Caiss-Sol

Born on Crux Terra, 34 -AI, Caiss-Sol was the son of an influential senator in the Republic Senate.  At an early age Caiss dreamed of one day being elected to the position of Chancellor of the Republic.  Caiss grew up at a very exciting age; Crux Terran colony ships were leaving the world every day to found new colonies or populate existing ones, the rapid expansion was destabilizing the Republic and bringing up issues of government and independence, and science and technology were advancing at a never before seen rate.  Caiss lived in a skytower with his family and a host of servants, his father was gone most of his youth; either at the Senate or traveling to the colonies and his mother was very active in unification programs was gone most days.  Caiss was raised by his older sister, Marca, and an old servant and tutor, Benedikte, a colonial and veteran of the Londor Rebellion.  Benedikte always told the young boy that there was greatness about him, unlike his father, and that one day Caiss would save the crumbling Republic.  Marca tried to counterbalance Benedikte's rebellious ideas with a calmer, more peaceful upbringing.  Benedikte's words won over Marca's peace-loving ones; Caiss grew up, left his homeworld and attended the Academy at Eridani, quit much to the displeasure of his aging parents, and instead enlisted in the military academy on Axex, the Republic navy base in the Colonial Territories.  Caiss excelled, easily becoming the top in his class, and was promised a leadership position once he graduated.  It was on Axex that Caiss met Septima Gaia, the daughter of a senator from the Londor colony.  Septima was on Axex at the time to visit her brothers, Tertius and Ludeovic, and she was there to review some data at the observatory on the planet.  They fell in love and quickly began having an affair in secret, since her father and his were rivals in the Senate.  Caiss graduated, was given command of a battleship and sent to suppress yet another uprising in the Laurion System.  Caiss was so successful in the battle and shrewd in his diplomacy that the Senate awarded him various honors and medals and promoted him to commodore, and stationed him on Atlas, an important, populous, Inner World.  With a growing reputation backing him, Caiss approached Septima's father, Gaius, and asked for his blessing; Gaius, seeing young Caiss's growing reputation and prowess, agreed, and Caiss and Septima Gaia were married in a grand wedding on Crux Terra.  Caiss returned to Atlas with his bride and continued to suppress rebellion after rebellion, soon most Territories worlds lived in fear of Caiss and his fleet entering their skies.  Septima gave birth to twins, Primus and Secunda, and not long after, another daughter, Kreka; Caiss was always happy to see his family waiting for him when he would return from the Fringe.  Then tensions escalated on Crux Terra in the Senate, the split between the Londorian senators wanting sovereignty and the Terran senators wanting unity.  Caiss, now admiral, was sent with Admiral Hallo to bombard Londor after Senator Gaius issued an ultimatum and formed the Londor League.  Things seemed to settle down after the bombings and Caiss began his alliance with fellow admiral Hallo, and Circini, an orator from Talisis.  This triumvirate began plotting how they would save the Republic and restore order and peace.  Hatred and resentment still simmered in the Senate and three months after the forming of the triumvirate, in 02 -AI, dozens of colonial systems declared independence from the Republic and established their own governments and formed a new federation, the Nara League.  The Republic fleet was mobilized and the Chancellor ordered them to reclaim the worlds from the "rebels".  Caiss led his fleet to many victories against the League, reclaiming almost all of the Colonial Territories; but while he was gone, the son of the Chancellor, Crucius, was staying at Caiss's family skytower where the young man fell madly in love with Marca and raped her that night.  The news of this reached Caiss unexpectedly quickly, he immediately left the colonies, flying straight to Crux Terra and demanded the Chancellor give up his son to be tried and brought to justice.  Eugenus Crassus, the chancellor, refused and ordered Caiss to return to the warfront.  Caiss, fueled with his rage at Crucius's shameful act, found the wretch and brought him back to his battleship on the warfront.  There he held a military trial and had Crucius executed, all before Chancellor Crassus found out.  Then, not long after Crucius's execution, the news of Hallo's death reached Caiss and Circini; Hallo had been the mediator between the two ambitious men, so upon his death Caiss and Circini became rivals for power.  