AWAKEN THE GOD / CHAPTER I

Dust of yesterday; winds of today

Chapter : 1

Life is examined, by most; as the mortal treasures accumulated during ones time. If items and riches truly bring happiness then why do so many souls linger after their demise? So, I pose to you this challenge. Define life, the mystery known to us as mortality. What is it? What does it mean to live? What are the requirements to be considered as living?
Nikiodaemuz Reignshadow
# 2 Galactic house





My employer has always said that time is only a mortal perspective. This was his explanation because every culture Records the passing of time uniquely; individualized from Their mortal counter parts. After centuries of research we
Discovered several different cultures use the same formula To calculate time. The correct formula. We deciphered their Methods, and techniques to find that they formulate time From the creation point of all existence. The center of the Galaxy, or the mother planet if you will. This inspired us To investigate, to probe as deep into the beginning of their Culture as possible. The largest astonishment was the fact
That these few cultures were either thought to be extinct Billions of millennia ago; or even more intriguing. They Were thought to be mythological creatures from various
Other cultures.

This discovery opened our eyes to endless possibilities. Which brings me to my current dilemma, but I Am getting ahead of myself.
Allow me to paint the foreground before I guide you through the back ground. I was born hexnia, of Jupiter moon #1, or (Jm-1) as it is charted. My species bares the ancient title of blood children, in the human words vampire. The actual name is unpronounceable by most species other than our own. Most mortal species for that matter. I have earned the position of first personnel manager for trade mark center 1, the mother company for Star Chylde Interprises. I only answer to my superiors. Myieeya otan, the personal assistant to the founder and creator of s.c.i. the other is the founder himself, mr. x. the man of complete mystery that won the corporation wars consuming the enemy and merging their technologies with his own. Star chylde began as an environmentally friendly company. Friendly to all planetary and social structures. Now he supplies all known galaxies in this universe as well as few in other dimensions. That includes eliminating all mortal trials and tribulations, war, and hostile changes to all environments that may cause galactic unrest.


It was he who gave me this assignment. This pain in my ass that I fear has awakened demons from my past. I am to take a small compliment of 1- bodyguard, 1-CPU expert, 1-cyber tech, and 1- all around tech. Our mission is simple. We are to investigate and ratify the problems we are having with the colonial platform on (Jm-1).
The closer we get to the planet the stronger the memories of who I once was surfaces from the recesses of my mind. I was twelve the last time I was here. That was a 122 years prior. Being reared in an orphanage by a robot was not easy. Her designation was simply nanny. She shortened it to nan so she could be more acceptable to the populace. Easier to make herself more efficient. Unlike most of her people she seemed to have an individualized thought.
Her programming had nothing to do with sympathy, compensation for species requirement, acceptance in the community, or an estranged fashion sense. She loved walking along the nearby pier beneath the golden night sky; she adored the taste of freshly ripened strawberries dipped in a rich marricom sauce. These were the things she shared with me. things that made me whole at that age. Experiences that would mold my mind into something different than what is expected of me.

Things a programed robot could never understand. I would have stayed here my whole life with her if...
Suddenly my concentration is broken as the hurried sound of foot falls echoing down the metallic corridor.
"Please forgive me for interrupting miss Hexnia, but we have established orbit around our destination." Broema, states in his usual deep, low, and very masculine tone.
Broema, has been my bodyguard since I took this promotion almost fifty years ago. He is all business like all brutes. A race that is derived from a bear like creature.
When I first met him some of my coworkers warned me that his people are all simple minded. They were thought to be all muscle wrapped up in a primitive intellect. Apparently those close minded whores never experienced brutes culture. Personally I have become a fan of their music. Their percussion style is defiantly... sensually stimulating.
Finishing my thoughts, I close my briefcase and painfully remove my glasses from my weary eyes. As I stand and stretch I gage my surroundings. The cream colored walls of my chosen prison almost seem to shift into place as my ship adjusts to the gravitational pull of the planet. A symptom I have become accustomed to.
Most people in my position experience what is called transitional sickness. They loose consciousness, become physically ill, or simply feel light headed because of the change in atmosphere from planet to planet.
Now prepared I straighten my blouse and check my appearance one more time before exiting my cabin. There right outside of the door stands broema to my immediate left. His posture perfect, hands clasped before him, and eyes locked down on me. it is a well known truth I have dealt with many varieties of beings much larger than myself. But, standing at six foot eight inches this man is still enormous. At his full height he towers at fourteen feet and weighs in a good six hundred pounds plus. His shoulders are broad and wide, hands masculine and strong, and for such an intimidating hulk he has the most piercing sea green eyes.
Still with all of his mirth and intimidation he possess a heart of gold. Before we left home office he went to visit his personal taylor. Broema, said he needed to purchase a few new suits for this excursions. He returned with five garment bags full. Three casual, and two dress suits just incase there happened to be any dignitaries visiting during our tour.


