Darkscribes.org

Chieftain Mar’qul Doomscreamer rode in an armored fighting vehicle down the main thoroughfare of Sha’tok City, the planetary and imperial capital of the Vonosh Empire.  The chieftain looked out the armorplast window of the front of the vehicle to see the planet’s primary rising in the distance.  Vie Von Ossa A was a large blue-white star around which Vie Von Ossa-A V orbited.  The other planets closer to the star were barren or irradiated rocks that the Vonosh were busy stripping of all natural resources.  Otherwise, they were useless worlds.  The other sun world be rising soon after.  Vie Von Ossa B was a smaller, orange star around which three planets orbited that the Vonosh had colonized.

Ahead in the distance was the Hall of Warriors, home to the Vonosh Empress and the Vonosh Warchief.  A thick, high wall of steel-reinforced concrete surrounded the sprawling palace and its grounds.  Atop the walls and the palace itself were numerous defense guns designed to repel threats from both the air and land.  The oddly shaped roofs of the palace were the most distinctive feature of the Hall of Warriors.  They were sloped in the pagoda style that was much like what the weak humans of Earth had built centuries ago in what they called Asia.

Of course, no human had ever set foot on the imperial capital world to make that observation.  No human ever would either!  Not if the Imperial Vonosh Navy had anything to say about that!  Mar’qul growled, low in his throat at that thought.  Some of his armed retinue glanced at him but made no move to question his growl.  Mar’qul’s clan had the third fewest ships in said navy.  The Lightning Fang Clan totaled only six-hundred-fifty ships, with two hundred of those being battleships or larger.  A clan fleet that size was almost embarrassing.

Every clan in the Vonosh Empire had ships of their own that were a part of the greater Imperial Vonosh Navy.  However, each ship still owed allegiance to their clan and chieftain.  It was an odd way of running a navy, but it was one that had worked.  It had subjugated dozens of worlds and star systems and four other species in the galaxy.  There was no other way to run their navy.

All of Vonosh society was based on the clans.  All Vonosh swore their lives to their individual clans and then to the monarch and warchief second.  Over the millennia, the Council of Chieftains, the warchief, and the monarch had held the Vonosh Empire together.  There had been uprisings and insurrections against the empire; however, they had all been put down in time.  Only one time had it almost all fallen apart, when a coalition of ten clans led by the long-dead, but still infamous Black Sun Clan had usurped the throne, killed the reigning emperor and the warchief, and assumed command of the empire and started their own dynasty.  The other, weaker clans banded together after a century to rise up against the Black Sun Clan and their allies.  After a long, bloody, protracted war both in space, on the colony worlds, and right here on the throne world, the rightful emperor’s descendant had been put back on the throne.

The Second Vonosh Civil War had seen the near extinction of the Black Sun Clan and their allies.  All but a small handful of those clans existed today, after their remnants had been hunted down and exterminated like the traitorous mek’loth that they had been.  In the process, large tracts of the throne world had been leveled and the capital city had been battered so hard that not one stone had stood atop another.  The victorious clans had raised their battle-axes and rifles into the sky and had beheld what appeared to be a hollow victory after their empire had been nearly torn apart.

Eventually everything had settled down and the Vonosh had rebuilt their throne world and their empire.  The faith in the emperor and the clan system had been restored and life had gone on as usual.

Now Mar’qul Doomscreamer looked around the imperial capital and beheld the immense city.  Pride and strength was evident everywhere.  At every corner, there was a battle-armored warrior, keeping eye over the general populace.  Immense war factories and refineries dotted the skyline while tall skyscrapers reached into the sky to house the civilian population.  Banners of the empress’s clan, the Bright Sun Clan, with its yellow field and blue-white sunburst in the center, flew from every flagpole in the city.  The imperial capital dwarfed his own clan’s capital on the southernmost continent.

In the distance, atop the Hall of Warriors more banners fluttered in the hazy morning sky.  It was to there that Mar’qul had a meeting of the Council of Chieftains.  Two other armored fighting vehicles drove beside his, one on each side.  A chieftain was allowed an armed retinue into the city and imperial palace grounds, however once inside the Hall of Warriors itself each chieftain was only allowed four armed guards.  The guards he had handpicked were young, fierce, the strongest that his clan could produce, and fanatically loyal to Mar’qul.

The massive gates to the palace grounds opened with a groan that was audible even through the fighting vehicle’s armored skin.  His vehicle moved into the grounds as the gates closed behind it.  Already the driver was piloting the vehicle toward the motor pool where several others were already parked.  The grounds surrounding the palace was a maze of earthworks, food stores, armories, forges, stables, parade grounds, and barracks.  Vonosh from all the clans guarded it, some in modern battle armor, and some in older plate mail armor.

The driver set the vehicle down and Mar’qul got out after the four guards.  Each guard was in battle armor.  Each of them carried an axe strapped across their backs and a buckler on one arm.  Mar’qul himself was dressed in more traditional Vonosh garb and wore antique black lacquer full plate armor and helm over that.  Across his back was the mighty zortrium sword that bore the same name as his, the Doomscreamer.  It was heavy, even by Vonosh standards, but he managed to wield it effectively even in one hand while in melee combat.  When he dropped his round shield and held the sword two-handed, he was death incarnate on the battlefield.

There were not too many chances anymore to engage in open melee anymore.  The last time he had engaged anyone in hand-to-hand combat had been a squad of Republican Zaltaen Marines that he and a few others had ambushed while conquering another Zaltaen world.  His sword had cut through their battle armor like it had been so much butter.  He had felled four Zaltaen marines before his men had even dropped one with their fusion rifles.  It had been a glorious battle!

Now, however, he kept his sword sheathed as he walked up to the mighty zortrium doors that stood in the entrance to the palace.  Six guards stood outside dressed in the ornate royal guard armor that made his own black lacquer armor look downright drab by comparison.  He found their armor to be gaudy, but it was the armor chosen by the empress herself, so he held his tongue.  What the empress said was her will and the will of the gods.  The monarch spoke for the gods, thus making them ruler and chief priestess at the same time.

One of those guards was of his own Lightning Fang Clan.  Instinctively the male stiffened to attention and almost saluted his chieftain, but held back at the last second when he remembered where he was.  By precedent and tradition, on the palace grounds, the empress was the only one he should salute.  Mar’qul was second to the empress, as was every other chieftain.  However, precedent and tradition sometimes took a backseat to the de facto sovereignty of each clan.  Instead, the male gave him a very respectful, yet stiff nod.  Mar’qul returned it as he did the nods from the other five males or females.