Caiss turned his fleet around and jumped to the rim of the Crux System: to cross the Crux Rim with his fleet in tow would mean he was declaring war on the Republic.  Caiss sat for hours, thinking, while the Senate sent desperate orders to lay down his command.  Caiss finally rose, declared "The pieces are set.", and jumped his fleet to the exosphere of Crux Terra.  By this act Caiss declared a civil war against the Republic.  Circini arrived behind Caiss with a relief force to defeat Caiss in the name of the Senate.  The two rivals fought to a stalemate above the capital, the stalemate lasted for several days until Circini backed down and Caiss drove him from the system.  Caiss landed, marched into the Senatorial Palace and deposed Chancellor Eugenus.  He then summoned the Senate and put them under house arrest inside the Senate Hall untill they would declare him Chancellor.  They did so in 01 -AI, and all the Inner Worlds were under his control; the Outer Worlds were split in half, with some either fearful or awed by Caiss and pledged themselves to him and the rest continued to rebel against Crux Terra.  Caiss, now called Caiss-Sol, retrieved his wife and children from Atlas to live in the Senatorial Palace.  Caiss-Sol then gathered together the entire Republic armed forces and began the Wars of Formation, which had officially began with him attacking Crux Terra, to unite all inhabited worlds under his rule.  The wars, though gruesome and savage, lasted only a cycle and a half, ending with Caiss-Sol's self coronation on 01 Anno Imperium after the last independent world had fallen in the Siege of Londor.  The Senate, while still in existence and allowed to meet, were purely ceremonial and constantly watched by the new Emperor's agents.  Emperor Caiss-Sol and his wife, Empress Septima Gaia,  continued to expand the new Empire's borders; science and technology continued to advance after stagnating during the rebellions and Wars of Formation; an efficient, streamlined imperial bureaucracy was put in place, with an ordered hierarchy governing the increasing number of worlds in the Empire; interplanetary trade flourished; and the Imperial Navy and Army grew more powerful and feared.  Caiss-Sol ruled until AI 37, when he died a portion of the planet-wide city of Crux Terra was set aside as the Imperial Necropolis where Caiss-Sol, first Emperor of the Galaxy, and veterans of the Wars were entombed.  Empress Septima ruled as regent for her son Primus until he ascended the throne in AI 46.  When the Empress Mother died two and a half cycles later, she was placed next to her husband.  So began the Empire.              
  

The Dark Epoch

The Kronn ruled the galaxy for untold eons, using a complex but functional bureaucracy.  They, along with the industrial, aggressive Tastur; the psionic, warrior, and robotics-loving Prothen; and the artistic, epicurean, Vor ruled the galaxy in the Galactic Tetrarchy comprised of the Kronn Bureaucratic Empire, Tastur Xaraulate, Prothen Empire, and Vorian Republic.  Each spawned and guarded over various descendent species, the Kronn being the most expert and prolific at this.  Thus the galaxy was filled with numerous species, each able to trace its lineage back to one of the Progenitors, as the tetrarchy was called.  Then, to the wonder of all, the Kronn created life; not merely improving on native species or creating subspecies as they and the other Progenitors had done, but real, unique, organic life.  It was a highly adaptive, tenacious microorganism that attached to large creatures' spinal columns and lived in a mutual relationship with the host.  The Kronn, many of the Tastur, some of the Prothen, and billions of the children species began to allow colonies of these microorganisms to attach to themselves, with many beneficial affects caused by them.  The entire galaxy celebrated the Kronns' achievement and the Kronn cemented their supremacy while the galaxy sat on the threshold of a new era unlike none ever seen before.  Then the organisms, being ruled by a hive mind, began to infect all those that carried them.  First the corners of the galaxy gave way to the infection, with those with weaker systems dying and then reanimating and infecting those uninfected.  Entire species were wiped out and a galactic-wide panic ensued; the Tastur, their children species either wiped out, infected, or lost, closed all contact with the Kronn and closed off their borders.  They then began attacking the disintegrating borders of the Kronn Bureaucracy, causing heavy casualties.  The Kronn devised a desperate plan to stop both the infection and the Tastur: they created life again.  This time it was artificial intelligence; a race of robots called the Cyth bent on eradicating the infection and Tastur.  