel of rock and earth leading to it, and a lurid sky at that, but sky nevertheless.
Acceleration pressed him against his seat as his small craft rose, guided by computer, through layers of earth and finally into the sky. While Galien knew that his mission was important, he had no inkling of what it was. The news shows on television-all Government owned, of course-had spoken of someone that he knew must be him, declaring that this mission was the end game; with this mission came utter victory or utter failure. Of course, no one in their right mind would believe that, but there must be something important about the task if so much money was being spent on propaganda.
When his craft escaped the Earth's pull and all the solar system was spread before him, he began to understand the importance of his task-though he still knew not what it was. Arrayed before him was a mass of ships-all Outsiders. Hundreds of them, weaving among each other. Not all ships for war, either. Galien saw what he knew must be transports, colony ships. These, then, were the cause for the delay. This was what the Outsiders were waiting for. What exactly it meant, Galien was unsure of, but he was sure of one thing: there was no hope for Earth.
A flicker of movement on one of the aft screens caught his attention, and he brought it up on the main display. Across the surface of the Earth, a shadow was creeping. Not cast by the sun, or from any light source. To be truthful, to say shadow would be a misnomer. More a spreading of black lines, a disease, lines splitting into smaller lines, an endless fractal process enveloping the home of humans. And before him, the strange fleet was preparing to enter the Earth.
His vidscreen blinked, and the face of his commander appeared. "Well, Mr. Dilavni, it seems you understand the importance of your mission now. Yes, these hideous creatures wish to take our beautiful planet away. They've already begun calibrating it to their odious designs. Indeed, that is what those lines are. The Earth will soon be uninhabitable to the human race. And once they've taken the Earth, Mr. Dilavni, what lies next? Our outposts, our colonies. If we can't have the Earth, then neither can they." The commander's face was filled with an intense fervor, his beady eyes glowing with hate. Galien had never before noticed how repulsive his commander was. Viewed from close up, his face was a fleshy mound, folds of skin covered with huge pores. His eyes were surrounded by flesh, small sunken orbs darting every which way, filled with hate and a desire for power. But he set all of those thoughts to one side.
"What are you suggesting, sir?" Galien inquired, not daring to believe what he was being told.
"I think you know very well, Mr. Dilavni. The Earth must be destroyed. Your ship has been equipped with a newly developed weapon, capable of destroying the planet. Do this for the human race, Mr. Dilavni. Strike now!"
Galien stabbed a button, and the image on his vidscreen died, returning to a view of the fleet in front of him. This was the unthinkable, laid before him. To destroy the world, his home, the home of all humans, or to let it be destroyed for human purposes, to let the Outsiders gain a foothold here. It was true that he held no love for his commander, or for the Government. However, he held no love for the Outsiders either. While most of what he knew about them was propaganda, he still felt that he owed some allegiance to his race. Whether or not they were bent on destroying and dominating, he was uncertain of.
What he did know, however, was that his thoughts were failing. He was trained well enough to recognize the effects of drugs on his brain; before sinking into a state in which his judgment was too impaired to make decisions, and thus accepted orders blindly, he reflected bitterly. They clearly hadn't trusted him to commit the Earth to destruction of his own accord; they knew him well. He wondered morbidly how much they knew about him.
It was academic now, of course. Galien blindly steered his ship towards Earth, pausing to marvel childishly at the brilliant stars. A previously unnoticed button caught his attention-though his attention now was a meager thing-and he registered dully that the button was new. The surprise was quickly muted, however, and he pressed his finger heavily upon the blue circle. A small beacon lit up, his craft began to shudder and hum, and a small rocket flew from his ship.
It seemed strange to him that something so small could be the death of so many, and so he failed at first to notice the Earth in his vidscreen. When he did, he let out an involuntary gasp. Even though his will was smothered, and his senses dulled, something deep within him screamed that there had been a terrible mistake.
For the Earth, instead of being covered in black lines as he had left it, was brilliant. Blue and white and brown, shining like a jewel. An oasis among the stars, as it had looked before it was despoiled by the Wars. The oceans looked clear again, the clouds clean and fresh, the land no longer scorched. Though he was thousands of miles away from the surface, he could easily imagine the sound of the ocean, the wind among the grass, the moon refracting off water; all things which he had never seen but in recordings. Above the surface, however, shrinking rapidly, was a dark shape which was unmistakably the missile from his ship.