In moments, the palace doors were open with mechanical swiftness and he and his bodyguards were in the palace.  They passed through the security foyer where even four more guards stood behind a desk with controls to the auto cannons and various other nasty surprises awaiting unwanted visitors that might make it past everything outside the palace.

Beyond that, the Grand Foyer spread out before the five of them.  Gilded floor tiles ran the length of the open room.  Fine rugs from many worlds adorned the floor.  Vonosh Empire and Bright Sun Clan banners hung from the ceiling, the walls, and railings of the floors above them.  The walls and ceiling were made of marble and intricate carvings of important events in the empire’s history were set into the stone.  Statues of emperors and empresses long dead were on display around the entire room.  There were hardly any windows in sight, glass or otherwise.  Almost all light inside the Grand Foyer was artificial, the better to guard against an assault.  Royal guards were everywhere, as were members of the royal court and slaves (both Vonosh and alien, though mostly alien).  Six royal guardsmen and a member of the royal court strode up to them.  The courtier bowed to him then spoke up, saying, “Welcome to the Hall of Warriors, great and mighty Mar’qul Doomscreamer of the Lightning Fang Clan.  The empress and the Council of Chieftains await your arrival.”

In the back of his mind Mar’qul thought, This had better be worth it!  I need to get back to my clan capital and plan our next move against the Zaltaens!  If our campaign goes well, my clan and my closest allies will have their own planet!  I can move my clan’s capital off the throne world and farther away from the prying eyes of the royal court!  I just have to make sure that the other clans don’t try and lay a stake on it as well!

The guards and the courtier led Mar’qul and his own guards up one of the grand staircases that went up to the second level.  A velvet red and gold rug ran down the staircase and wooden handrails were on the sides.  The small party came onto the second floor where even more royal statues and a few plants from all over the empire were held.  Mar’qul could think of only one thing as he walked through the palace.  The place was opulent, and needlessly so in his mind.  The palace was the only place in the empire where such opulence and decadence was held.  Everywhere else in the empire things were functional, with no beauty or aesthetics.  Warriors did not need aesthetics.  Aesthetics were for weaker races that allowed for other things to distract them from other, more important things.

They were led to a room where several other Vonosh just like his own bodyguards were sitting or standing.  Each of them had a hand on a weapon of some sort, a true telling of how little some of them trusted each other.  Even here, the clan rivalries were strong.  The courtier turned and to Mar’qul and his guards, “By tradition, you are only allowed two bodyguards in the Hall of Chieftains.  Choose two and you may proceed.”

Mar’qul chose the strongest, fiercest of the four and took them with him into the inner chamber.  A slave, a Vonosh himself, announced him.  All eyes in the room turned toward Mar’qul as he walked in to find a chair around the huge rectangular granite table.  He took his place beside Mir’shor Firedancer of the Fire Claw Clan.  On her back was a mid-sized armor defeating flanged mace.  The weapon was made of hardened neutronium, a very rare and expensive alloy produced in the metallurgical laboratories of the Vonosh Empire.  The hardened weapon could crush even the toughest Vonosh armor, let alone any armor made by Zaltaens.  The Fire Claw Clan was the closest ally of the Lightning Fang Clan and Mar’qul looked at Mir’shor with a friendly look.  She returned the look with a toothy smile.  In fact, she was such a close ally that they planned to solidify that alliance by marriage, thus integrating their two clans into one, larger clan.

Mar’qul looked around at the rest of the gathered chieftains and found allies, rivals, and chieftains who were neutral towards his clan.  One chieftain, Al’qul Deathcaller of the Dire Fang Clan, glared right at him and Mir’shor both.  Mar’qul glared right back at him.  Tensions between the two clans had come to a head in the last few months and outright war between them had been resolved only by the intervention of the empress and the warchief.  The entire incident still left both their clans bitter toward one another, but at least a semi-peaceful solution had been found before a very bloody, miniature civil war could break out between them and their allies.

He gauged the feeling of the room and found that he could sense a feeling of apprehension.  Most of the assembled chieftains knew something was up, but did not know what.  Mar’qul thought that he knew what it was.  Humans had been recently discovered.  That must be it.  His clan was one of the few to know about them this soon because his clan was actively fighting the Zaltaens.  The few Zaltaen prisoners that were taken all spoke of some new race in the galaxy.

More chieftains came in and the entire table was filled, all except for one chair.  Mar’qul looked toward that chair just before a gong was hit that drew the assembled chieftains’ attention.  A member of the royal court appeared in the only other doorway which led into the room and called out, “Presenting the Empress of the Vonosh Empire, the Chief Priestess of the Vonosh, and the Chieftain of the Bright Sun Clan, Her Majesty Nal’ah’Shan Bonebreaker!”

By tradition, all of the chieftains rose from their chairs and removed their helmets to greet their sovereign.  Empress Nal’ah’Shan strode in with four bodyguards (she was the only chieftain that was allowed four), and wore armor even more ornate than the palace guards.  It was gaudy as hell, but was supposed to be the strongest armor ever forged by Vonosh smiths.  It was pure neutronium and had short spikes at the knees, elbows, and shoulder plates.  Heavy gauntlets, greaves, and a gunmetal colored helmet with horns on the top completed the armor, thus giving the empress the look of a demon out of folklore.  On the empress’s back was the jeweled scepter that had been passed on through the centuries, from one emperor to another since the beginning of the empire.

The empress took her place at the head of the table and remained standing.  Following tradition, everyone bowed to her.  She, in return, bowed to them.  She may be the empress, but she was still a chieftain among chieftains.  After the pomp and circumstance was over the chieftains seated themselves, however the empress remained standing.  She too removed her helmet and looked around the table.  Flashing her teeth at them, she spoke, her voice loud and commanding, “I greet you all, chieftains of the Vonosh Empire.  I have called the Council of Chieftains to order to discuss something that has arisen recently.”

“Some of you may have already heard about this or may have seen leaked reports, but we have a new enemy to face!  A new species that can be subjugated and added to the greater glory of the Vonosh Empire!  A new chance for glorious combat, bloodshed, mighty deeds, and more planets to call our own!”  She looked around the table and so did Mar’qul.  The chieftains were looking at their sovereign with anticipation.  The thought of a new enemy out there thrilled many of them.  The empress reached into a pocket on her belt and slid a datacard into a slot in the desk in front of her.  A holographic projection appeared above the center of the table.  In that projection was a ship, a blue-green planet surrounded by orbital installations, and a figure of a pink-skinned male and female.

