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= FAR WARS =

a novel in the Empire of Time series

by John Argo

16.

I busied myself with the defense of the city. One by one, surviving ward captains crawled out of the rubble and presented themselves at my headquarters, either via holog or in the person of the bloodied, dusty survivor himself, herself.

We learned that the Bay of Lue, on whose shore the Holy Mother and the generals were camped in glory, had been reduced to molten glass and glowing slag. The Kaarrk knew exactly where to strike. Hot winds swirled on that new plain, where today the 300 brave ones march arm-in-arm with their glowing boots. The legend carved on the base of the Lue obelisk reads: Non Quam Post Hac, or simply NQPH in ancient alphabetics, Never Again.

At one point, our artillery brought down a low-flying Kaarrk fighter craft. I was called away from my duties directing a growing army of survivors and rescue workers to see if we could take prisoners. With me were several military priestesses including an abbess from the diocese of Corduwaine, plus a troop of civil defense fighters, and various other dusty looking souls. We came to the smoking hole where a hotel for star travelers had been, not far from the space port. Deep in the hole was a reddish glow. Acrid smoke rose in a foul greenish-khaki cloud whose color and stench remain burned into my memory. Along with an armed priestess and a scientist, I ordered the others to stay above and form a safety cordon. Then we three clambered down over the hot rubble toward a chamber carved from hell itself. We found there a shattered metal ship structure that had embedded itself in the smoldering ruins of underground halls and kitchens. Approaching slowly, our lips curled in disgust. We found the pilots of the murderous attack ship. It was the first and only time I would ever see the actual Kaarrk who existed only to hate our kind, to kill us where they could. I think their only reason for existence was to be our enemies. What I saw looked like two bath tubs filled with huge glistening black shapes (eels, worms, scorpions) squirming in disarray amid their destroyed cockpit. It was probably only a pilot and co-pilot, but it looked like two snake pits. I saw at least six vaguely human-like faces on the many waving eel-suckers, looking at us open-mouthed with a mixture of rage, pain, and hatred. Their only real emotion in dying is a rage that they will not be able to hate any longer.

To my one side, the scientist said: "Should we call for a medical team? We can study them and learn—."

To my right side, the military priestess said: "We could get a platoon of medics in here and see what we can salvage—."

In my own emotional state, I took the flame thrower from the priestess and emptied its naphtha froth into the roiling snake pit of hatred and insanity. I belched the flames of hell down on them, watching them scream and melt in their final contortions, while the air filled with a stench somewhat like a mixture of burning sofas and barbecued space crabs in a gasoline sauce.

Nobody stopped me, and when the flame thrower was empty, I hurled it with both arms as far as I could into the black, dead hole where nothing survived. Without saying a word, the three of us turned and slowly walked out of the death mine. Hot wind swirled around us, blowing embers and cinders and black flakes like snow in hell.

If I could have spoken, I might have said: "Bring me all the devils in hell and I will do the same to every last one of them." But I was speechless.

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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.