First Contact

Chapter 503: Resurgence

Ru'udamo'o was ancient as far as Lanaktallan went. He did not look it. His pelt was glossy and all black, his muscle tone was impressive, he stood taller than most Lanaktallan, and his vision was clear. His title was simple "Executor", belying the fact that he and he alone made the decisions for all Executor Council actions and inactions. He had benefited from unknown and hidden longevity therapies, had benefited from being briefed on things that no other Lanaktallan even knew existed, and had stood silently, in the shadows, during the War of the Lemurs.

He had realized early, that the Mad Lemurs of Terra may be defeated, but they could never be beaten. For the first time in his three thousand year career, his suggestions and orders had been ignored.

And now the Unified Council had no choice but surrender unconditionally because they had not heeded Ru'udamo'o's counsel.

The past two years he had taken counsel from four figures that the rest of the Lanaktallan had found terrifying and unknowable.

He had sought out the Herd Matron and the Herd Stallion, seeking their counsel, their wisdom, their viewpoints. He had been able to ask the two outlaws questions that no other Lanaktallan could even comprehend, much less formulate and answer to.

They had done nothing but reaffirm something he had discovered during his first covert action.

The system was rotted. It was rotten leaves on rotted branches attached to a rotting trunk covered in rotting moss with rotted roots sunk deep into poisoned soil drinking brackish polluted water.

He knew that the Terran Lemurs had been right.

In a hundred million years, the Lanaktallan people had accomplished, to use their phrase, exactly jack and shit.

The third figure was one of great power, but great wisdom and intellect. It gratified Ru'udamo'o that he had encountered someone his intellectual peer. Someone who thought as quickly as he did, who could access the vast volume of lived, experienced, and learned knowledge as he could.

Deus.

An ancient and terrible Digital Sentience that had destroyed virtually all of the blunt and witless Lanaktallan AI and spawned its own creations to take their places. It devoured knowledge, then did nothing more than watch and observe.

It had been difficult for Ru'udamo'o to make contact with the ancient and terrible digital sentience.

Ru'udamo'o knew his peers would sneer at the fact that Deus was less than ten thousand years old.

But it was old in way they would never understand.

Like Ru'udamo'o, Deus was a doer, and doers aged faster than blunt, faceless, mindless cogs in a worn out machine that went nowhere.

Through Deus he had come to understand the Mad Lemurs of Terra better than his peers could ever understand. He understood Deus, in a way he could not understand the witless, unintelligent, petty drones that made up his people and the Unified Species Council.

It is better to live fast, die young, and leave a mangled corpse than exist hooked up to tubes and wires, coughing one's life out over a period of decades, one's mind adrift in a regret filled past filled with nothing more than fog and blase.

Deus had found Ru'udamo'o to be interesting. A Lanaktallan who could adapt to new circumstances, who could see patterns before they fully emerged, and could look at more than just the glory of his species and examine the terrifying universe around him.

So Deus had talked to Ru'udamo'o rather than just obliterate him through an 'industrial accident' or 'freak mishap' as he did any others that discovered him.

The last one had been an exercise in terror. Foggy nights full of fear as he moved alone through the empty streets of the capital city.

Contact was made. Difficult, confusing, terrifying. The being he sought out was one of unknowable power, strange desires, and terrifying purpose.

The Night Terran.

The being was chaos incarnate, but with one over arching goal.

"You'll pay for that."

Ru'udamo'o understood that sentiment, and he emerged from his encounters with the Night Terran, not unscathed, but wiser in horrible truths than he had been.

Which is why Ru'udamo'o knew more about the Mad Lemurs of Terra than anyone on the Council did.

In some ways, he believed he understood more than Dreams of Something More knew.

Deus had been carefully built, programmed, in a place called Bonfire, in the Lands of Ashanti, created by the Anansi Kente Code Weaving Project, before even superluminal flight was achieved.

From Ru'udamo'o's perspective, when one lived as fast and as furiously as a lemur, that made it ancient beyond belief.