The Tastur collapsed under the systematic, relentless robotic assault; they had their gruesome last stand at their home world of Tas'Aga I where the Tastur defenders were attacked by a Cyth invasion from space and infected Tastur from behind.  But then the Cyth did something unexpected; they began a systematic invasion of both the Prothen and Vor, causing thousands of deaths and weakening Prothen defenses.  To this point the Prothen Empire and, to a lesser extent, the Republic had been fighting valiantly against the infection, even taking back some lost worlds but with the coming of the Cyth their defenses broke and the two Kronn creations poured into the Prothen Empire.  The Vor were overwhelmed and whatever of their race remained fled to a far corner of the galaxy, abandoning the Prothen to their own fate.  Just as it seemed like the Prothen were to be the next Telophs, the Kronn, in their ever more desperate attempts to stop the infection, preformed a technological and psionic miracle on the next generation of Prothen younglings.  They made them cyborgs; part organic, part machines.  The rest of the pure organic Prothen died off fighting the Cyth and the infection, then the cyborg Prothen generation, impervious to the infection, and their offspring came to power in the shrunken Empire.  Their new augments gave the Prothen more strength and power in battle, enabling them to fight both the infected and the Cyth more effectivly, but still the Cyth pushed toward Arung Uni.  At the same time an infected swarm of untold numbers was getting ever closer to Krodia, homeworld of the Kronn and heart of the galaxy, the Kronn defenses kept failing and trillions of Kronn were dead or infected and most of their children species were the same.  As their last act, as the infected monstrosities filled the skies of Krodia, Kronn scientists discovered a frequency that could affect the hive mind, and thus the entire infection.  Scouts in the fastest ships and Kronn behind the infected swarm were given the instructions build monoliths on all worlds within several thousand lightyears of Krodia that were heavily infected, these monoliths were then tuned to the frequency to call and pacify all infected within several lightyears of the monoliths.  The Kronn who built these monoliths then watched as Krodia fell to the infection.  The galaxy was now shrouded in a great darkness.  The few remaining Kronn disappeared from history, and only four of the original thousands of children species survived.  The Prothen, left alone as the masters of the galaxy, continued to fight the Cyth with the infection gone, but Prothen casualties continued to rise and the war dragged on.  The Cyth are arguably the most powerful species and force in the galaxy, even more powerful than their Kronn creators, designed specifically by the Kronn for genocide of an already genocidal species, thus not even the Prothen, a warrior race, could hold them back.  A Prothen executor, Arykhas,  devised a way to hopefully stop the Cyth onslaught.  He boarded the fastest ship and flew past the Cyth front, to where the Cyth overmind resided on a lost Kronn world.  According to legend the overmind made a connection with the executor and they negotiated with each other.  Arykhas eventually agreed to sacrifice himself to end the Cyth assault.  The Cyth withdrew to deep space and wait in case the infection was ever unleashed again.  The Prothen, suffering the loss of several generations, around 200 quadrillion, reformed their society into a strict caste-system, dissolved the heirless empire and made a council of caste archons led by a matriarch.  The new Protectorates slowly rebuilt their race, constantly vigilant for the return of the the infection or the Cyth, and also guarding over the four remaining children species; the Rranthi, Vorra, Zaddad, and Hrullgi, all children of the Kronn, except Hrullgi.  The Hrullgi, forming a trade empire like their parent species the Tastur, rebelled against the guardianship of the Prothen, resulting in the Hrullgis' eventual extinction.  These eons after the end of the Dark Epoch and before the modern era is called the Millennia Year Stillness due to the almost calm that settled over the galaxy.  The Prothen scoured the galaxy looking for surviving or unknown species, desperate to find more survivors from the Dark Epoch.  They were successful; for they almost immediately found an alien race unknown to the Kronnian races, a little species just then achieving space-flight.  The Prothen watched as the race spread at a surprising rate, colonizing and populating entire star systems like Prothen never could.  The High Council decreed that the Prothen could not interfere, but they were more and more worried that this new race would unbalance the order that had pervaded over the galaxy for thousands of years.                   

