Ulthari Regum Ratio I

The final argument of thunder-cats, part the first

The lovely fortified manor house located in a beautiful and sun-drenched valley on the main continent of Mitoc was one of the most heavily guarded locations in the entire Ulthari Regum.  Decorative vines climbed up thick reinforced mass concrete walls lined with starship-grade armour plate, while fields of picturesque white flowers hiding thorns glistening with nerve-agent provide food and fuel for honeybee-drones packing explosive charges.  Fields of sun-drop flowers set their engineered faces against the sun, drinking the life giving solar radiation and growing heavy in seeds packed with nutrients, while kine-beasts grazed in idyllic pastures, all watched over by Hobbeling serflings, tiny both in real size and in the distance, modified to rejoice in their servitude and defer instantly to the musk of any Ulthari and specifically their bonds-keeper master or mistress.  

Kzanti mech-janissaries stamped to attention at the guard-post at the estate's gate, separating the crushed gravel drive, lined with thin, tall trees, swaying in the breeze, from the plain rural highway of cut and fitted stones paved over with a tar-gravel mixture,  the janissaries’ implanted armour plates clashed and their sensors whirred and clicked as they saluted the staff car as it rolled to a stop in front of the check-point.  Two belt-fed gaussian auto-guns in sand bagged fighting positions, well back from the gate proper, tracked the car, their crews pointedly not standing to attention but professionally and coldly covering the gate and whomsoever approached.

The Kzanti Asterbei overseer of the half-mech file of storm-troops rushed to the side of the black staff-car from which flew the flags of the ‘Lan family gens that ruled the new Regum that had exploded into the territory of the former Shan Imperium, fleeing the explosion of their star, Ramuh, in supernova of epic proportions.  The Kzanti house-cat, so called by the other conquered races of the former Shan Imperium due to their favored position in the new order as another felinoid race, supposedly a branch of the Ulthar themselves according to the Regal Truth,  nervously smoothed his black-on-black uniform tunic as he reached the car and rendered his salute.

“Hail As’Lan!  Identity cards please!”

The uniformed driver of the car, an obviously well-bred Ulthari in the colours of Clan ‘Lan handed over the requested documents as he lifted a stripped muzzle and sniffed in disdain.  The stolid little Kzanti Asterbei ignored the slight and stuck to his general and specific orders, snapping through each of the ID cards, studying each intently, before swiping each through his card reader, as if performing on a parade ground.

"Lower the rear windows please, I must validate the IDs and faces match."

"Do you know whose car this is, little mouse?"

"It does not matter if it is the Leader himself or the Great Sky Lion who lights the universe, I must follow my orders, or those gentlecats with the belt-fed gaussguns will be forced to add a new set of ventilation holes.  Now, windows please."

Suddenly the driver was grinning, displaying wicked curving eye teeth as he engaged the window controls, lowering the blacked-out armoured windows as requested.

"Good lad," huffed the driver, "glad to see they're teaching something at those schools."

Stepping to the rear passenger compartment windows, Asterbei Himshul checked each occupant's face against the provided ID card’s headshots and only after confirming all was in order, saluted the ranking passenger, Warmaestre Dyl'Lan, as befitting his rank.

"Hail As'Lan, Warmaestre!"

"Hail, that was well done Asterbei, my compliments to you and your instructors."

"Sir!  Only the best for The Warmaestre’s detail, Sir!"

"THE Warmaestre, ay?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Hmm, carry on then Asterbei."

"Sir!" Asterbei Himshul saluted once more then turned to Kzinti storm troopers standing at attention at the wrought-iron decorative gate itself (which screened a battle-steel barrier which was even now lowering into the ground) "Open the gates!  A Maestre stands here!"

As the car stuttered into motion, passing the guard file, still at attention and rendering salutes, Warmaestre Dyl'Lan leaned over to the other occupant of the car's rear compartment.

"I see your hand in this Battleleader Sai'Jhur, I cannot see her allowing any Kzan this close to her person, no matter that she designed the retroviral agents that bound their race to ours."

The dusty-brown colored and slight female with grey tinged fur, Battleleader’s green and red uniform glittering with decorations huffed at the thought, "no great leap of logic there Warmaestre, but you are correct, it took me a year of wearing her down just to get her allow non Ulthari on the perimeter.  She knows in her head that building the New Order is important, but old habits of the gut die hard."