It was exactly what Mar’qul had expected.  However, he looked back to his empress when she spoke again, “This species is called humans.  As you can all see, they are a young race, pitiful, weak, and should offer hardly any resistance to our forces.  Nevertheless, what the humans lack in physical strength, they make up for in technology and bioengineering.  A truly adaptable species, yet one that we can overcome and conquer!  One we will overcome!  One that we must overcome!”

“Their homeworld is a planet they call Earth in a star system that they call Sol.  They are locked in a civil war that we can use to our own advantage.  The biggest power is called the Human Federation and the next largest is the Allied Colonies for Freedom.  They are fighting amongst themselves and are making each other weaker in the process!  We will descend upon them and rout their forces like a hot wind!”

“We also have evidence that the humans have made formal contact with our most hated enemy, the Zaltaens!  They have even entered into an alliance with them!” the empress roared at the assembled chieftains.  Low growls erupted from all of their throats at the mere mention of the Zaltaens.  They were the only race so far to truly challenge them, to hinder their charge across the galaxy as commanded by their gods.  If they had truly allied with the humans, well, then they would make the humans that much more of a challenge.  If there was anything that a Vonosh loved, it was a challenge in battle.

The empress let them simmer for a few moments before she turned her full attention to Mar’qul.  He did not like how she was looking at him.  “Chieftain Mar’qul of the Lightning Fang Clan, please rise.”

“It shall be done my empress!” he responded, suiting words to action.  He came to stiff attention at her command.  “I have intelligence from my clan and several other clans letting me know that your clan has almost finished the complete conquest of the Sie Caleb Star System,” she stated, rather matter-of-factly, as if everyone in the room knew what his clan was doing.  “Tell me, how were the Zaltaens there?”

Mar’qul bristled at the thought that his clan’s security had been breached thus so.  However, she was the empress and had her sources.  Surely, nobody from his own clan would betray his or her own clan to the empress’s clan!  Clan loyalty went too deep for that.  It had to come from outside his clan.  If he ever found out who betrayed his clan in such a way, he would make sure that that Vonosh paid dearly!  Was it…?  He glanced at Al’qul Deathcaller of the Dire Fang Clan and saw the briefest of a toothy grin on his face.  Mar’qul had to forcibly restrain himself from vaulting over the table, unsheathing the Doomscreamer, and running the other chieftain through.  The empress must have seen the murder in his eyes for she spoke up saying, “Mar’qul, I will remind you that the Council of Chieftains is a gathering place for the clans to try and work together for the good of the empire.  Please restrain yourself.”

“Yes, your majesty,” he replied, visibly calming himself down.

“Now, answer my question,” she told him.

“Yes, your majesty.  I report that we have the planet almost completely pacified.  My clan’s ships have secured the high orbitals of the main planet and we are finishing mopping up the few remaining pockets of active resistance.”

“Why haven’t you used orbital bombardments as a demonstration of why they should not resist us?” Nal’ah’Shan asked him.

“Because, your majesty, and may I point this out to all of the chieftains, that an orbital bombardment, while effective as a deterrent, horribly ruins the real estate.”  He flashed a grin and all of the chieftains chuckled.  “We chose to go through with the ground invasion in order to give my warriors all of the bloodshed that they could want.”

“So the planet is nearly taken?” the empress asked.

“Yes, your majesty.  Within the next two weeks the planet should offer no more resistance to the Lightning Fang Clan and her allies.”

“Ah, very good,” the empress said, sitting back in her chair and lacing her fingers together.  “Since the planet and the entire star system will fall under the empire’s control, I will ask you to allow my Bright Sun Clan to have… two-oh percent of the main planet.”

Mar’qul hesitated before answering, “Yes, your majesty, it shall be done.”  He would much rather not have made that promise, but when the empress asked, you gave.

“Thank you,” she said.  “Now, if there is nothing else of pressing concern, I will adjourn this meeting of the Council of Chieftains.”  She stood up to leave, and when she did all of the chieftains rose with her.  Everyone bowed to her and she to them.  The empress picked up her helmet and put it back on before leaving the room.

Mar’qul put his helmet back on and quickly left with his guards.  He moved so swiftly that the other two guards outside reacted with shock as how fast he was going.  They fell into step beside him as he stormed out of the room and down the stairs.  Mir’shor Firedancer followed quickly behind him with her own guards.  She tried calling out to him but he ignored her.

Finally, when they were outside of the palace he rounded on the other chieftain and growled, “I cannot believe that!  Our two clans won that planet!  Our clans!” he exclaimed, pounding a fist against his chest.  “The empress has the gall to order me to surrender twenty percent of the planet to her clan, despite the fact that her clan did not fight in that battle!  Damn it!”

“Mar’qul,” Mir’shor pleaded, “Calm down.  It’s not something that every clan hasn’t had to go through.”

“I know, but her clan did not fight for that planet!  Did not bleed for it!  My clan did and so did yours!”

“I know; you don’t have to tell me about it.  I was there alongside you in several of the battles on the ground.  But, she is the empress.”

“Yes, she is the empress, and thus her and her clan is entitled to a share in the spoils.  That doesn’t mean that I have to like it!”

“I don’t either,” Mir’shor said.  “However, every clan had to do that for her clan.  It is just the way our empire works.  It’s the way it has always worked.”

“I know,” he replied, finally calming down.  “Now, I must get back to my clan’s capital.  I have much work to do.”

--

The trip to the Lightning Fang Clan’s capital was made in total silence.  Only the engine’s hum could be heard as the guards watched their chieftain warily.  Mar’qul sat in a rigid posture that hid the rage that was coursing through his body at the moment.  His clan, as well as Mir’shor’s, had fought long and hard for the new planet that they were conquering, and now he had to simply turn around and offer a portion of it to the Bright Sun Clan?

It was something that happened all the time.  By tradition, the sovereign’s clan was to have a part in the spoils of war; an insurance policy made sure that no clan could ever escape the eyes of the emperor or empress.

Mar’qul had half a mind to call ahead to his clan’s capital and order them to war against the Dire Fang Clan.  If he acted soon enough, maybe his clan could overpower the other clan by sheer surprise before the other could react.  Only the knowledge that his clan could never withstand the beating that it would receive in that war held him back.  Once the shock had faded, the Dire Fang Clan would regroup and destroy his own clan.  With much of his clan off world and their fleets away, he had only the defenses left here on the throne world.  Four-hundred-fifty-five-thousand soldiers to attack a clan that was fully entrenched behind their lines, held the advantage of knowing the land intimately, and had almost a million soldiers on the throne world alone, not counting cilivilans.