They are all beyond gorgeous but the one he is wearing today is a true compliment to his being. It is a three piece ensemble cut very neatly but not too showy. His vest is the standard six button variety that is the old fashioned rave, the slacks are modern stiff straight cut creased just so for a slimming effect , and the jacket is also of the modern variety but cut in a fashion that gives a tip of the hat to his founding culture. A double wide lapel with a high set rounded collar broken into small pinstriped sections. To wrap up the fashion statement he chose the color nebula blue which is deep and heart swooningly powerful. The color was an excellent choice because it compliments his smokey grey hair that covers him from head to toe. Oh, and I can not forget the mid back length pony tail tightly bound with a sterling silver clasp to make him the ultimate lady killer.
Broema, merely gives me a closed mouth smile as I visually inspect him.
"This is the finest work your taylor has done yet. Perhaps you should give him a raise?", I state returning his smile with a generous one of my own.
"Well, I chose this suit in particular in honor of you miss. This is, your birth planet. I want everyone to know the respect you have earned."

"Thank you very much broema. But I was lost before you and that is why I will not do without your friendship now that I have it. And, if you keep the compliments coming then I will assure you another 100,000 credits a week." I respond as I begin down the hall.
"Miss, I am honored but I can not accept payment for something which I give willingly. Besides; the 400,000 I receive keeps me comfortable."
"Personally, broema, there is no amount of earnings that can describe your worth. You are a prime example of what every being should strive to be."
"As are you miss. As are you."
With that nothing else is said as we reach the transport booth. We load in and we are joined by a few other ship hands; apparently going to the bridge as well. They say nothing as we stand quietly in the rears occasional snickering as we catch one of the young boys looking up to my companion.
After fifteen minutes or so we reach our destination. The doors swing open and the youths rush frantically to their stations. Exiting the booth I look to the pilots seat for the captain. Unfortunately there is an unknown face manning the chair.

That is odd. The captain made it clear that he would be the only pilot unless certain situations arise. The fact that he is not there raises a question in my mind.
Noticing me scanning the bridge broema, gently taps my shoulder and points to the communications center. There he is; captain ran. A hardened veteran of the defense corp from earth. He is a tall slender male with a well toned frame. His hazel eyes are always cold, but his body language gives away his emotional state. Right now it is obvious that he is extremely bothered by something at this center.
Broema and I approach cautiously as not to get in the way of crew members rushing back and forth performing their duties.
"Captain? What is our status?"
"Puzzled young lady. Puzzled.", he states as he leans in closer to the screen. "Apparently there is no planetary communications spread. Not from the new platform or any of the other colony's. All we receive is white noise. As a matter of fact the only thing we can pick up is this weird energy spike in the center of mother. It is centered in their main city."

"So, are the properties that make this energy spike unique?"