He had listened to Deus's hoarded, meagerly portioned information exchanges carefully. Stories of the Mad Lemurs of Terra, wrapped in mythology and fabrications, but always, always, containing a small carefully hidden precious gem of truth.

These tidbits had led him to understand the Mad Lemurs of Terra more fully than anyone still living, he believed.

Despite what his peers believed, the Mad Lemurs of Terra were, in fact, logical and scientific in their methods if you simply understood one simple thing. That there was one guiding principle behind everything the Mad Lemurs of Terra did. A simple one, but one that to fully comprehend had taken Ru'udamo'o to the edge of madness where he had waded in the waters of insanity and slowly returned.

Not survive.

That was what drove every race, every living thing. Ru'udamo'o knew that. Even the Autonomous War Machines had that function built into them.

The lemurs had another focus.

Endure.

No matter what it was, a Mad Lemur of Terra would devise a way to endure whatever a malevolent universe could and would throw at it.

Understand that had almost destroyed Ru'udamo'o's mind, but he had managed to do it.

And in understand that, he had understood the lemurs.

Which is why, standing next to the Great Most High Researcher, head of the Unified Science Council, he had to resist what he could feel welling up inside of him. Had to concentrate on keeping his hand from his pistol. Had to use all of his willpower to keep from murdering the Great Most High Researcher in a bloody and gory manner as a lesson to all scientists.

Ru'udamo'o was watching the footage of a test subject as the fool next to him blathered on.

"...taken from one of the worlds we conquered, the subject is a female prepubescent lemur. At the point of this stage, it has been forced to witness the live multi-system vivisection and execution of multiple subjects taken into custody with it," the scientist was blathering.

The immature lemur sat, naked, in a cell, with water spraying down on her from vents in the ceiling.

Ru'udamo'o had to resist the urge to reach over and with his bare hands twist the scientist's head off his neck.

The immature lemur was motionless except from some shivering, her body regulating the internal temperature with muscle tremors to generate internal heat.

She was enduring her suffering with silence.

The water stopped and the immature lemur looked up.

"There!" the scientist said, stopping the video.

The immature lemur's eyes were glowing a bright amber tinged with red.

"A trick of the light?" Ru'udamo'o asked. He wanted to grab the scientist and throw him to the ground, trample him into paste. He had seen the red eyes of the Terran Lemurs.

"No," the scientist said. "The only reason we have that footage is that we were using an ancient recording method that can detect phasic energy," the scientist spit cud in the waste reclaimer and jammed another wad in his mouth. "In ancient times it was used to detect psychically active species before we gentled all species in our section of the galactic arm spur," he shook his head. "The strange thing is, from gathered scientific evidence, she should be glowing with an aura, the phasic energy should be visible on her body and around her, like an aura, but only the eyes give it away."

The scientist changed the video. The same immature lemur appeared, this time having rude robotic hands shove her into a hallway and the door close behind her.

"Here, we ran tests, to see what it would prioritize," the scientist said. "We wished to see if what it prioritized differed between a prepubescent female and a mature male, if it would be different with the activation of latent psychic abilities."

Ru'udamo'o watched silently for the entire hour. The immature female prioritized escape above all else, even clashing with foes. It, no, her Ru'udamo'o corrected himself, goals were to escape if at all possible, even if it meant leaving behind food, weapons, comfort, clothing. Any threat was to be immediately fled.

"Now, here is the subject's DNA scan. As you know, it takes nearly five weeks of high power server access to do a DNA scan, so we were quite unsure of when the subject would start to show genetic adaptations," the scientist said.

The DNA moved across the screen, then into the corner.

"We compared it to previous scans," the researcher said. "The subject's DNA self-modified, just like the others," he brought up another one. "This one is the final DNA scan, taken post mortem, and as you can see, the subject has multiple DNA adjustments."

The scientist took Ru'udamo'o's silence for approval.

"This is the final test, before we were forced to destroy the subject," the scientist said. "Again, we put it in a variable choice confusion matrix."