Maybe after his marriage to Mir’shor was concluded, their combined clan would have the numbers to assault the Dire Fang Clan’s lands and space forces directly and reduce the clan to a memory.  It would be a long and hard fight, but he knew in his heart that the battle would be in his favor.

For now, Mar’qul shoved the bloodlust down and forced himself to focus.  It was a fight that every Vonosh had to battle; the battle against the rage in their veins.  From what he could tell, it came from the Vonosh’s genetic ancestry, when the Vonosh had been feral beasts upon the plains of their world.  The early Vonosh had been hunters, driven purely by instinct, no thought or reason behind what they did besides survival.  At some point or another, Vonosh had awakened to the greater capacities that sentience had brought them.  They began to fashion tools to help tame the land and out of their packs had emerged the first clans.

Those first clans turned their eyes to their neighbors on the planet, a tall, strong, and grotesque species that called itself Qu’ron.  The Qu’ron was almost extinct, with only a handful of slaves left alive.  In fact, Mar’qul was a direct descendant of one of those chieftains that had led the final charge during the battle that had broken the back of the Qu’ron.  The final battle was recorded in song and poem and it was said that the Hall of Warriors was built upon the very site where that final charge had ended in a magnificent victory for the empire.

He looked up and beheld the familiar sight of his clan’s capital.  It was surrounded by a huge city wall made of concrete, iron, and zortrium.  He took in the shapes of the skyscrapers, the factories, and the massive food stores.  It was smaller than the imperial capital, but no less imposing or fortified, and it was a city of warriors.  The vehicle he was riding in passed through the streets, heading for the building that doubled as his residence and as command center for his clan’s armed forces.  Satellite and radar dishes poked up from the roof along with communications arrays that could allow him to communicate with members of his clan light-years away.

He all but threw himself out of the fighting vehicle as his guards fell into step behind him.  He went to an armored lift toward the back of the garage and rode it up to the highest level it would take him.  Exiting the lift he went down the hall, past numerous guards who all saluted him, and past bureaucrats who ran the clan’s day-to-day activities, toward another lift that was guarded.  This one lift led to two places: his personal quarters and the command center.  He took the lift up to the command center.

Upon coming out he looked around at the massive displays positioned all around the huge circular room.  Down in a shallow pit was a large holographic table on which readouts of all of his clan’s military actions were displayed.  Many of his warlords who were busy studying various maps and status reports surrounded the table.  He went for that same table and immediately took control of a spy satellite belonging to his clan.  One or two of his warlords looked over at him; their expressions were of mild interest as Mar’qul targeted the satellites on the Dire Fang Clan’s territory.

Mar’qul studied the maps intently before he typed in another command line.  This one would send the confirmation codes to the missile silos to order that half of his clan’s antimatter torpedoes and nuclear missiles be armed and prepared for launch.  Those warlords who had looked interested now looked horrified at what he was considering.  Mar’qul knew that even if the initial attack on the Dire Fang Clan was successful and he wiped them off the face of the planet, the wrath of the other clans would come down on him.  His clan would be annihilated in short order.  With a sigh, he closed that window and backed away from the nuclear holocaust that he might have started.

His warlords quite visibly relaxed upon seeing him back away from the holographic table to study the whole thing.  He could understand their sudden apprehension at seeing him do what he had done.  They did not want to die in a hopeless battle, no more than he did.  It would have been so easy though.  To wipe a whole clan out at the cost of his clan and quite possibly the entire home world?  No, it would not make any sense.

Feeling weary from the day’s events, he bid his warlords farewell and made his way down to his personal quarters.  Exiting the lift, he found two of his personal bodyguards standing at the ready.  He had not noticed the other two follow him to the command center and back down to his quarters.  It was something that was so routine that he did not acknowledge it anymore.  Ahead was a large wooden door that led into his private quarters.  He opened the door and two more of his bodyguards were on the inside, flanking either side of the doorway.  The first four remained in the hallway while the two inside remained.

The chieftain went right for his private chambers and found two Zaltaen slave women waiting for him.  Neither of them could have been more than eighteen years old (in Vonosh years.  In Zaltaen years, they would be something like twenty-and-a-half.  In human years, they would be almost twenty-one).  One was about one-point-nine-eight meters tall, with pale blue skin and dark purple hair that fell to her waist.  The other was one-point-seven-five, with deep purple skin and longer brown hair.  Both were extremely beautiful by Zaltaen (and possibly human) standards, but for Vonosh, who prided strength above all else, beauty was another thing entirely.

Each of them was scantily clad in only a thin, short cloth around their waists, and they had a collar around their necks.  The collar and their half-nudity were designed to help break their spirits, forcing them to accept their role as a slave.  Zaltaens were strong-willed and both had been broken a long time ago.  They now served him unquestioningly.

He sat on his bed with a sigh as both of them looked to him.  When Mar’qul took off his armor, they moved to assist him and put it away neatly on a specially designed rack.  However, he kept his sword next to him.  Once out of the armor he laid down on his back, pulling his tail into a more comfortable position.  The two women looked back at him, their eyes expectant, as they no doubt waited for him to give them another task to do.  Glancing at them he said, “Go away, leave me be.  Take a break or something.  I wish to be alone.”

The two looked at each other in mild surprise and then swiftly left his chambers.  It was not often that he dismissed them so soon, and when he did, he was sure that they were glad.  He would call one or both of them when and if he needed them.  For now, he was content to rest.

--

The thrum of the engine in front of her filled Sophie Taske with a sense of pride.  This was something that she and her father had been working on off-and-on for the past three standard years.  The brown haired girl looked up through the glass canopy at the sky above her head and noted the position of the sun.  A quick glance at the wristwatch underneath the sleeve of her leather and fur jacket could have told her as much as well.  That same jacket, along with gloves, polarized goggles, leather helmet, pants, and boots is what help keep her warm up here at Angels Four.  She could go higher, if she wanted to, but for now one-point-two-two kilometers above the ground was good enough.

She should be getting back to her father’s farm before too long.  The last time that she had been gone too long the stern talking to that she had gotten was not something that she cared to repeat.  However, there was something she wanted to do first.

Checking her gauges and readouts, Sophie banked her plane northwest, toward the planetary capital.  She still had enough hydrogen in the tanks to allow her to fly the craft a little longer.  Taking one hand off the flight stick, she grabbed the slider that served as the accelerator.  She slid it all the way forward, feeling the acceleration pushing her back into the seat.  She watched her digital speedometer climb up and up, toward 611 km/h.

Her father’s voice came over the com, “Sophie, when are you planning on coming back?  Over.”