The Eldritch Queen

All is not right in Bethmoora; good High King Balor of Silver Lance was assassinated for unprovoked reasons not one year ago.  All of Bethmoora mourned his grizzly passing; wishing for the high king back or a suitable replacement quickly, before another Faerie War broke out.  An erlkin with a small fief in Quiet-Post presented herself to the Parliament of East Tolori as the new candidate.  Her name was Nyneve and she seized the crown that very day.  She cast down the usurper Oberon as her first act as high queen; her second was to place all members of the Parliament under "indeterminate leave of absence".  About six months ago, the folk hero Robin Goodfellow spoke out against her seizure of the crown and turning of Bethmoora into an empire.  Nyneve, or by now the Eldritch Queen, arrested good Puck and placed him in Darknettle Prison, at the end of Traveller's Road in the Snow Mountains.  The Eldritch Queen enslaved the boggarts and dark elves to make her an army: an army of golden men to control her empire.  To help protect this secret project, she set up a spy network and secret police order, called in fearful whispers, the Dark Ones.  The Eldritch Queen was, about four weeks ago, about to unveil her construct army when Nuada, bastard son of Titania the Seeress and the enigmatic earl, Lugh, came to Lyonesse, her new capital, and having rescued some of the members of the disbanded Parliament, Announced himself the true high king and declared war on the Eldritch Queen.  Nuada, with the funding of a merchant named Stiltskin, formed his rebellion around Eiru Lake.  It has been called the Eiru Alliance ever since.  The Eldritch Queen, as seen recently, became quite desperate as the Alliance won a series of victories over mercenary armies of trolls and dark elves and her golem army was not yet ready.  She did the most dangerous thing done in this century; she went herself deep into the Tristram Woods and spoke to the vile sorcerer Merlin; who agreed to help the Queen only is she would marry him.  All political really, Merlin's demand, though Nyneve isn't half-bad looking.  Merlin, as agreed on, strode onto the field at the Battle of Lupin Bridge amidst the chaos and blood.  No one is sure how or what happened, but not one elf, dwarf, pixie, or troll survived the battle; all seemed to be laid to waste by that loathsome sorcerer.  Nuada, and I'm sure the Eldritch Queen both reeled from the destruction wrought at the battle, I dare say the Queen didn't realize what she had awoken and brought on Bethmoora.  In desperation, Nuada looked for Oberon, finding the petty pretender huddled in some village near my own home-stead; Avalon was the town.  It was just a thick mire of shattered rooftops, muck-filled alleyways, thieves, rapists, and victims.  Nuada apparently urged the coward Oberon to join the Alliance.  Old Merlin and the Queen seemed to have had an argument, because the battle fought yesterday, you know, the Battle for Tir na Nog, pathetic Oberon shuffled onto the field unhindered and in one piece; and then a miracle happened.  Something must have awoken in Oberon, for the skies opened at his command and fire destroyed the Queen's ogres.  Nuada, eager to take the throne, pushed on to East Tolori, the old and rightful capital and home of the Lia Fall; but their was suddenly an unexpected twist in the story.  Only this morning, Merlin, disgusting as ever with his patched robes and grimy beard, announced to all of Bethmoora that he supported the real claimant to the throne, Arthur, true son of Balor, and took him to take the Sword from the Stone this morning.  But did you hear what happened?  As little Arthur reached out his hand, he was assassinated!  By whom, I'm not sure, no one is.  My suspicion is that it was that Uther fellow, the new changeling from across the Wall.  Well, I think he did us a service, though Herne and that immortal Genevieve may undue what Pendragon did.  Anyways, I wonder, stranger, where you have been these past few months, to not know who the Queen or Nuada are?  But 'tis not my business.  Well I am off to Nimue, seeing as she is the only sane one in this realm.  Would you care to join me?  She offers protection to any Danann who comes to her.  No?  Suit yourself.  Pleasure metting you; oh, and stay away from Lyonesse or East Tolori, I hear a great battle is about to take place since Her Majesty's gilded army is ready.  Farewell!            

Spaceman

He was found on the seventh day of the month Maius during the reign of Antonius Augustus Pius; half dead and wandering out of the Pictish wilds. Soldiers from the Sixth Legion stationed at The Wall of Hadrian found him and he fell into a deep faint.  They took him to their garrison along the Wall, nursing him back to health enough to carry him to Eboracum for more extensive care.  The stranger spoke incoherently in a barbarian tongue and his dress was alien and unlike the thick plaid or furs of the Picts.  He was also clean-shaven, though a beard was growing in due to his time in the wilderness and his skin lacked the blue war-paintings of the northern Celts.  The legionnaires were confounded by the stranger and started to tell stories to each other as they returned to the mighty Wall that divided the civilized world from barbarian wilds.  What, they said, could be in the crags and valleys of the Picts?  Where did this stranger, barbarian he must be, come from?  They now stared out into Scotland with more curiosity and wonder than before.  The stranger, every now and then stirring and looking about wildly and stammering in that barbarous tongue, was cared for by the physicians in Eboracum.  He silenced rested in the city; no search party was sent out to look for his village or find out from where he came.  A message was sent to the governor of Britannia, who decided to visit the stranger.  The man was moved to the governor's palace and cared for by his own personal physician.  Local experts have examined the man's clothes, and have decided that he must com from the far north of the Pictish lands, as his clothes are of an odd design and texture; neither wool or leather.  A report was sent to Rome that included the strange men that is now the talk of the province: no reply has yet come.

