Wardens Fourth Edition
He's a Real Alien - Stories
A look at what happened during and/or after Session 40.
Story - Unexpected Visitors
Game Date: 3/6/2007
Taurex, Scout Observer Trainee Third Class, waded slowly around the circular hologram of Planet 853B, his wings creating wide ripples in his living pool. Like most of the planets scouted by the Yricians, no sentient life had been found, though it did have abundant native plant life and appeared quite suitable for eventual colonization.
As he studied the data collected painstakingly over a thirty-year period by Scout Observer Gyrox, a priority message icon appeared in the center of the hologram as the image of a white-scaled member of the counselor caste suddenly displaced the day's lesson.
Mytor, the most prestigious of the Council of Elders, announced that, "Scout Observer Karex has been suspended from active duty to await review of actions taken on the homeworld of the third non-Yricians sentient species to be discovered. Full copies of the data he collected and his filed reports are being made available to all members of his caste. All recommendations should be submitted to the Council for review prior to the elapse of the current solar year, so that such input could be included in the Council's decision process.
With that, the image of Gyrox was replaced by the now familiar image of Planet 853B.
However, blinking temptingly in the lower right section of the hologram was a luring icon representing the promised information. There would be time to finish the lesson later, Taurex decided, as he activated the icon and began reviewing data regarding this strange planet called Earth.
The sun had set and rose again high into the sky before Taurex managed to tear himself away from the projector.
Paranormals, with strange and mysterious powers beyond the understanding of even Yricians technology, locked in battle. Dimensional barriers as weak as paper that let bizarre creatures enter at will - not to mention the unique phenomenon called "magic". It was a world unlike any he had ever imagined. Eagerly, he opened a channel to several of his age mates. Not all were Scout Observers, so he had to forward copies of the data to some of them before they understood his excited ranting. To the murk with the gladiator match at the arena tonight, this stuff made such bloodless hi-tech exoskeleton duels dry as a week-old sun-baked nutrition bar.
Rextor the Mighty, master of the arena, stomped out into the arena and raised the heavily armored arms of his exoskeleton high over his head to await the roar of the crowd. When only the sporadic clattering of a few hundred Yricians wings greeted him, he raised his gaze from his opponent for the first time to scan the crowd. The arena was less than half full!
Rextor could not remember the last time one of his performances had not been filled to capacity. He was so shocked by this... insult, that he missed the lightning fast charge of his opponent. The bruising impact sent him hurling through the air, though of course the exoskeleton absorbed almost all of the impact against the protective dome that safeguarded the audience. Rextor finally returned his focus to his opponent, but it was too late. The momentum had shifted. The match was lost, and with it, so was his Championship title. Shame filled his heart.
The warrior caste was kept in existence primarily as a safeguard in case a dangerous competitor species was ever encountered. No actual war had been fought since Homeworld had been unified under the wisdom of the Council. It was a useless drain of resources in the eyes of not a few members of the counselor caste.
Glory in the arena was the only path to public acclaim... to a sense of importance... to a sense of purpose for his caste. What had gone wrong today? What had deprived him of his audience, and through that, his purpose for being? Rextor resolved to find out.
Rextor sneered as he looked over the imagery of these 'humans'. They looked so weak and frail, yet these 'paranormal abilities' could prove a challenge in the arena.
Unfortunately, they were not in the arena, but perhaps their world was an arena of another sort. With the cloaked surveillance satellite monitoring the battles of these paranormals, Rextor would merely need to challenge one to regain his fickle audience.
In victory, he would gain fame.
In defeat, he would demonstrate the need for the warrior caste to protect the Yricians from such a powerful potential foe.
Either way, of course, he would never be able to return home, but what a challenge!
The circle of silver-scaled Yricians sat in a circle around the hologram, letting the azure vapors of the meditative mists swirl around them.
While others of their kind might be enthralled by the paranormals of this primitive planet known as Earth, these members of the hospitaler caste were far more engrossed by the suffering of barbaric natives.
Imagine having to tear flesh from bone and dig plants directly from the earth to survive and living in such dirty earth-bound hovels of stone and metal! Why, these humans must be covered with such filth every day!
Then there was the violence.
