First Contact

Chapter 465

Chapter 465

The day was cool, with a breeze coming across the grass that was loaded with moisture and managed to worm its way through clothing to bring a chill to the blood and bones. The grass was waving back and forth, the early spring flowers bobbing and swaying.

The little house was modest, small flower boxes at the windows, an herb garden out back, flowers in front of the front porch, a stone path leading to the post fence.

A rocking chair was on the porch, occupied by a small female Tnvaru. She was holding the tray with cookies and tea with her lower hands, her gripping hands of her four hands. Her catching hands, the upper shoulders and longer arms and slightly longer hands with strong fingers, were holding a cup of tea and a pipe.

Her fur was striped, with a few splotches, greyish, dark green, dark brown. She had silver fur down her back, around her eyes, and on her shoulders beneath her hand-made blouse. Her eyes were glossy black, warsteel. Not cybernetics, but as if her eyeballs had been crafted from pure warsteel and put in her skull.

She lifted up her cup of tea, blew on it, and took a sip as she stared at the road.

Her name was Matron Sangbre. She had been a Consortium Matron, a leader of her people, married with children.

Her husband had spoken when he should not have on a subject he should not have spoken about, and had vanished. Sangbre had boarded the next ship and left, her instincts telling her that she would be well served to leave and leave quickly.

That journey, in some ways, that dinner meeting with another clan of traders, had been the first step that had led her on the path that had led her all way to the porch.

Of a small cottage.

On a grassy plain.

On the genesis world of the known galaxy's most fearsome intelligent primate.

In a place called The Vodkatrog Lands.

She watched as a group of massive cyborgs, the smallest nearly fifteen meters tall, all of them festooned with chains, weaponry, armor, and ornate decorations. They all signified a respectful greeting through their datalinks to her as they continued on their patrols.

They weren't why she was sitting and waiting.

She had seen that she would have a visitor.

To be honest, it would better described as she had foreseen that she would have a visitor, via dreams and portents and omens that she was slowly learning filled the world around her.

She was a matron of her clan, had once guided a massive consortium, was part of a space faring civilization and a species that had mastered space flight for thousands of years.

But now she lived in a world of supernatural events that could undoubtedly be explained by someone who understood the science. Portents, auras, omens, even whispered stanzas of prophecy that came to her on the morning breeze.

People would tell her there was no such thing as magic, that it was just technology.

But the warsteel eyes she possessed saw the world different. She could see another's purpose, another's lives.

Part of her insisted it was nothing more than high technology applied in strange ways. She'd learned that about the Terrans. She snorted to herself as she watched another one of the Tunvan Warsteel Horde move by. A thirty meter tall cyborg that was dinged and scarred by past battles that carried enough weaponry to besiege a city by itself.

Still, it wasn't what she had dreamed of. Why she was on the porch.

A raven took flight from one of the trees, circling three times around the house, cawing out. The breeze moved the flowers with a soft sighing whisper that spoke to her. The way the air felt and how the insects suddenly stopped buzzing.

Sangbre tensed inside.

This moment.

A blur appeared at her gate. It thickened into a prism.

A Terran male made entirely of swirling code appeared.

Sangbre gasped at the purpose rolling off of the figure. Millions, billions of hands reached out to him and he grasped each one with equal attentiveness. A trillion children were born with him as a witness.

It dimmed, burning within rather than blotting out the sun.

The Terran male lifted the latch, opened the gate, and stepped onto the lawn. He turned and closed the gate, making sure the latch was fitted.

The figure wore modest clothing of darker code, giving him a warm look, a friendly look, as he moved up and sat down next to Sangbre on the other rocking chair that was designed to take the weight of a Terran warborg.

"It is a pleasant afternoon," the Terran made of code said softly.

Sangbre nodded as she turned the other cup over. She poured the steaming tea slowly.

"Two sugars, and a splash of goat's milk, if you would, Sangbe," the figure requested.

Sangbre felt pride that her hands did not shake. She held the cup out and the figure took it. As she watched he blew on it gently, then sipped it.

"A wonderful cup," the Terran said softly. Sanbgre noted that his code was scarred, the crisp blue coding replaced in a patch by soft white Telkan runes. "A fine drink to warm ourselves with."

Sangbre nodded, shifting her hand made shawl.

"You, of course, knew I was coming," the Terran said.

"I knew someone was coming, but not who," Sangbre said, her voice level.

"You know who I am," the figure said.

Sangbre went still for a moment, then slowly inhaled before she spoke.

"The Digital Omnimessiah."

"Yes."

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Night had fallen as they had spoke. Darkness that had settled on the ground, covering up the land. But the night was not empty, candlelight gleamed off of warsteel and durachrome around Sangbre's cottage.

The Warsteel Cossacks were all kneeling at Sangbre's fence, their heads bowed, one fist on the ground opposite of the knee touching the ground as they genuflected and held the position. Weapons and targeting systems and defense were at maximum power, making them all glimmer and gleam with barely restrained power.

A blindfolded Lanaktallan matron with a white toga-like vest and a flank covering of grey stitched with colorful flowers and symbols moved through them, weaving between them, followed by Lanaktallan and Tnvaru children. The matron was swinging a triple chain thurible of warsteel, ivory, and gold as she sang a slow complex song. The children, all dressed in white and blue, with flower garlands on their brows, their hands holding a lit candle, sang with the Lanaktallan matron, their voices pure and perfect.