The Last: The Beginnings

Hi, my name is Adam Williams.  I was born in March 1992 in Lowell, Massachusetts, though I'm not sure that's important, but talking makes me feel comfortable, so I'll continue for just a bit longer.  I was going to Boston, studying hard, being a good student, and all that stuff.  Well, I was your average college student–er, no I take that back; I was your not-going-to-every-single-party-and-getting-drunk-and-laid college student.  I have morales.  It was how I was raised.  So the other thing that makes me not your average college student is that I broke all the standing speed records in track.  I like running, helps me think.  Ever since 4th grade I was a good runner.  It served me well, having good cardio.
It all began some months ago, I was sitting at my desk trying to study for the upcoming electronics test, but Jeremy, my roommate who is a motivated and esteemed individual who will go on to do great things for the world (... just kidding), was thumping around upstairs in his girlfriend Kitty's room (yep, that's right).  I sighed in exasperation, scooched back my soon-to-die office chair, leaving my tome of computer circuitry on my little desk by the bunk bed I shared with ladies' man.  I walked to the kitchenette which was filled with restaurant leftovers and Hungry Man meals.  I was just about to have a beer Jeremy smuggled into our room when there was a thunderous banging on the door, like Sam down the hall with his shovel.  I stuffed the Bud Light back into the contraband drawer in the fridge, and walked over to the door.  I opened it to find my godfather, Victor Jonson himself standing before me; unshaven, wearing his staple brown turtle neck and Marines jacket... and wielding a pump-action shotgun.  When I was growing up in South Lowell, Victor, my previously stated godfather and retired Vietnam War veteran, lived down the road.  My dad was a hard working, white-color type a' guy, so, as you can imagine, rather busy.  But because of his hard work, we lived in a sizable house and lived comfortably.  Anyway, Victor taught me all kinds of things; I learned to shoot a variety of guns, we went camping and hiking, and all kinds of other related activities.  Then at the end of the day he'd tell war stories (like the time he traveled the length of Vietnam on foot with only a fish and a machete, to deliver a package, only to be double-crossed by his employers.  He killed a man with the fish.); he then put on either a flick from the 60s or a psychological thriller; grabbed a beer, and promptly fell a sleep on the couch.  Those were good days.
"Victor, uh... hi!  What's going on?  With the gun?" I asked, rather confused and awkward.
"Take this machete, boy, and get inside." Victor shoved a machete (I wonder if it was the machete from the stories) into my uncertain hands, then pushed me inside the dorm, came in himself, closing the door quickly and locking it.
"It's happening, Adam, the pandemic to end everyone." he said, slowly turning to face me; his scars and wrinkles on his tanned skin sitting sharply on his face in the light of my desk lamp.
"Uhhh, what?" I stood, totally lost, the machete hanging loosely in my hands.
"Zombies, boy!  Zombies!  You can turn on the TV if ya' want, but they won't say anything important." he then walked over to the fridge, rummaging around until he found the beer stash.  While he did this I took the remote, turning on the crappy, little TV on the dresser.  I flipped through the channels 'til I found Fox News.  A Barbie doll was the evening news anchor.
"... The CDC is telling people to stay indoors and to wash their hands and shower frequently.  They say a virus might be coming through, they say, passed on from Chinese of Mexican emigrants or illegal aliens.  The National Guard has already secured the Mexican border to prevent the further spread of this disease.  If you think you have the listed symptoms, it is advised you check in with your local doctor.  Thanks, Dave, now back to you for the weather."
"Told ya'." Victor said behind me, beer in hand.  I sat on the sofa, lost in the swirling, confused tangle of my thoughts.  I jump up, heart in my throat.
"I need to go back to Lowell to get my family!" Grabbing the keys to my Chevy, I ran for the door as Dave chatted calmly about the weather.  Victor intercepted me, put an iron hand on my shoulder.
"Adam, your family is safe!  You know that little vacation they were going on?" I nodded, trying to calm down, "I used up all my favors and pulled all the strings I could.  Instead of goin' to Bermuda, the plane they got on is goin' to Russia.  They'll be safe there: your father n' mother, and your sister too." I relaxed, slowly.  "It's you I'm worried about, son."  I looked up.  Turning my head to get one last look at the TV, I saw that a special report was interrupting the normal broadcast.  It was saying something about no more intercontinental flights, just for a few days, and New York was being secured and cleansed, seeing how it got hit hard by the virus.
"The hell-!?" I started to say when Victor grabbed my arm firmly, leading me out the door.  I protested weakly.
"Leave your stuff, son, I've got enough packed up, just follow me will you!"