In their floating city, high above the surface of Homeworld, these Yricians had never imagined such a thing could exist for any sentient species. These humans would need expert treatment if they were ever to overcome their aberrant genetic disadvantages.
Excited discussion followed of the many ways they might 'fix' such a species. But, eventually, it was pointed out, that no matter what wonders could be performed, the conservative members of the counselor caste in charge of such matters would never authorize such actions in time to prevent the humans self-destruction.
Then, Prelax, who so skillfully guided their debates that none realized he was even doing so, proposed an independent mission.
"Let us be missionaries unto the humans, bring them the benefit of our wisdom and teach them the art of peace through any means necessary. Fear not the Council's judgment, for our work shall demonstrate the righteousness of our action with the passage of time. Though exile might be pronounced, we shall in time be welcomed back into the fold by our brethren, when the results of our work become manifest!"
With such stirring rhetoric, the judgment was made. They would be missionaries and the earth would soon feel their benevolence.
Gregix growled under his breath as his oily bronze-scaled talons struggled with the corroded fastener.
As a member of the fixer caste, he had nothing more to look forward to than the endless struggle to keep this misbegotten floating city hovering in mid-air for the rest of his miserable existence. It was hard dirty work, and often enough the dangerous machinery would shred a wing or rip off a talon if a fixer wasn't constantly on guard. Of course, if a fixer ever became too crippled to work, he was 'set free,' if you could call being dropped off the side of the city being 'set free.' Sure, Yricians could fly... if they have two good wings but what fixer hadn't gotten a few holes or tears due to an incautious moment.
Gregix sank down into the soothing balms of the bath and idly flicked on the holoprojector. A call from his old pal Wrixton waited.
Wrixton's dull faded face appeared.
"Buddy, you got to see this. Just got this data about a scout observer that went rogue on the homeworld of that new sentient species, Earth, I think they call it. Just abandoned his caste and went native, man, think what it would be like if we could do that."
Gregix's taloned hand scratched behind one ear for a minute, then he grinned, "And why can't we? All we need is to take a ship."
Wrixton's eyes' widened, as he gasped, "But... we'd never get authorization for travel there!"
Gregix calmly replied, "Who needs authorization. When I said take a ship, I meant take a ship. Just imagine it, a new life far from those stuck-up counselors. We'd be worshipped by these weak humans, just like the rogue scout observer! By the muck, they'd probably make US counselors for their whole planet!"
Wrixton gaped open mouthed at the idea, "You mean ... WE could be in charge?"
Gregix nodded vigorously, "That's right, us in charge, no more stinking pits of oil and metal!"
Wrixton's brow furrowed, "But... how can we take a ship? We'd need a lot more than just the two of us to crew it."
Gregix sighed, "Yeah, I guess... but maybe we can find some other Yricians, just as eager to start a new life as us."
The ship on the view screen was hardly a masterpiece of modern Yricians technology. Indeed, it had been rendered obsolete many decades before and only kept in 'mothballs' in far orbit around a minor system moon at the bequest of the counselor caste, who were opposed to wasting resources.
It was a mismatched 'crew,' who stepped out of the stolen intersystem shuttle to claim the old ship as their own.
Idealists, glory seekers, power seekers, and naive 'fans,' hurried to their appointed tasks, eager to be on their way to this mysterious world known as Earth.
The journey was longer than expected, due to mechanical malfunction of the long-neglected ship and by the time, they reached earth orbit fuel supplies had run perilously low. Now they were on final approach to the planet, there should be enough fuel to ensure a survivable landing.
At least that was what Taurex was telling the others as the blue and green world grew larger in the view screen.
The long-range sensors detected an Yrician energy signal outside the specified transit corridors. The interdiction satellite's weapon systems began to power up.
Captain Hurg had made it clear to Narex that there would be consequences if the scout observer went outside the parameters of his assignment. The Captain did not need another rogue scout observer running around on the alien homeworld so the interdiction satellite had been deployed.
The satellite's weapons were at full power but the safeties remained engaged as the communication system waited for a transponder signal from the unidentified Yrician craft.