And, as the rocket struck, and a blight spread across the face of the Earth, bubbling and scorching, and as the planet so recently restored exploded, as the shockwave from the explosion tore through his ship and through the fleet of Outsiders, Galien felt not irony, nor bitterness, nor anger or sadness, but an irresistible urge to laugh. For, as his vessel began to recognize that something was amiss, the alarm went off. Not a claxon, nor bells, but instead the sweet sound of birds, trilling and chirping.
And then there was nothing.
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Galien awoke to the first rays of sunshine pouring through his window, and the chirping of birds. Not real sunshine, of course, and merely recorded birds. He knew the sunshine was merely tempered light, and the birds synthesized by a computer to fit someone's vague memory of home, but it generally amused him to be awoken in such a manner. This morning, however, something was troubling him. Probably just a dream, he thought, and shook his head.
A cold shower and shave helped to dispel any worries, and he cheerfully set off to the mess hall, eager for food. It was understandable if he was nervous, Galien thought. Today was a big day, after all. They would be arriving at the system marked for settlement. The scouts had already secured the system. Although there were reports of a hostile civilization on the planet, which had resisted all attempts to broker peace, the humans' technology far outstripped theirs, and there was no danger.
This was a fine day, though. They had been traveling for hundreds of years in these ships. The last remnants of the human race, after the devastating Third World War, had patched together their differences and departed, leaving the dying Earth to search for somewhere better. And now they seemed to have found it. Some work needed to be done, of course. A small amount of terraforming, and of course building their civilization would take time, but all of it was work which Galien and all the others aboard the ship would accept gladly.
Because here there lay the future of the human race. It was on this planet that they would rebuild the human race. And this time they would have the wisdom. They would ensure that nothing so devastating as the Third World War could happen again. That memory, at least, they would never let die. It would be kept fresh, a reminder to all generations of what could happen if they let their baser instincts take over.
Breakfast was hot and nourishing, at least, although slightly repetitive. There was only so much the cooks could do with what was available. Afterwards, Galien made his way to the observation deck, and watched the stars stream by. After a time the streaming slowed, and the fleet finally stopped. They had arrived.
Before Galien's eyes lay a planet not unlike the Earth. He was somewhat disappointed, although he knew that disappointment was frivolous. The scorched earth could soon be fixed, the dirty gray of the atmosphere cleanses easily, the oceans restored. He wondered briefly about the alien race on the planet, whether they did this to their planet as Galien's race had done to his. But the scouts had said they weren't a threat, however hostile, and Galien was inclined to believe them.
Regardless, with a little work it could be a beautiful sight. He turned to view the rest of the fleet, and something tugged at his memory. The sight of the hundreds of ships, weaving among each other, maintaining a strict formation, made him proud, but at the same time it disturbed him, for reasons he couldn't articulate.
He heard, then, the loudspeaker come on, announcing the beginning of the terraforming process. One of the smaller vessels shot forward, jettisoned a package towards the planet, and returned to the fleet. Galien wasn't familiar with the theory, but everything seemed to be going as it should. It was then that something happened.
Out of the clouds obscuring the planet came a small silvery ship. Too small to be anything but a fighter, Galien decided, and apparently one of the aliens. He could tell, even from this distance, that the ship wasn't very advanced, but as he magnified the image he received a nasty shock. The being in the cockpit was humanoid. Indeed, it looked almost like a human. After a time, however, Galien dismissed the worry, rationalizing that that must simply be an effective design, and what had evolved on this planet.
As he waited and watched, however, the ship refrained from engaging them, but neither did it flee. Instead, the pilot steered his craft to a safe distance from the fleet and observed them. After a short while, the small ship turned towards the face of the planet. A light winked briefly, and something was shot towards the planet. A small rocket, though Galien could see no reason for it.
And then he remembered. Remembered his dream, remembered everything, and was incapable of acting. He merely sat in horror, unable to move or speak. He watched as the missile hit his would-be home, watched and remembered as destruction and death rolled over the newly terraformed soil, watched as it enveloped it and finally collapsed upon itself. As the resulting shockwave spread, rending metal and plastic and earth, as the pressure ripped his own ship apart, he stood, and watched.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 03-03-2003).)
Numbered items are a bad way of organizing things