She reached forward with one hand to press the controls for the radio, “In a couple of minutes, dad,” she replied.  “I’m just stretching this thing’s legs a bit and seeing what it can do.  Over.”

“Well, just be careful.  Try to be back before supper.  Gretchen is making her Spätzles with chicken tonight.  Over.”

Sophie’s mouth watered at the thought of one of her favorite dishes.  “Alright, as soon as I take a loop around the planetary capital I’ll be back,” she told him.  “Sophie out.”  She cut the radio link and focused on her flying.  The capital should be coming up any time soon if her navigation was correct.  She double-checked the GPS unit just to be sure.

Within five minutes, the capital loomed in front of her.  The skyscrapers that made up New Berlin sparkled like gemstones in the light of the sun.  There at the center of the city was the square that marked where the colony ship had set down on the world with the first colonists.  In front of the square was the three-story, rectangular, neoclassical building that was both the planetary capital building and city hall.  An alarmed voice came out of the earpiece, “This is New Berlin Spaceport Control to unidentified aircraft.  You are entering New Berlin airspace.  Please be advised that we are tracking you on your approach.  Do not deviate from your current course.  Over,” the voice said in English much too fast for her to completely understand.

Sophie pressed the controls on the com and spoke German at the man, “This is Sophie Taske of the village of Cadbury on approach to New Berlin.  I have no intention to land; I am just going to go around the city then out.  Over.”

“Well, okay, the man said to her in German, “We will keep monitoring your approach and flight path.  I am also showing that you are flying at a very low speed.  Do you need assistance?  Over.”

Sophie almost laughed in the flight controller’s ear but held it back at the last second, “No I do not New Berlin Spaceport Control.  I am flying at my maximum cruising speed.  Over.”

“What?” the controller asked, so surprised by what she had said that he forgot to say “over” at the end.

“I said that I am at my maximum cruising speed.  If you check your visual sensors, you will see why.  Over.”

A few seconds went by as the man did check his sensors.  Then he burst out laughing on the com.  “Mein Gott!  That is a real, honest-to-God propeller engine aircraft!  I have never seen one outside of a museum!  I have to say, it is cool to see one flying.  Have a safe trip back home Miss Taske.  Over.”

“Thank you Control,” she replied and turned the frequency off.  Staying on the outer edge of the city, she banked around it and dove for the deck.  She watched the numbers on her speedometer fly upwards as she bled altitude and the plane started to shake.  The controller’s voice came back over the com unit as soon as she passed below a little below Angels Two.  “This is New Berlin Control to Miss Taske!  We are reading a sharp drop in your altitude.  Are you all right?  Do you require assistance?  Over.”

“New Berlin Control,” Sophie responded, “I have the situation perfectly under control.  I do not, I repeat, do not need assistance.  Over.”  She clicked off the com unit again.

Sophie continued in her dive, picking up speed as she went.  This was too much fun.  She knew exactly what she was doing and when she reached Angels One she hauled back on the stick.  She grunted in pain as the Gs crushed her into the pilot’s chair and dark spots tried to swim up into her vision.  When she leveled out, just above the tree line, those spots went away and her vision cleared.  Suddenly she was able to move in her chair as the plane became level.  A look to her left side showed building after building racing past her.  She could briefly see the shocked faces of people in those buildings as she raced by, her wingtips coming close to the buildings.

Coming past the spaceport she finally saw what she had come to see.  She began to circle the spaceport, trying to see as much of it as she could.  A shuttle was taxiing from the terminal toward the catapult that would help launch it into space.  Onboard the shuttle were some of the local kids, people from the class ahead of her who she knew personally, who were old enough the join the armed forces.  She waggled the wings of her plane in salute to the people on the shuttle.

So far there was no mandatory draft, but if the war dragged on for as long as some people said it would, there might be conscription soon enough.  For now, she was safe because she was still in high school and too young.  For now.  If it did come to that, she hoped that they offered college deferments.  That was the last thing she wanted, to be in college and then ripped out by a draft.

Before she knew it, she had banked away from the capital city and climbed up back up to Angels Two.  If she kept at her current speed, she should be above the farm in about thirty-four minutes.  She looked around the plane’s cockpit.  Everything about the plane was modern, with electronic gear, digital readouts, autopilot for emergencies, and modern accelerator slides and flight stick in the cockpit.  The skeleton and skin of the plane were all new materials that reduced weight, thus letting her achieve the plane’s maximum velocity with a smaller engine than she would have if the plane had been built in the 1940s or 1950s.  The engine was a modern, efficient hydrogen-burning machine.  The only thing vintage about the plane was the shape of the plane and the paint job.

Sophie reached forward and inputted her destination into the GPS.  Sometime during her dive and climb, she had gotten disorientated.  She could trust the old-fashioned compass and wristwatch by themselves but she would rather have the GPS assist her.

Looking down at the surface of Issus, she watched patches of virgin ground pass beneath her.  Farms and their fields dotted the surface of the planet.  She watched cars putter along the highway going towards Cadbury, seemingly staying in place when compared to her.  Every now and again, a small village or hamlet would pop up and would be gone just as soon.  Sophie could barely remember growing up on Earth, back when she had been three or four.  All she could remember from those bygone days was that Earth was built up with very few open spaces.

A dense forest loomed up in front of her craft.  The woods spread out left and right and stretched out to the horizon on either side.  By finding it, she knew that she was just about home.  Just another sixty-four kilometers to go.

Halfway there, the forest cleared to reveal a beautiful lake that too stretched off into the distance off the right of her plane.  Lake Huroa was a favorite attraction for the people of the region.  Before she was gone, Sophie spied several boats on the water.  She raced over the lake at just above treetop height and felt that she could almost reach out and touch the masts of some of the larger boats.

Then she was gone and made a mental note to try and get down to the lake with her friends some time during the summer after planting season.  It would be just before she went to college, wherever she decided she wanted to go.  A part of her wanted to stay on Issus and a part of her wanted to go to Earth once again, to really see it for herself.  She had about another six standard months to finally decide.

Her father’s farm was coming in sight and she circled around to try and find the landing strip.  She found it on her first pass.  Sometimes when she had returned at night when she had been training, she had to circle around three or four times before she caught the lights outlining the airstrip.  Since it was daytime now, she found it almost at once.  She lined up on the strip, chopped her throttle back, and dropped altitude.  The plane’s landing wheels hit the dirt ground and her teeth clicked together.  She applied the brake, killed the engine, and coasted to a stop, taking up only three-quarters of the airstrip.  A grounds crewman raced a metal ladder up to the side of the plane as soon as the prop stopped spinning.