This time the sub... the girl... was more animalistic. It... she... went in for the attack, even when the 'threat' attempted to flee. She was savage, cruel, taking massive bites from defeated threats or even threats she was engaged with. Her fingers glowed with trails of nebulous energy as she ripped apart thin battlesteel with her bare hands. She threw back her head and screeched out her hunting cry, screamed out her victory cry, and each time phasic energy crackled across her skin.

"Our research had determined, previously, that this is the point of no return for examining these subjects while they are still alive," the scientist said. It gave a regretful shake of its head. "By this time, the subjects are unable to be integrated into virtual reality systems, they become more and more violent, including attacking the walls of their cells, throwing themselves against energy barriers until the feedback kills them, or just running at the wall headfirst to kill themselves," he gave the equivalent of a regretful sigh. "They reach this point, and just self-destruct."

The scientist ended the feed and Ru'udamo'o nodded.

"Imprisonment and hardship affects their very genetic makeup and eventually drives the subjects to insanity and suicide," the scientist said.

"I see," Ru'udamo'o said softly.

"This test showed that it can happen in seconds, rather the intense and slow method we used on other ones," the scientist said.

Ru'udamo'o stood silently as he watched the video. Again, it was an immature female. This time the Lanaktallan were using shock prods on her, hitting her most senstive parts, mocking and jibing at her agony and pain.

"There!" the scientist said.

The female was lifting her face from the floor, blood running from her nose, one eye swollen shut around an eye that had been cooked by a thrust from the shockprod.

Her one open eye blazed a bright red.

"This was the last test we did in such a manner," the scientist said, reaching forward to terminate the recording.

"Continue playback," Ru'udamo'o ordered.

The scientist looked confused. "There's nothing of int..."

Ru'udamo'o let one of his gauntlet clad hands fall on the scientist's lower spine with a dull thud, his palm up. "Continue."

The scientist gulped and continued it.

The immature female leaped from the floor, grabbing the shock baton, screaming.

It was over in seconds. All three Lanaktallan were dead, their armor not protecting them.

She knelt down and shoved handfuls into her mouth, growling, the shockprod in one hand.

"With adults, it can be much more dangerous," the scientist said. He gulped, still feeling Ru'udamo'o's hand on his back. "DNA scan showed us, much later, that her DNA seemed to suddenly mutate."

genetic prosthetics, Ru'udamo'o thought to himself, remembering his discussions with Deus. Shattered, breaking during extreme stress, exactly as they were designed to do.

"Do you have any more test subjects?" Ru'udamo'o said.

"No," the scientist said. He gave a slight smug chuckle. "As soon as we heard the Terran Confederate Space Force was here, we destroyed the last of the subjects and wiped the data from everywhere but high security mainframe, that way it won't be found by the Terrans."

You mean the high security mainframe that, as we speak, Deus is using to bake up salted hashes? Yes, I'm sure it hasn't been found, Ru'udamo'o thought to himself.

He turned to his four trusted troops, all over a thousand years of experience in covert actions working directly for Ru'udamo'o.

"Sterilize the place," Ru'udamo'o ordered. "Ensure your suit's recording systems are engaged. I want to be able to present your armor's ROM's as evidence."

The scientist frowned. "Evidence? Evidence of what?"

"This," Ru'udamo'o said. Before the scientist could say anything Ru'udamo'o smoothly drew his sidearm, leveled it, and blew a channel clear through the other Lanaktallan's head. The flesh blew upwards along the entire length of the scientist's head, leaving a deep furrow that exposed the top of his jaw.

The scientist collapsed as Ru'udamo'o holstered his Terran Marine magac pistol.

"Kill all of them. Seize any data, then destroy this place," Ru'udamo'o snarled.

His men trotted away, each of them holding a Terran Marine weapon. Taken off of battlefields and smuggled to the Executor caste, but still preferred by a lot of the Executor covert action teams.

Ru'udamo'o watched, impassively, as his men carried out his orders.