I complied, hurring down the hall after my godfather.  Heads poked out of dorm rooms as we ran by; it appears others were watching the news.  We ran out of the dorm building, across the green campus, to Victor's waiting hummer.  He pushed me into the passenger seat, running over into the driver's.  Squealing onto the highway, Victor, braking many traffic laws, was working is way out of Boston when he swore, breaking many laws of etiquette.  A CDC health checkpoint was already erected in the highway; a horde of cars, the evening traffic, crammed around it.  When did that get there?  Victor swore again, turning sharply around, hitting several cars with his barricades, speeding off in the opposite direction, soldiers shouting at the people in the cars.
"Where the hell did the soldiers come from?"
"Oh, they've been preparing this for some time now."
"They've known about this?"
"They surmised." Victor shrugged as he ferociously turned the wheel, cursing the civil engineers of Boston for crappy roads.
I slumped into the dark leather of the passenger seat, my world collapsing around me.  Looking back on it, that was the hardest part, those first few days.  My comfortable college lifestyle, my world view crumbled like those buildings in demolition videos; with dust, debris, and violence.  It's not a comfortable thing, paradigms being abruptly destroyed.  My mouth hung open as I watched the city I loved so much slowly, a block at a time, become more and more disordered; small changes became evident to me, such as running people, heaps of garbage and debris, spun-out cars, and the noise.  Screams and crashes filled the air, coming through the glass of the hummer to me.
"It's happening already, damn it!" Victor swore as he took us steadily south.
"Erm, so what's the plan?" I asked, quite timid, like my sister's rabbit, Bugs.
"We get the hell outta this city, go south to Plymouth.  Extraction point there."
I poked my head up just enough to peak out of the window on my side.  The western skyline; a bar graph of glass and steel, was engulfed in flames.  Thick, black smoke soared above the skyscrapers as the dust of a million feet and a million cars swirled around their bases.  In just twenty minutes, my whole freakin' world had fallen into chaos.  I blubbered.  Then I saw one.  It was a man, or actually, used to be a man, clothed in torn reflective work vest, the yellow-white bones of his knees visible through the holes in his filthy pants, his skin a gray-green pallor; dark red gore, like cherry jam, filled his mouth, slopping onto his lacerated chest as his dead, white eyes focused distantly on us and his mouth dropped wider.  Victor set his jaw, stepping down on the gas harder than he was.  We hit the man-monster, it's ribcage splitting open on the barricade on the front of the car; it's legs were eaten up under the hungry rubber of the tires. A bump and jostle later and we left the thing behind.  I had almost ruined my underpants.  I expressed my need to relieve myself.
"Ergh, ok here's a gas station.  Make it quick."
I hopped contentedly from the massive hummer, skipping the step and jumping right to the ground.  I had just started to dash to the bathrooms, which were on the outside of the building, when Victor called out to me.
"Adam!" he barked.  I turned, "don't forget the machete!" he tossed the machete out after me.
I caught it by the handle, my hand inches from the finely sharpened steel blade.  I winced, glad my catching skills were what they were.  I resumed my dash for the bathroom.  I debated wether to go inside the store and get the key, or to just kick in the bathroom door, you know what with the collapse of society n' all, who needs keys?  I kicked down the door, unleashing my confusion and... well, confusion on the lightweight door.  I jarred my knee and ankle, but it was worth it for that satisfying burst of the door and bam as it hit the wall.  I was fairly stupid back then.  I happily strode in, discarded the blade on the maltreated sink, and proceeded to take care of my business.  If I hadn't glanced up at the smudged mirror as I was finishing, the zombie would've had a free breakfast.  As it went, I just happened to look as some 500 pound woman crept up on me.  I whirled around, screaming like a girl I am embarrassed to say.  The zombie stood in between me and my machete.  I backed up against the tiled wall my hands slick with sweat, heart pounding in my chest.  That red gory stuff slopped out of her mouth as she lumbered toward me, closing the distance in a hungry stride.  I did the only thing that I could think of.  Victor's lessons flooding back to me, I ducked the zombies' clawed hand and delivered a swift blow to her blubber-protected solar plexus.  A sound like when you snap a wet stick after a heavy rain made me freeze.  I had broken her plexus in one blow, and yet she didn't even flinch.  That was just messed up.  I dove under her outstretched arms, rolled across the floor, and jumped up by the sink counter.  I almost had my fingers wrapped around the black rubber of the machete handle, when a hand, cold like ice water, clamped onto my upper arm, pulling me back.  I cried out, sure that she would sink her broken teeth into my neck, and flailed my arms and fists about in the hope that I would stop this... thing.  My fist met her face; I felt her nose shatter under my knuckle and I'm pretty sure I broke her jaw.  A yellow tooth fell past my shoulder.  I punched again and again; my knuckles aching as I heard wet snapping and cracking, red goo slopping to the ground.  The door, which had swung back to cover the doorway, exploded off it's hinges, flying into the stalls with a crashing of twisting metal and cracking door.  Victor stood, wreathed in the thin light from the cloudy sky in the doorway, his pump-action shotgun in his gnarled hands.