"So, I have been patient thus far, there are few, even among the ranks of the Warmaestres, who could summon me, the son of our Leader and heir-presumptive, to a clandestine meeting without even bothering to send an agenda ahead, but for her?  She says jump and the Leader asks how high.  But now that we are nearly here, what is this all about Sai'Jhur?"

"Pharos Planetos has fallen."

"Oh?  The Kwatoran have finally gathered their courage and bestirred their tired shells on behalf of their Zindari benefactors then, how many ships did the old turtles lose this time?"

"No."

"No?” 

“Not the shell-backs.”

“Then who?"

"That's the question," said Sai'Jhur as the car pulled around the drive with decorative central fountain, with bronze and marble statues depicting victorious Ulthari storm-troopers raising the Ulthari Regum's tiger-striped banner above the ruined temple of the local Shan's Grand Goddess, "who indeed."

+++

Everything shook under the intense artillery barrage, the very air seemed to shake, as hot fragments whizzed and whined overhead.  Giant green-skinned Nephilim infantry, ten to twelve Ulthari feet tall when standing, huddled in their slit trenches, riding out the roaring bombardment in a sullen silence, casting furtive glances at each other, but mostly focused on the massive blaster-glaives held in trembling hands.  Finally a non-com started singing a song and soon the entire trench was singing it.

On the heath, there blooms a little flower

and it's called : Keria.

Eagerly a hundred thousand little bees,

swarm around, Keria.

For her heart is full of sweetness,

a tender scent escapes her blossom-gown.

On the heath, there blooms a little flower

and it's called : Keria.

Back at home, there lives a little maiden

and she's called : Keria.

That girl is my faithful little darling

and my joy, Keria!

When the heather blooms in a reddish purple,

I sing her this song in greeting.

On the heath, there blooms a little flower

and it's called : Keria.

In my room, there also blooms a little flower

and it's called : Keria.

Already In the grey of dawn, as it does at dusk,

It looks at me, Keria!

And it is as if it spoke aloud:

"Are you thinking of your fiancée?"

Back at home, a maiden weeps for you

and she's called : Keria.

Then a whistle was blowing and the Nephilim were rising to their firing positions, letting loose with their blast-staves, sending pulses of phased plasma down range with electronic shrieks, while the heavy repeater gave staccato thump-thump-thump.  Out of the black and white swirling smoke and brown clouds of sprayed dirt strides some sort of giant metallic monster.  

Two, maybe three stories tall, sixty, maybe seventy tons if it was a pound, green and black tiger stripes with digital hazing broke up its lines, but it was vaguely Ulthari shaped, with great blaster-cannon for arms, a boxy missile launcher above the far shoulder, and an anti-missile system and sensor-pod over the near.  A war horn sounded as the upper torso of the iron giant slewed over to point at the next trench over and the tracers from heavy slug-throwers and almost blinding eye-searing pulses of photon-guns played over the trench, where blood and dirt flew up into the air.

An electronic static roar sliding into the sound of a giant pane of glass shattering echoed out, the distinctive sound a shield-bubble popping, followed by a great clang as literal tons of reactive armour plates detonated, showering the Nephilim in the trench with debris that was nearly hot enough to burn them.  With a rapid clanking and winding and roaring, a Nephilim Hexus-Janus war-chariot appeared, twin railguns slewing to reacquire the giant walker that surprisingly was not only still moving, but was itself pivoting to bring the arm mounted cannon to bear.

With a blinding actinic flash and a sound like a clap of thunder over the wailing of a banshee, the front of the Hexus sagged and ran like water, then burst into flames.  Then the giant walking death-bringer fired the second cannon and this time the thunder-clap of the particle beam detonating on the Hexus was echoed with a roaring secondary explosion of hydrogen fuel tanks and stored missiles.  There was another resounding clang as yet more armour blocks rippled in sympathetic detonation from the hit and the warhorn sounded again as the great metal beast stalked past the line of ruined trenches, stomping almost contemptuously on the burning Nephilim armored fighting vehicle and the single operator struggling to escape the licking blue flames as it passed out of frame.