The Digital Omnimessiah was still sitting next to her, sipping at the last of his cup of tea.

"So you see why I cannot leave," Sangbre said. She shook her head. "My people have leaders back at New Tnvaru. My daughter is ready to take the step into Matronhood and lead our people," she nodded at the Tnvaru children in the procession. "They need me here. The Lanaktallan, the Warsteel Horde, the Lanaktallan."

The figure of glittering streaming code made flesh nodded, setting down the teacup.

"It was a pleasure, Matron," he said. "Things have changed greatly, and you are right, as I am needed in these dark days, you are needed here."

He gave a chuckle as he handed the cup back.

"During my long, well, dissolution is an acceptable if not accurate word, I could only watch and listen. Free will has always been foremost in my thoughts. I will not compel the stubborn to kneel with fiery sword and shouted word," he said.

"I am glad you understand," Sangbe said, accepting the cup. She wiped it with a small cloth with embroidered runes before setting it upside down on the tray.

"Your faith in your people, in your daughter, is commendable, Steel Eyes Sangbre," he said. He stood up, stretching, then moved in front of Sangbre.

"May I bless you, my child?" He asked.

Sangbre held tight to her courage and nodded.

The glittering hand rested on the top of her head. The figure whispered softly words that Sangbre did not know but understood.

The figure vanished and Matron Sangbre sat up straight, strengthened in the knowledge of the heavy burden laid upon her shoulders and that thus far, she had not been found wanting.

She sat there, for a long unbroken moment, listening to the breeze and the hiss and hum of cybernetics, the song of the matron and the children, and the beating of her own heart.

In the darkest night the smallest light can be the brightest to those who are lost, the Digital Omnimessiah's words echoed in her mind.

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Nakteti sat on the steps leading from the massive fortress to the courtyard, watching everyone move around. The ring of metal on metal sang from the smithy, horses were being cared for, and warriors. The thick walls were patrolled by soldiers in armor, with swords sheathed on their backs and crossbows in their hands. Two horses were still armored, being prepared for the Lord Marshal and the Arch-Mage of the Court to go check on the villages to ensure peace was still upheld and to take accountability.

A plague had swept the land. The 'sorceresses' and the 'priests' and the 'arcanists' had been busy healing everyone they could. Nakteti had watched nuns pray for the sick to be healed, whispering or singing as a glowing nimbus surrounded them and their patient. Had seen 'wizards' pull a snake or serpent or creature from the body of the sick and 'duel' it with magic to defeat it.

Part of her insisted it was just high technology. The nanites.

But the rest of her insisted that she had seen miracles.

Across the Confederacy the death rate was skyrocketed.

Yet here, on this primitive world, the wizards, nuns, priests, healers, plague doctors, had gone to the common people to succor them.

Only one out of fifteen had died.

The numbers were shocking to Nakteti, but more shocking was how the population had recovered. They had held funerals and ceremonies to remember and honor the dead, and then had continued on with their lives. Some with a renewed spring in their step, as if being passed over by the specter of death had somehow rejuvenated them.

Major Carnight was alive. In hibernation, which his sister and the priest insisted was an 'enchanted slumber', but still alive. His sister had put him in a smart-glass coffin, the bottom full of hidden life support equipment. The inside of the coffin around Major Carnight was surrounded by flowers that did not die, did not wilt. The Terran was still in his military uniform, his hands crossed over a heavy ornate sword his sister had laid upon his chest.

He looked healthy, just asleep.

Nakteti was grateful for at least those small favors.

"When it is darkness all about, and the darkness is full of fear and uncertainty, the only recourse, often, is to light fire," a Terran male voice said from next to Nakteti. The voice spoke perfectly accented Tnvaru Trade Speech.

Nakteti turned and looked and felt all of her fur stand up.

A figure of glimmering, glittering code sat next to her on the steps.

"The path, my daughter, is long and arduous, but you are the one the universe, my Father, has chosen to lead your people down," the figure said. It turned and looked at her, giving her a warm, friendly, and caring smile. "Your strength and courage is that blazing fire in the night your people will need."

Nakteti just stammered.

"I am with your people now, Nakteti the Traveller," the figured said. He touched her brow. "You have my blessing and the blessing of your mother, Steel Eyed Sangbre, the Matron of Those Who Art Lost."

Before Nakteti could say anything the figure vanished.

She was aware of a deep silence.

She turned and looked at the courtyard.

All of the Terrans, from the fierce warriors to the youngest serving child, were all down on one knee, the opposite fist pressed against the ground, their heads bowed. Even Major Carnight's fierce and passionate sister was kneeling, her head bowed, at the top of the steps. Instead of one fist pressed against the stone, the tip of her wicked blade was grounded and she held the hilt with both hands, her forehead pressed against the crossguard.

Nakteti realized that the majority of them, even her hostess, were silently weeping.

She was startled to realize that she was too.

The bells in the steeple of the fortress began to peel. Not in warning of an approaching attacker, but in celebration of the being that had visited.

Nakteti swallowed and closed her eyes for a long second as it fully dawned upon her who had visited her, if only for a moment.

The Digital Omnimessiah.