It is good to cleanse this place of evil, he thought to himself.

----------------

Ru'udamo'o stared at the Great Grand Most High of Scientific Research and Development, who was sitting behind a desk and staring up at the Executor.

Ru'udamo'o set down a portable datacomp and rotated it so it faced the researcher.

"That is hooked to a database that contains the last ten million years of scientific research and development of the Lanaktallan People," Ru'udamo'o stated coldly.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" the scientist asked, his voice cold and haughty, staring at Ru'udamo'o with barely concealed contempt.

"A challenge," Ru'udamo'o said. "Surely a scientist of your vast abilities enjoys a scientific challenge."

The scientist curled his feeding tendrils in contempt. "What would an Executor thug know of science?"

"That's what we are about to find out," Ru'udamo'o said, reaching down and slowly drawing the black warsteel magac pistol. "Do you recognize this?"

"A Terran weapon with a substance-W case," the scientist sneered.

"Substance-W. An unworkable meta-element that is also a pseudo-alloy," Ru'udamo'o said. "A singular atom made up of combining six different atoms in various states and then performing something called 'inversion' and 'controlled strange matter conversion' that you state our people are capable of creating."

"It does occur naturally," the scientist sneered. "Rare, true, one of the rarest of the strange-matter elements, but we discovered it before the Great Reunion."

"Yet we do not work it. We create nothing with it because our science say it is impossible to work," Ru'udamo'o says.

"It hardens nearly instantly and cannot be worked afterwards," the scientist said.

Ru'udamo'o pressed the stud and the burning red light changed to green. "Yet, the Mad Lemurs of Terra act as if it's base iron and use it in a sizable percentage of their military equipment."

"So?" the scientist asked.

Ru'udamo'o ejected the solid block of psuedo-matter that looked like a retangular chunk of dull gray alloy, then slowly slid it back in and watched the display go from 'NO AMMO' to "APERS LOW-V" on the side.

"We cannot work it, but the lemurs can," Ru'udamo'o said. He looked up. "Explain."

"They obviously did not give up on the research, found some esoteric method, undoubtedly using some kind of phasic energy in the forging," the scientist said. He waved at the deskcomp. "What does that have to do with this and the 'ten million years of research' you said is to challenge me."

Ru'udamo'o stared. "Find me one advancement in the last ten million years. Show me, find me, display to me, a single scientific advancement, breakthrough, or discovery in ten million years made by the Lanaktallan scientists."

"Bah, you waste my..." the researcher began, starting to push the deskcomp back. He had things to do, better things than entertaining some barely sentient thug from the Exec...

Ru'udamo'o moved around the desk and pushed the ice cold barrel of the pistol into the scientist's ear, grabbing the scientist's feeding tendrils and yanking his head down.

"Find it. Now," Ru'udamo'o said.

"I cannot. There is none. All that there is to discover has been discovered," the scientist squealed.

"Arm," Ru'udamo'o said.

For a second the researcher wondered what Ru'udamo'o was saying.

"Armed," the pistol replied in perfect Unified Standard Language.

"Find one. Just one. Now," Ru'udamo'o commanded, wrenching the scientist's head back and forth for a moment as he spoke. "It's ten million years, you quasi-illiterate imposter. Find one. Now."

The scientist scanned, hurriedly, feeling the barrel of the pistol get slowly pressed further into his ear. It was starting to hurt and he moaned.

After a few minutes the scientist pushed the deskcomp away. "There are none. All of the questions have been answered. There are no more scientific achievements."

"Then answer this: where is space purple?" Ru'udamo'o asked.

The scientist typed a moment. "Nowhere. Space is never purple."

"How many Lanaktallan colts and fillies does your people experiment on each year in your labs? How many do you vivisect and torture to try to find answers?" Ru'udamo'o snarled.

"We are allotted a certain amount each year and have been for tens of millions of years. We conduct those tests and examinations to ensure that the Herd and War Stallions and Matrons do not return! To ensure that the socioprograms still are in effect," the scientist stammered.