When the craft crossed inside the orbit of the planet's moon without a signal from its transponder, the satellite's weapons fired. The molecular disruptors did the job of rendering any Yrician technology on the craft unusable, the nanotech self-repair circuitry was destroyed and the molecular engineering of the component structures was disrupted. Atmospheric reentry would take care of the rest, vaporizing the remains of the craft as it spiraled uncontrolled into oblivion.
There was a crash and things flew around the inside of the ship, they had hit something or something had hit them. When the instruments went dead, Taurex realized that things had gone from bad to worse. A quick examination of the hull showed cracks starting to form. They were lucky to be in one of the old heavily armored hulls as the collision would have probably fractured one of the new ship's hulls into millions of pieces.
Taurex ordered everyone to the escape pods; he hoped that they would work.
The ship broke up as the escape pods launched. Taurex counted three other escape pods and the reentry shell of Rextor's exoskeleton. Each pod held only two Yricians, several of those that had left Homeworld aboard the old ship would not be making it to Earth.
The pieces of the ship that did not burn up on reentry as well as the escape pods and the exoskeleton's reentry shell plunged into the Pacific Ocean. Fortunately, Yricians are far hardier than humans are and water was the place of their birth. As the wreckage sank into the depths of the ocean, the Yricians disembarked from their reentry pods, spread their wings and flew through the ocean depths.
Each headed off to forge his new destiny.
Rextor's 5-ton exoskeleton was little more than dead weight, it had failed to activate once it had separated from the reentry shell after landing in the water. Rextor had run through the startup cycle and activating the repair systems several times without result. It was something the fixers would need to look at when he found them.
This is what he told himself as he hooked his combat harness to the recovery loop on the back of the exoskeleton and started the long underwater journey to San Francisco. The data files had shown many promising opponents regularly appeared there and once the exoskeleton was repaired, his true mission of proving the worth of the warrior caste could begin.
Prelax grinned, showing rows of clean sharp teeth, he had survived and so had three of his followers. Wareta was with him and he was sure that Relula and Komasa would be joining them soon. The loss of equipment was a setback but not the end of the mission, his ancestors had started with the basics when they began their work to stabilize the Yrician castes. Accomplishing the mission with the primitive technology of Earth would be that much more evidence of his genius.
Wareta had located a settlement within the target area along the shore of Northern California. A small population easily isolated, perfect for the experimental uplift procedure. Once the genetic enhancement was complete, this new breed of peaceful hard-working humans would be the ideal work force to build a food processing plant, a water treatment facility, and, of course, a hospitaler facility that would uplift ever-growing numbers of their species until, ideally, all of humanity would match his glorious vision!
Komasa was alone.
Something had happened to the escape pod during reentry.
It caused Relula's safety cage to come loose and rattle around the inside of the escape pod during the buffeting of reentry. The worst part was when the escape pod hit the water. The sudden deceleration had thrown Relula's safety cage into Komasa's, snapping Relula's neck and badly damaging Komasa's left wing, arm and shoulder.
Komasa had managed through meditation and biofeedback techniques to stay conscious in order to immobilize her injured wing, arm and shoulder.
Using her water jet shooting ability for propulsion and her good wing as a rudder, she started the long exhausting trip towards land.
Gregix and Wrixton knocked politely at the door of the 'automechanic'.
The human was startled to see them, to say the least, but at least this one listened while Gregix made his proposal. At last! A deal was made.
After a hard day's work, Wrixton turned to Gregix as they hungrily devoured the 'burgers' provided by the shop's owner, "You know . . . this isn't exactly how I pictured things going."
Gregix tartly replied, "Look, who knew how primitive these earthlings were. We need time to figure out how all their primitive technology works. Let's just take things slow, give ourselves a few months to get our bearings. THEN we can conquer an island, or the planet, or start our own auto shop. Whatever we decide we want to do."
Wrixton shrugged and helped himself to another burger, "Not like I'm not used to waiting... or doing shit work."
Taurex laughed as he soared majestically above the ocean, despite the weight of the pack of trade goods he carried. Since reviewing the data files, he had been consumed by thoughts of earth and the idea of magic. Thanks to those same files, he knew of the location of a half-dozen possible teachers, one of which he hoped would accept the trade goods in exchange for instruction. One of the first questions he planned to ask was clarification of the difference between 'white' and 'black' magic.
Record Last Changed Date: 4/27/2010
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