Sophie slid the canopy back, stood on the seat, and swung a leg over the lip of the cockpit to set it on the ladder.  She climbed down and turned to the grounds crewman as soon as she touched the earth.  He was an older man, one of the many field hands that her father had hired out to work the farm and brewery.  He nodded to her stiffly as other grounds crewmen ran over to get the plane off the landing strip and to a revetment.  Sophie nodded her thanks as she walked towards the farmhouse.  The leather and fur jacket that kept her warm even up at Angels Fifteen was now unbearably warm in the winter sun.  She started unzipping it right quick.

The Classical Revival and Greek Revival house would be mid-sized on any other world, but was large for a planet so recently settled as Issus.  It was painted white with black, wooden shutters on the outside of every window.  At the front and back of the house were Doric columns, totaling ten around the house.  Her bedroom was on the second floor of the house, near the balcony in the back.  Well manicured green lawns surrounded the house, extending out to a white picket fence, creating a four meter perimeter around the house.  Sophie’s father had gone for the Old American Southern plantation look, and after seeing many photos, she was inclined to believe that he had just about gotten it spot on.  Her father had plans to extend the front lawn out and put a fountain there, but that was several years down the road.

Sophie went up to the back steps and into the foyer.  The foyer extended from the back door to the front door with a floor made of polished imported wood.  At the center of the foyer, one could look all the way up to the second floor and the glass dome atop the house.  Off to both sides of the foyer, on both floors, a wide hallway extended the length of the house.  She made her way to the center of the foyer where one of two staircases went upstairs.

She just about had her flight jacket off when her father called to her from behind.  The brown-haired girl turned around to face her father at the other end of the hall.  Kurd Taske walked closer, almost to the foyer on his side of the house and asked, “How was your flight?”

Sophie turned her head, “It was good.  The landing was a little rough, but otherwise okay.  The plane seemed to be in good condition.”

“That’s good,” he replied.  Kurd was a tall man, with broad shoulders and powerful muscles that spoke of the days that he had worked his father’s farm and brewery on Earth in southern Germany.  He had sandy brown hair and blue eyes.  He was wearing a plaid shirt, blue jean overalls, and brown boots on his feet.  “You told me that you were by the capital today.  Why?”

“I went by the spaceport a couple times and found a shuttle there, about to take off, that bore the Human Federation Marines seal on the side.”  She watched her father’s face turn serious at the thought of his daughter buzzing the spaceport.  “I heard from a few friends that they were shipping out for basic training today.  It was my way of saying Auf Wiedersehen.”

“Well, okay,” he replied.  “I suppose there was no harm done.  Now, go on, get cleaned up.  Supper is almost ready.  You don’t want to keep Gretchen waiting for too long.”

Sophie remembered the last time she kept Gretchen Adler waiting.  It had not been pleasant.  She thought that her father could be intimidating, but Gretchen was worse.  Whereas her father would talk to her, Gretchen would merely look at her and sniff.  That alone was enough and worth any amount of words that could be used.  Sophie quickly went to her room and shed all of her flying gear.  She was dressed in more casual clothes as fast as she could.  She was down the stairs and into the dining room before her father got there.

He flashed her a smile before sitting down at the small table there.  The smell wafting from the kitchen through the air ducts told Sophie that maybe Gretchen had outdone herself yet again.  In a minute, the older woman was coming into the dining room with a serving bowl full of Spätzles and a serving tray of roast chicken.  She glanced at Sophie and nodded her approval that the girl was on time.  That put her mind at ease.

Gretchen sat down at the table with them after going back into the kitchen to retrieve one of the homebrew beers for each of them.  She was older than her dad, already into her eighties, although nanomachine treatments kept her around fifty some years old physically.  She had dark blonde hair flecked with grey and the darkest brown eyes that Sophie had ever seen.

She was not Sophie’s mother, though if you wanted to talk about who had been raising her, then Gretchen could almost be her stepmother.  Shortly after coming to Issus from Earth twelve years ago, her real mother, Anna, had contracted a disease native to the world called Velor’s Disease.  It was rare among the colonists and few people ever contracted it.  It had defeated the nanomachines that humanity had brought with them, simply because the nanomachines did not know that the virus that caused the disease was harmful to humans.  It was as if the nanomachines had not seen the virus.  The virus had baffled researchers for the forty years the colony had been settled.

Six months after her mother had died those researchers had tracked down all strains of the virus and programmed the nanomachines to target them.  Now people did not die of the disease, but it had been too late to save her mother.  Six months after taking care of his four-year old daughter had convinced her father that he was unable to raise her and run his farm fulltime.  He had asked for help, and after several different housekeepers had come and gone, the family had found Gretchen.  She was the woman that both father and daughter could get along with.

Her father, as was tradition in the family, took one of their hands in his, and led them in silent prayer.  After saying grace and thanking the Lord for the gifts that He had given the family, her father reached forward to take one of the serving trays.  After the plates had been filled, Sophie eyed the bottle of beer in front of her.  It had a label on it that she had never seen before.  Her father saw her looking at it and answered her unspoken question, “It’s something new that I came up with a few months back.  It is a stout with some chocolate notes to it.”

Sophie gave it one last look and, raising the bottle to her lips, sipped it.  Her eyebrows shot upwards as she savored the rich flavor of the homebrew.  It was a heavy beer, yet smooth and was not at all bitter.  She could detect the chocolate notes in it and knew that she could get into trouble with this one.  It was so good that you wanted another, and possibly another, and maybe another one after that.  Setting the bottle down she eyed it with respect.

“I take it you like it?” Kurd asked.

Sophie nodded emphatically and her father beamed with pride at his new masterpiece.  He sipped it too and realized that this one would be one worth selling.  He could stand to make quite a bit from this beer.

After the meal, Sophie helped Gretchen in the kitchen in cleaning the dishes and setting them in the washer while her father went out to the fields to help the workers.  Sophie quietly excused herself to go back upstairs.  Once there she went onto the Internet to start looking at college websites.

--

The Golden Chalice was one of the better establishments in the capital city of Altair III, the home planet of the Allied Colonies for Freedom.  There were quite a number of places in the area that were not as clean and respected but The Golden Chalice was very well respected among the middle-class and upper-crust of society.  The fact that the people who had money were not coming in made the economic conditions that everyone was in seem that much worse.  It seemed that even the people who had money did not want to come out and spend it on a weekend.