Suddenly the camera fell to the floor of the trench as a trooper tackled the unseen cameraman.  The reason why soon became apparent as the entire trench, or at least the part the now sideways pointed camera could see, filled with angry flames that stuck to whatever they landed on and burned white-hot.  Out of the flames stepped another smaller metal giant, the scale was difficult to judge, but no less than eight Ulthari feet tall, no more than twelve at the most.  Enamelled in a pixelated green and black tiger-striped scheme like it’s larger brother and it was utterly un-phased by the impact of staff-blaster bolts that flashed across its chest-plate.  In response it swept an infantry-support photon-beamer across the trench.  The beam itself was technically invisible, but the secondary thermal effects made a roaring, ripping sound as the air itself glowed with sympathetic fluorescence and mercifully unseen, behind the unblinking eye of the camera, Nephilim voices screamed piteously. 

The armoured figure paused then to observe the effects of it’s own weapons fires, then it rocketed away on pillars of flames, flames that swallowed the camera as the screen finally went static.

Warmaestre Zah’Djur set her ration can down on the low table between herself and her guest, the tin spoon rattling inside.  She had the appearance of an Ulthari female half her actual age, striking and handsome features with distinct and proud clan markings in her luxurious fur.  

“What do you see then Dyl’Lan?” asked Zah’Djur.

“Fearsome attackers with strange gear, but quite developed storm tactics.  We would have handled that assault quite the same, only using ground-effect blowers and our infantry have much lighter kit overall, that trench would have taken a section if not a whole platoon.  It must be supported by a powered exoskeleton, there’s no other way...  Our front-line Killwraith mechanoids might be able to take them one on one, but I wouldn’t bet on it just from this.  Do you know who these new ones are?”

“I do.  My sources tell me they are called ‘Hu-mons’ and that they call their polity a ‘Solar Hegemony’.  They fought quite ferociously and aggressively, but in the end they accepted the surrender of their enemy, General Re’efrita and by all accounts have handled their prisoners with honour and dignity.  Like we used to.”

“Those days are over Zah’Djur.”

“For some of us, they will never be over.”

“How did you get this footage, I am sure it’s quite classified?”

“I have many friends among the Mi-Go'eld and the Kwatoran too for that matter, as well as all the other minor powers, my anti-agapic serums sees to that.”

“I take it you think the balance of power has changed?”

“Dyl’Lan, it was changed already when the Zindari first came to our part of the Galaxy, ninety cycles ago, as I remember telling you at the time.  And your father.  Now it is all but shattered in pieces”

“Well, the Zindari seemed content to settle into their sieges and obviously at the time they had the patience for a long drawn-out campaign.  It seemed like we had time to study them and their marvelous gear, to learn and grow stronger without committing ourselves.”

“Something has changed.”

“It seems the Zindari have found a client that can fight with more spiritedness, aggression, and daring than the Kwatoran but with more discipline and technical-tactical adroitness than the Khai.”

“Like us,” pointed out Zah’Djur.

“Like us,” agreed Dyl’Lan.

“I fear we are out of time, Dyl’Lan.”

“My Father agrees with you actually.”

“How is your Father, how is the Leader?”

“Still sickly.  Still refusing your treatments.  Says he wouldn’t want to live forever anyway.  But he also sees the writing on the wall.  I am told that the Zindari’s new clients, these ‘Hu-mons’ as you call them, are moving a space station to the DMZ between the Kwatoran, the Khai, and ourselves, and are calling for ambassadors to attend them.  Something about a peace under the Zindari, under something called an Overlord Delegate.”

“I have heard the same.”

“And you would have us send someone?”

“I think so.  The Kwatoran are going, obviously.  The Khai and the Hyurr and the Voormi too,” said Zah’Djur, “Not that it matters.”

“Not that it matters,” agreed Dyl’Lan, “But I am also told the Dusoi will be sending someone as well.”

“You see?  If the Boneheads are sending a representative then we must as well.”

“Father agrees.  Who did you have in mind?”

“I think it would be a good opportunity for little Leo.”

“Father had in mind someone else, someone with more experience, someone from the war-council, someone with a… reputation” said Dyl’Lan as he looked pointedly at Zah’Djur.

“No.  No!   Not I, what do I know about diplomacy?”

“Who better to project strength?  We know that the Zindari value it.”

“Even so, my presence would be extremely inflammatory amongst the other races. We stormed across the stars to take for ourselves living space, and we were not gentle. I, was not gentle. Far from it.”

“Father anticipated this response. He told me to tell you this, that only you can determine the meaning of your life, no one else, but only by deeds, not words.”

“Fine.  Fine, I’ll do it, for you, for your Father, for little Leo, who will come with me as my attache, it is time for him to learn the family business.  But your Father owes me one.”

“We all do Zah’Djur., we all do.”