"You see here," he points out slowly tracing the screen. "These bars here represent the energy read outs. Nothing special, just the standard s.c.i. system. If the spike were artificially made in any way the reading would come out here but the bar is blank. If it were natural it would show here but once again the bar is blank. But it does register on the dimensional scale. However, the readings are not normal."
"What do you mean captain? I am not fully versed on this system of operations."
"Well, the color to begin with. The bar has turned a greenish color. We have tested systems, ran diagnostics, and various other possibilities. The machinery is reading right. The only explanation we have is a theory my communications officer came up with."
"And that is?", I ask growing more impatient.
"The color of the dimensional bar is blue under normal operating parameters. That is the signature color for anything from this dimension. If there is something outside of our dimension it shows up as yellow on the screen. Theoretically, this represents an interdimensional doorway to an unknown dimension outside of our time and space. But if that were the case the instruments should still be able to differentiate."
"Perhaps captain? But if..."
"What is it miss?"
"Broema, do you remember the workshop I attended a few rotations ago?"
"Yes. Yes I do.", my friend responds instantly enlightened.
"Would the two of you like to fill me in? I am only responsible for every life aboard this ship. Corp or not." captain ran asks now disgruntled.
I place my hand on the console and begin to study the reading slightly closer before I respond.
"There is a scientist who has a theory about interdimensional convergence. He is currently attempting to create a device that can register such an event. He believes that it happens so often, and so virtual unnoticeable, that people all over the known galaxies have written it off as natural disasters. So in theory we could be witnessing a second dimension attempting to merge with our own. If that is the case life on this planet could become extinct. If the mergence is unsuccessful or unstable; then there exists the possibility of complete devastation of everything we know. The end of all time and being. The end of existence."
"The apocalypse? Well fuck a duck with a truck." the captain says sarcastically.
He then turns to lock eyes with me as he strains to hide the shudder running through his body. "So, what are our orders?"
"We will continue as if all is normal for now. We do not have enough information to start a panic. Not yet. My team and I will go planet side and investigate the platform. I have a feeling that both situations are connected. Captain ran, discover whatever information you are able to from here. Pull the ship away and take a high distant orbit. We will attempt to coordinate within six hour of arrival. If at any time you feel that this spike is becoming a hazard; treat it as if you have encountered a hostile."
"Understood. Captain ran to shuttle bay. Prepare for departure."
"Ay sir. Shuttle bay over and out."
With that broema and I turn and head back for the transport booth. As we enter I notice the captains' gaze still locked to me. I am sure that he wants to tell me to scrap the mission and report to main office but he says nothing.
"And captain, if we discover the situation is as dyer as it seems; please prove our little theory wrong?" the doors slide gently closed and the booth jerks to the left.
Now we are on our way to shuttle dock four. There the team will load up on our shuttle and we will be on our way to an unclear colonial distress.
"Ms. hexnia, there is an old legend among my people. The brutes tell of the end of life. All life. The forecoming of the wicked ones. The ones without faith. The description could be scientifically translated into a situation such as this one.", my friend says with a hint of worry to his tone.
"Broema, if what you suggest is correct then I need you by my side more than ever. And please do keep this information between us. I do not wish our resident experts finding unwarranted conclusions when there is no need for them."
Broema silently nods and becomes a stone totem of protection as we continue our trek into the unknown. The booth doors open once again and the pilot walks us to the shuttle. The rest of the group is already strapped in and prepared for departure. A series of friendly smiles are given but no words exchanged. That is to be expected. After all this is the first time we have all worked together.
"This is shuttle ravager to docking control.", the pilot radios nervously.
"Docking control here. Go ahead ravager!"
"All systems are go. Permission to depart?"
"All lights are green. Good luck and a safe return ravager!"
"Roger that. Ravager over and out."
As usual the take off is soft and smooth. As a matter of fact with all of the new upgrades you hardly realize that you are moving. My seat is centered behind the pilot and copilots chairs as I requested. From this view point I can see what I need to see. The stars and the atmosphere of space. A sight that most beings take for granted.
Religiously space itself is considered to be the mother, the lifebringer. She bares the bourdon of caring for all of her children with grace and selfless leisure. This is the belief of many cultures throughout the four star systems with the exception of the growing number of techno worlds. Personal I do not have a faith nor am I a female of science. I do believe in technology; only because it is tangible. If I can not feel, negotiate, or destroy it then I find the situation does not fit my personal parameters. Oh well, so goes life.
Here we are sliding into the atmosphere of Jm-1. Watching as the fire storms bounce from the hull with their full and rich red variations of color is almost soothing. For the first time since I have taken this job a strange thought occurs to me.
Entering the atmosphere of a planet is a very sexual act. You begin fast and at the point of penetration you slow down inch by inch as the very walls of the planet contract and release ;allowing the foreign object to settle deep within the moist stratosphere. Hmm?
The reaction of my new pilot is very calm and serene considering. Our small ship feels as if it is constructed of paper instead of metal and diamond, as we ricochet around the atmosphere. It takes a sure hand and tricky maneuvering, not to mention uncanny navigational skills, to make it through the natural disturbances. But, this youth of a pilot is handling himself amazingly well.
Before long we find ourselves in the lower atmosphere leveling out. The sky is now calm and normal. To my surprise we are only one hundred miles off course. Most records show that even experienced pilots average a thousand to three thousand miles difference entering the atmosphere of Jm-1. A few minutes at high speed and we will be where we intend to be. At the landing platform. Now that my observation of this boys' skill is over I can turn my attention to the rest of the crew; and examine their reactions.
Hyruss klax, the cybortech from terron. His mousey pale skin does not bode well for him. He appears uneasy when out of his environment. Hopefully that will change.