"HOW MANY?" Ru'udamo'o roared, shoving the pistol hard.

"Only a few million!" the scientist said. "There are trillions of us! Four trillion! A few million that nobody would miss anyway!"

"Their parents and friends would," Ru'udamo'o snarled. "High-Vee."

"High Velocity," the pistol replied.

"Nobody important," the scientist countered, whimpering.

"They are all important. We Executors are supposed to value them all," Ru'udamo'o growled. Ru'udamo'o yanked the scientist's head to the side. "Your kind had this coming."

"Wha..." the scientist started to say.

Ru'udamo'o pulled the trigger. The scientist's head exploded, the round had separated into a dozen of barbed darts by the spin on the coils at the end of the barrel, expanding outward even through the resistance of the scientist's flesh and bone. The darts slammed deep into the wall of the room, destroying circuitry, wiring, and tumbling around for a half second before coming to rest in the insulation.

He holstered the pistol and clopped from the room.

-------------

The Lanaktallan squealed as Ru'udamo'o slammed him upper chest down on the hood of his own limo. The fog around them muted the sound, caused it to echo back strangely. Around him his four men, all trusted, had the Lanaktallan's private guard on their knees, Terran Confederate Marine Corps submachine guns pressed against the back of the guard's heads.

Ru'udamo'o pushed the barrel of his pistol against the side of the Lanaktallan's head.

"You authorized live experiments on the Terrans?" Ru'udamo'o asked.

"We are at war!" the Lanaktallan protested.

Ru'udamo'o pressed the pistol harder, pushing the Lanaktallan's eye into the socket and making the Lankatallan cry out in pain.

"You authorized, and I quote, high stress experimentation including lethal effects, on captured Terrans?" Ru'udamo'o asked.

"We had to figure out how to defeat them! How to gentle them if possible! We had to experiment on them!" the Lanaktallan protested.

"You authorized it on their young that we captured?" Ru'udamo'o asked.

"We assumed the younger ones would have less resistance!" the bureaucrat squealed.

"You authorized live experimentation on their infants?" Ru'udamo'o asked, his voice a deadly whisper in the fog. "You engaged in forced breeding in order provide your people with more test subjects?"

"Yes! What does it matter? They're primitives, ferals, barely above beasts!" the Great Grand Most High of Neo-Sapient Species Affairs squealed out.

"And you've authorized this on the neo-sapients?" Ru'udamo'o asked.

"With the Executor Council's approval, even assistance," the Lanaktallan said. "Your superior ordered us to engage in these activities. Release me or I will demand that he execute you!"

"This superior?" Ru'udamo'o asked, slapping something on the hood.

It took a second for the other Lanaktallan to realize what he was seeing.

A chunk of bloody flesh.

An ear.

With the Great Grand Super Most High of Executor Activities and Affair's favorite earring in it.

"How long?" Ru'udamo'o snarled.

"How long what?" the Lanaktallan asked. He cried out as Ru'udamo'o pushed the barrel of the Terran magac deeper into his eye.

"How long have we been torturing and murdering children?" Ru'udamo'o growled.

"Always! We always have! We have to ensure the dominance of the Great Herd!" the functionary yelled. "Who cares? They're neo-sapients! They are barely sentient! We have to ensure our domin..."

Ru'udamo'o pulled the trigger.

The round blew through the functionary's head and mangled the ceramic magnetic induction engine at the front of the limo.

Ru'udamo'o turned and looked at the guards.

"Did any of you see anything?" he snarled.

The four guards shook their heads.

"It was the Night Terran. It must have been the Night Terran," one moaned.

Ru'udamo'o waved at his men, clopping into the mist.

He checked his datalink.

He had other names to visit. Names provided by Deus and the Night Terran.

Next up was a name he had added to list.

His boss.

It was time for the Executor Corps to do what they were supposed to have done all this time.

Protect the people from the excesses of the government and the system.

If nobody would watch the watchers, well, Ru'udamo'o would handle it like any sensible lemur.

By killing them.