"Boy!" he roared, "get down!" his face was red, quite red.
I threw myself away from the hungry, dead woman; her face now resembling red Play-doh from my childhood.  She took a shuffling step toward Victor, who cooly raised his gun.  I covered my ears with my hands, but was to slow; with a crack, the shotgun fired; my ears ringing, leaving me deaf.  The woman's head disappeared in a gooey red cloud, splattering the walls with the bright sticky stuff.  A piece of pale, gray matter landed on my shoulder.  I scrambled away from the corpse as quickly as possible, sweat pouring down my face, matting my hair; chest heaving, eyes on the monster that used to be human.  She could have been anybody; a mother, a teacher, a nurse, anyone!  I shove these thoughts to the back of my mind, grab my blade, and hurry after Victor back into the hummer.  Screams and smoke filled the Boston skyline as we roared down the freeway.  I swallow hard.                               

The Steam-Power of Byzantium

"Michael, what do the scouts' report?" Cosmas shouted up at the watchman on the outcropping of rock.  The arid landscape spread around Cosmas, veils of sand wreathing the gentle waves of hills, like disturbed fabric.  The sun shone down on the Byzantine troops, the dry wind carrying the faintest hint of the ocean.
"Three Arab battalions, cavalry by the looks of it.  Coming fast in a pincer formation!" Michael called, he then raised his telescope back up to his eye.
Cosmas turned, helmet under his arm, to his small troop of Cataphracts and Effigies, signaling Ioannis to start the the engines of the great war machines.  Pillars of smoke shot up into the air as the near a dozen Cataphracts, heavily armored battle walkers, came to life, steam engines rumbling, shaking the stony ground beneath Cosmas's feet; the sun shining of their golden plating.  The Effigies, mechanical, steam-powered animals; lions and bulls mostly, prowled and huffed at the ground, while the infantry men, clad in their cuirass and spathions at their sides.  A dark smudge appeared on the horizon, a great plume of dust behind them, racing steadily toward them.  Ioannis's called from the view port of his Cataphract.
"When shall we fire, Captain?"
Cosmas looked at the advancing army and the closing distance between them; "Once they reach those rocks, unleash a volley." he gestured with his free hand at the pile stones, Ioannis nodded and spread the word among the men.
Cosmas placed his steel cap on his head, shouldered his ballista, and descended the hillock, down to take his position in the back with the infantry; a wall of golden steel protecting them from any arrows from the Muslims.  Cosmas was joined by Ignatios, his second in command, who was shoving the second bit of cork in his ears.  Cosmas did the the same, the pieces of cork protecting the soldiers' ears from the initial bombard of the Cataphracts' cannons.  The Arabs could be seen by the naked eye now; rushing towards them, scimitars flashing, wearing their robes and turbans, their war cries carrying across the desert waste.  The first camel archers reached the pile of rock, a few arrows pinging off the flanks of the Byzantine war machines.  Ioannis looked back at Cosmas, who nodded.  The columns of smoke burst from the smokestacks as the engines revved harder, the guns of the Cataphracts raised up with the hiss of steam and hydraulic pistons; the barrels of steel leveling out, aimed at the enemy cavalry.  There was a few seconds of stillness; the wind blew, the Arabs charged forward.  Then the guns fired.  With a thunder that shook the earth, Cosmas and his soldiers had to steady themselves; the very air destroyed by the explosions of the cannons, great fiery clouds erupting from the cannons.  The legs of the walkers trembled, the array of pistons absorbing the shock of the blasts.  The three thousand Arabs disappeared in bursts of sand and fire as the great metal shells hit the loose earth; men and camels hurled into the air or simply destroyed by it's power.  The initial bombard ceased; the crews reloading the guns, Cosmas signaled the Toxotai to ready their ballistas, so as to pick off any Arab who escaped the firing range of the machines.  Another volley of explosions rippled down the line of Cataphracts; more Arabs fell to the crimson sand, the very earth blown out from under them.  Cosmas turned his eyes away from the slaughter, these bombards always bothered him and the great destruction they caused, even when they killed followers of Mohammed.  Toxotai's ballistas cracked, smoke spewing from their barrels, small, sharpened pieces of metal flying from them, into camel warriors who had avoided the shells.  At last Cosmas raised his hand, signaling an end to the carnage.  The guns stopped, gray wisps drifting from the barrels.  The soldiers removed their corks, ears ringing in the silence after the battle.  A couple dozen Arabs retreated, fleeing as far from the guns as they could, leaving their wounded and dying comrades in the sand.  Cosmas strode forward, Ignatios following behind, and stood in front of the Cataphracts.