The bar itself was longer on two sides than it was on the other, made of real wood, and sealed with a coating that resisted drinks that might be spilled.  Behind the bar where Kayla stood, just out of the reach of even the tallest customer, was the station that held the taps for the beer and many different bottles of spirits.  The bar featured many kinds of beers that were imported from all over human space including domestic beers that everyone knew about.  The beer selection at The Golden Chalice was matched by no one around and many of their clients came for that specific reason.  Around the bar stood barstools lined with leather seat cushions and backs.  Surrounding the bar were several tables and booths that allowed people to have the bar atmosphere without having to sit at it.  Finally, up above her head on the second floor there was a lounge area with several couches, pool tables, and flat-screen televisions where many patrons came to watch sporting events.

Kayla was a trim woman, with what was in her humble opinion, a fine figure, she was of above-average height, and her blue eyes contrasted with her dark brown hair.  Added together with skin the color of creamed coffee she looked stunning and a touch exotic.  She was about twenty five years old and had just started her longevity treatments which meant that she would be able to sustain her youthful appearance far into her late thirties along with having the energy and health of a twenty-five year old.

Just outside the bar was the restaurant that was filled with various tables and booths that were situated in a large room with chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the center.  Each booth had the seat backs rise to the top where the ceiling was to provide for as much comfort and privacy as one could get in a restaurant along with a curtain that could be closed by the booth’s occupants to provide for even more privacy if the patron so wanted it.  Most patrons kept the curtains open so that the wait staff could tend to their needs.

The outside of the restaurant was like any of the other high-class restaurants in the area.  It was kept clean and inviting but even more so than some of the other restaurants that were in the area that had let their outside appearance decline along with the economy.  The owner of The Golden Chalice felt that keeping the area clean would help draw more customers, if and when the economy bounced back.

What was once a packed, high-class restaurant and bar in downtown Parma was now a nearly empty, high-class restaurant and bar.  Kayla Dalton picked up another glass from beneath the bar and rubbed the towel in her hand through the inside of it.  In better times, she would barely have enough time to do that let alone think about what she was doing; most of the time she felt like she was on auto-pilot when doing her job.  A few short months ago the place was busy all of the time, even late at night which made for very long and late evenings for Kayla and the rest of the wait staff.  But now with the war going on and people having less money to spend, people were not coming as they used to and she could take her time in wiping out the bar glasses and cleaning up.

When the Allied Colonies for Freedom had first broken away from the Human Federation all of the politicians had promised that breaking away would make things better since getting things done in government would be a lot easier since the government was not too far away.  The reality of the situation was undoubtedly different than they had told all of the citizens and in Kayla’s eyes, breaking away simply made things worse.  Oh sure, they had freedom from Earth, but how long would that last, if at all?  At any time the Human Federation Space Forces could come knocking on their door, ready to put the boot down on the ACF’s throat.  People were skeptical and when they were skeptical, bad things happened; usually in the form of economic downturn.

The breaking away from Earth had caused an immediate, sharp economic downturn throughout the Allied Colonies for Freedom.  Prices on just about everything had skyrocketed while wages had remained the same.  Many of the companies that had factories on the now ACF planets pulled out since even dealing with the ACF was seen as a treasonous thing to do in the eyes of the Human Federation.  This made things even worse by causing massive job losses.  Many people still did not trust the Allied Credits and held onto their Human Federation Credits.  Surprisingly, the government was okay with it and the HF credit fetched a higher face value than its Allied equivalent.  However, with goods from the Human Federation now cut off, prices would continue to soar as the supply dwindled.

Shaking her head, Kayla picked up another glass to clean it.  Two more hours of this and the next shift would come in so she could finally go home.  The last hour would be the overlap where the full wait staff would be in to cover dinner.  If the past few weeks had been any indication, the extra help would be a waste.  Her manager might send her home early.

--

An hour later Kayla’s boss asked her if she wanted to leave early and she nodded, but not too enthusiastically, as she might have.  You did not want to seem happy to leave, not in lean times like this when hours to work were down.  Kayla went into the back room where the break room was and deposited the tips that she had received into a counter that would keep track of everyone’s tips.  In there was a mixture of Allied and Human Federation banknotes along with credit card payment slips keyed to either currency.

Kayla walked out of the restaurant and immediately the midday heat came rushing at her.  The city of Parma sat in the temperate regions of Altair III and right now it was the height of summer.  Tugging at the neckline of her shirt she made her way down the street toward the nearest bus stop.  The walk was not very far, but having to wear high-heeled shoes made the walk longer and more arduous.  She had wanted to buy a car for the longest time but the economic downturn and her college payments had put an abrupt halt to that plan of hers.  Kayla looked around the capital city of the Allied Colonies for Freedom and wondered just what it was that made it so great.  Compared to the Human Federation capital of Washington D.C., Parma looked downright quaint, especially for a nation’s capital.

Soon she saw the hover bus come cruising to a stop.  Glancing at her cell phone, she saw that the bus was a whole minute late.  Once at the bus stop she had only had to wait for a few minutes which she was very happy about since it was so hot and humid outside.  Every government promised that the busses and trains would run on time under their watch.  The Allied government was no different and so far they had not made good on that promise.  Grinning ruefully, Kayla boarded the bus and with a pained expression she fed three Allied Credits into the fare box.  If she had Human Federation Credits the cost would have only been one credit but she hung onto those precious banknotes as if they were gold and did not deposit them into her bank account to be converted to Allied Credits.  Kayla chuckled to herself as she sat down in the middle of the bus.  HF Credits might as well have been gold.

The bus ride of nearly fifteen minutes ended up being quiet and uneventful.  Today nobody had tried to chat her up, try to get her phone number, or flirt with her; she was thankful for that.  A lot of the people who tried to get with her weren’t exactly the kind of people she wanted to be seen in public with for they were mostly the dregs of society.  She was trying to move up in the world and working where she was at was a definite step up from the greasy spoon she was at before.  She was trying to get her college degree in business management and she was always on the lookout for prospective jobs and to be seen with the wrong people could dash all of her future hopes.  Some of the people who tried to get her phone number weren’t all bad; she just wasn’t interested in having a relationship since it would complicate her already complicated life.

But for the most part people got on and they got off the bus.  Later after people started getting off of work it would be anything but quiet.  For now, Kayla enjoyed the quiet as building after building whizzed by.  Ten minutes later, near the corner of Grant Avenue and Lee Road, she stood and tugged on the cord to request a stop.  She strode to the front of the bus and bought a transfer.  The transfer cost another Allied Credit and twenty-five cents.  Just before she got off the bus the driver called to her, “Hey, I often see you riding these two busses.  Have you considered a fare card?  Transfers are built-in and you actually end up saving a lot of money.”

“I have,” Kayla answered, shrugging her shoulders, “I’ve just never gotten around to it.”

“Well, you should get it.  Have a good day,” he said before shutting the bus’s door.  Kayla kicked herself mentally.  She had meant to buy a fare card but forgot to yesterday.  She reminded herself again to buy one.  For now, she had to stand out in the hot and muggy weather by a street sign designating it as a bus stop for the stop at the corner of this residential neighborhood did not warrant a shelter.  That meant two things: you froze in the winter and baked in the summer.  As she stood there waiting for the bus to arrive she swore that it seemed hotter where she was standing and then realized that the street she was standing by was just freshly paved with new asphalt.  As she stepped back from the street it seemed to be cooler, it was still hot but even if it was just a little bit cooler she would take it.

The next bus that would take her home came and it too was late but by two minutes this time.  She fed the transfer into the fare box and gratefully took a seat near the front which was just behind the handicapped section.  The bus’s air conditioning was wonderful and she reveled in the feeling of it as she reached up and unbuttoned her collar.  A couple minutes later she tugged on the cord again just as it came up to the bus stop in front of her apartment building.  She exited the bus and made a dash for the apartment complex’s front door.  She reached into her apron’s pocket and dug out her keycard.  A quick swipe and the door to the apartment complex opened.  It was almost as warm inside the building as it was outside and all she wanted to do was to get to her cool apartment as quickly as possible.  She looked down at herself and she took her high-heeled shoes off and ran up the stairs to the third floor, taking the steps two at a time.  Another swipe of her card and she was into her apartment suite.

Her apartment was situated in a rather decent area of town.  The area was always kept clean and the streets were paved and potholes were filled quickly.  The apartments were kept clean and the sidewalks were also kept clear of debris.  Even the inside of her apartment building was kept clean and tidy.  City police were around the apartment building and was always seen and that was one of the biggest selling points when Kayla chose to rent an apartment in the building.

All of that made it so that as far as Kayla was concerned, it had to be the safest place to live in the city of Parma.  Sometime she felt that she could leave her apartment door unlocked and not have to worry at all, even at night.  This apartment complex was a stark contrast to the apartment in which she lived in before she got her new job in which there had been a murder just down the street.  That had been the last straw; she knew after that incident that she needed to get out of the area.

All of this was not to say that it was a very expensive area to live it, if you had asked Kayla she would have said that it was middle-class suburbia.  Even so, there were times when she felt like she was living paycheck to paycheck and the fact that hours were getting worse, wages were staying the same, and the cost of living was going up made things even worse. 

Kayla let out a contented sigh as the apartment’s air conditioning enveloped her as soon as she opened her door.  Unlike the hallway of the apartment building, which was kept very clean, her apartment was anything but.  She had clothing strewn about and a dish or two could be found on or around the couch.  She had meant to clean her apartment up but she had never been able to find the time to do so.  She either had work to go to, spend time with her friends, or study for college.  As she walked into the apartment she reached behind her to lock the door and then undid the apron around her waist.  She hung it up on a hook by the door before she went to the air conditioner and stood in front of it and let the cold air blow into her face.  She smiled as she felt a chill go up her body.

 After a minute of that, she walked across the carpeted floor of the modest living room toward the back rooms.  Kayla was already fiddling with the buttons of her shirt as she pulled it out from underneath her skirt.  It was off her body before she got to her bedroom.  She then went to undo the buttons of her knee-length skirt, let it fall, and stepped out of it before sitting on the bed.  Once there, she literally started to peel herself out of the black tights that were a required part of her waitress uniform.  The heat outside had helped to mold them to her legs and hips even more than they were normally.  Next went her bra and panties.  She had asked her boss why they had such a uniform and he had told her that it was part of some health code.  Even though it was the rule it did not mean that she had to like it, it just meant that she had to follow it.

With a very contented sigh, Kayla fell onto her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.  Finally, she could unwind after a long, boring day.  She lay there for a few minutes before she got back up, gathered up some clothes from the floor, and headed into the bathroom.

After getting out of the shower, she toweled off and threw on a short, thin bathrobe before walking back into her living room.  The first thing she did was to go over to the window controls and darkened the windows to opacity.  Yes, she was on the third floor but why give anyone across the street a free show?  Sitting on the couch, she felt around for the remote, and upon finding it turned the television on and turned to the evening news.

“Thank you for tuning into Channel Fifty-One, WEKS.  For those of you just tuning in, here’s our top story.  Earlier in the week reports came back from the Battle for Karland.  What was expected to be a victory and a step on the road to freedom for all of the Allied Colonies has turned into a full rout as Human Federation Space Forces under the command of an unknown admiral entered the system and scattered our forces.  The prayers and sympathies of this news team goes out to those soldiers still fighting in other star systems and to their families.

In local news, President Mitchell has declared that an economic stimulus package will be put to a vote in Congress.  The hopes are that additional money that will be dispersed in everyone’s paychecks will help the ailing economy and help it come back.  Leaders also state that this isn’t the time for businesses to cut back and that the only way that this economy will be able to come around is if business continues on as usual.”

With that, Kayla turned the television to another channel and soon found out that nothing but reruns were on.  Another bad part of breaking off from Earth was that they no longer had access to the newest movies and television shows from Hollywood and other various major studios.  In the last couple of months, Kayla swore that she had seen every episode of every television show, twice.  Television for the most part was boring and not worth watching and even the once thriving cable companies had seen profits drop since there really was not anything worth watching anymore.  Most people turned to the Internet for entertainment since the Internet really was the only lifeline that they had back to Earth and most television shows were downloaded as torrents.

While every other form of communication back to Earth had been shut down, the Internet connection back to Earth and her colonies were still open.  The only reason why the Internet connections were still open was the fact some people wanted it to be and that those people did not agree with the leaders of the ACF and the Human Federation on the fact that mere communication should be blocked.  That did not at all mean that Internet connections were not filtered.  Any website that was against the ACF was blocked and the Human Federation did the same.  Maybe at some point or another, both sides would block each other completely.

Besides the Internet, there was not much in the way of communications since the space between the two star nations were now jamming each other’s transmissions so that any signals sent out were drowned out by the noise.

It did not take long for Kayla to feel tired as the boredom set in.  She had been up since nine in the morning and the night before she had not gotten to sleep until around four in the morning.  She had been studying for a test in college that was coming up soon and she didn’t want to fail it.  She put her hand to her mouth again and stood up as she shuffled off to her bedroom and went to sleep.