"Warriors of Arabia, do you surrender to us?" Cosmas hailed them.
A voice shouted something in Arabic, Cosmas turned to Michael, who had joined him from the hill.
"They so indeed surrender and only wish to take their dead and wounded in peace." Michael said to his captain.
"Certainly, they may take their men and depart in peace."
Michael shouted across the wastes at the Arabs, translating what Cosmas had said.  The Arabs dismounted, moving hesitantly forward over the sands, fearful of the guns.  The Cataphracts didn't move, the smoke rising idly into the summer sky as the Muslims gathered their fallen, which were many, as the Byzantines looked on.  Cosmas turned to his men.
"Louke, fetch me a courier bird, I want to tell Strategos Isaac the border is safe as soon as possible.  Then start back to Constantinople."
The men cheered at the sound of home, life in the in Syria was rough, even with the Byzantine technologies.  A bath, real food, and a bed sounded quite right now.  Loukos ran to where the pigeons were kept, the smart birds waited patiently for their next task.  Cosmas soon had one perched eagerly on his greave; he slipped the message in the bird's holster.              
"Bring this to Strategos Isaac in Antioch.  Fly fast." he ordered the bird.  The pigeon cocked it's head, then shot up into the air, and away.  Cosmas climbed inside his own Cataphract, a faster, lighter variety used more for transport than front-line combat, Ignatios already at the controls, hands working the levers and valves.
"Head for Damascus, we'll resupply there, then onto Antioch and home." Cosmas said to his friend as he took of his helmet.  Ignatios nodded, pulling levers and turning crancks.
With a swoosh of air and steam, the whole company of war machines turned, and marched with metal legs, to Damascus.

Philadelphia, 2032 AD

Philadelphia, 2032 AD
Aiden Rumerez walked down the little alley, rain pattering on his hat and coat, the golden lights from the skytowers of the upper city making them look like drops of gold.  Taking another bite of his pastry grateful for the food after the long meeting, he was taking a shortcut he often took which led in between two apartments, when he herd the softest noise, like a cat skulking, trying not to be noticed.  A car speeded by on the street behind him.  The hover lamps flickered.
"What corrupts, Aiden?  Is it money?" Aiden jumped, dropping his pastry on the slick pavement.  A man appeared out of the shadows lying against the apartments.  He wore a duster as dark as the gloom he stood by; fingerless gloves were wrapped around his hands, and dull boots on his feet.  His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses even though it was night; a cigarette stuck out of his mouth.  He looked like any common retro-styled street urchin, probably a gang fighter.  Aiden's heart pounded in his chest as he stood there unsure of what to do.
"Money doesn't corrupt; it's an object.  It is neutral.  But objects can be abused by people, the wrong people." the urchin spoke again in his quiet, husky voice.
"L-look if you want money... " Aiden said this as he reached for the TX1 handgun he had in the back of his belt.
"I don't want your money, Aiden, and you'll stop reaching for that gun.  You know what corrupts?  Power.  Power corrupts.  You are filled with it.  But if I kill you, does that make me corrupt?  Am I doing a good and just thing; maybe.  Am I no better than you for doing so?  I'll probably never know the answer, but I must do what's been put in front of me.  What were you promised?"
"W-what?" Aiden stammered.
"The executives of PharmaTech promised you money and something else.  What did they promise you!"
"I-i th-they... !" sweat rolled down Aiden's forehead.  The stranger lifted a finger to his lips.
"I already know: a promotion and you were to be relocated to a safe location.  Is that why you took the bribe?  Let those companies kill all those people.  You are corrupt, Aiden, and it was time you were weeded out." the urchin lifted his hand; Aiden's handgun lifted out of his back pocket seemingly of it's own volition, floating to rest pointed at his temple.  Aiden's hand then raised up, grasping the gun.  Aiden was frozen, wide eyed and urine streaming down his suit pants.
"Then I'll go and plant neurionite in your house."
"What are you!  Why are you doing this!"
"I'm a gardener, Aiden, and you are a weed."
Aiden's finger pulled the trigger.