Dawn of Forever, Part III

There was the quiet crunching noise of boot on snow as the figure crossed the ice plains. It was an interesting walk to any connoisseurs, at least given the terrain. It was unhindered by the cold and the snow, as if they were just unimportant background details rather than trying to suck the life from his body. It was a very rhythmic pace, the body having long ago laid down the tracks when it came to walking and didn't change a winning formula. And it also spoke of total confidence. In short, it said that of all the things in the immediate vicinity, the walker was the most important.

The crunch was suddenly deeper and louder, and despite himself the walker stopped in mid-step. Carefully the boot was lifted, revealing the frozen innards of a Vong bug. In the years since its death the snow had covered it over; no doubt the rest were covered as well, making this a very icky minefield. The boot was pulled out and the walk continued, because icky had been dealt with long ago as well. The difference now was the change in the sound of the walk, if not the actual rhythm, rather like a very avant-garde drummer. The figure finally stopped before an icy hill, but only for a moment. He began digging until the hull of the buried ship was revealed. After using the revealed marker to get the bearings, the figure moved further down and dug again, revealing the hatch, which was just as quickly pulled open. More snow and ice waited inside, although not quite as deep. Nevertheless, the figure swore under his breath and pushed inside.

The elements had been given free reign within the ship, but the Vong had ignored it in their haste to depart the planet. There was no attraction for them anyway, except as more technology to be destroyed, and the bugs had done a good enough job already. Kalib scowled; he may have been large and brutish-looking and as blunt as a lead pipe, but he was not uncivilized, and he'd taken to preserving relics on board his ship. Ice and snow had not been kind to them; most were just junk now. There was the Uyn flute, invented by a species with incredible hearing to create incredibly detailed three-dimensional maps; snapped in half and irreparable. There was his collection of weapons, corroded and broken. He'd broken many over the years, but always in the process of using them, and that just came with the territory. But like this... there was no reason. The water sculptures burst their containers, the pages of books were lumps of pulp, the archaic crystal displays of ancient instruments were shattered.

The ship echoed with a sound like two cinder blocks being ground together, but it was actually Kalib's fists tightening. The Vong had taken several years away from him, and that was crime enough. But at least he had an abundant supply of time that he could make up for it -preferably by shortening that of the Vong- but the damage here couldn't be undone. The last remnants of many a broken civilization had been preserved by Kalib, and now broken bits were all that were left of them. This wasn't the first time it'd happened, of course, but it never ceased to infuriate him. No one besides Kalib remembers the name of the last species who did this.

Still, there were some things more precious than objects, and they were located in a secure area of the ship. Kalib had taken great pains to ensure that cargo was safe; anything that could damage them was certain to mean that he had more pressing problems to deal with, because it'd probably kill him. That was where Kalib put his foot down. Death was something that happened to other people; often Kalib was willing to help. The room had been breached as well, but that wasn't any reason for concern. He reached a metallic box and, with several grunts of effort, managed to get it opened. Inside were what appeared to be polished rocks covered with irregular patterns of quarts, although what they actually were were high-density data storage blocks. The technology to make or read them had been lost for millennia, except for Kalib, who had done it so many times his hands sometimes twitched through the motions while he slept. Next to them was a smaller box, the size of a large suitcase. He set it on its side and opened it, then carefully filled it with the blocks. When it was filled he closed it and hit one of the six buttons, causing the box to make a sound like the hum of a power grid and a small earthquake. He stepped into the next room and opened the box again; there was no sign of the blocks now. He filled it with the surviving relics, closing it every now and then and choosing the next button until it was filled. Filling a multi-dimensional box took time. He tossed it through the entrance a good ways from the ship. One last thing to do...

Kalib was an information broker who preferred not to get involved in other people's problems, which was why he believed in being heavily armed. Desperate people don't like to hear the word "no." The missiles were set with very high-yield explosive that were harmless when disarmed. Completely harmless; you couldn't bank on long odds when you were looking at several hundred centuries of reliable use, because those odds always caught up with you. After half an hour of tinkering he readied the missile to explode, then calmly walked out of the ship for the last time. He picked up his box on the way out and was about halfway back before the missile blew, peppering the landscape with wreckage from the ship. His stride, as always, didn't miss a beat.

Han Solo and Kilana were both asleep when Kalib walked up the ramp into the Falcon. He dropped the multi-dimensional box, which hit like a concrete pylon, causing the two to jerk awake. Han's eyes narrowed as his slid his blaster back into his holster. "Finished?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kalib said, as if every day he destroyed a vessel that'd served as home for centuries. "I need a new ship. Nothing fancy, just something to do until I can get something more functional."

"We can take you where you need to go," Kilana said. She missed the look Han gave her at the presumption, but said nothing.

Kalib shook his head. "I've got things that need sorting, and some private stuff to deal with."

"We can help," Kilana said.

"Good, help me get a ship so I can go there myself," Kalib said.

"He doesn't trust us," Han explained as he headed towards the cockpit.

"That's right," Kalib said.

Kilana was a bit of an anomaly. The life working for the Orion Syndicate had left her incredibly naive in some aspects and horribly sly in others, so that dealing with her was sometimes like, well, trying to cross the snowfield without getting your ankles covered in bug intestines. He could see in her face that she couldn't really believe that he didn't trust her. She knew without a doubt that you couldn't trust people, because people would stab you in the back just as soon as look at you, but that didn't mean you couldn't trust people you knew you could trust, right? You could trust a good person.

Kalib knew he wasn't a good person; it was one of the things he liked about himself. He didn't involve himself in things as a rule, although he'd be sure to ply his information trade to those who could use it to do something right. But for Kalib, it was always best to let them deal with it. He never stepped in unless he believed that he had no choice, and even then it was sheer self-interest. The incident with Luke Skywalker here, which had no doubt seemed like charity, was a bit of forward thought. Kalib knew that, push going to shove, a Luke that had turned to the dark side could track down and kill him. He knew how to do it, and with Kalib not helping him find his kid, well, he probably would be on a list of targets. The only way to save his skin would be to either try to kill Luke first, which was about as attractive as cleaning his face in an ion engine, or helping him out, so the Jedi would owe him one and hopefully leave him alone. And getting carbon-frozen had left him with some pent up aggression that he'd directed at the Vong for some time, but even that had worn off. Solo was all right and despite herself the girl was likeable, but this wasn't how Kalib operated. He needed to get setup and settled back into his routine. He'd deal with the Vong, but in his own way, in his own time.

"We worked well together," Kilana said, although Kalib didn't see it that way.

"I work best alone," Kalib said. "Had a lot of practice with it." Kilana nodded wordlessly, her face an image of restrained emotion at the news, she sat down at the table as the Falcon lifted off. Kalib sighed. "Nice try, but I know you had lots of practice tugging heartstrings on Ferenginar to fall for that. Besides, I'm far too much of a bastard to be bothered."

"We need you," she said sharply.

"For what?" Kalib asked. "Muscle? Listen kid, I'm a dealer in information, it's what I've been doing since before the Founders thought of bringing your people down from the trees. For me to do what I do best, I need to get out there and do it. Alone."

Kilana nodded, more to herself than to Kalib. "'Where I'm going, you cannot follow,'" she quoted.

Kalib dropped into his specially-reinforced chair. He knew what she was talking about; being quick on the uptake was also part of being a good information broker. "You're still worried about Skywalker's kid? Forget it; he's got a nice cushy number with the Borg right now."

"But that isn't right!" she said in exasperation. "He's a Jedi-"

"And a Borg."

"He's a Jedi," Kilana insisted. "He can't stand by while the Vong threaten innocent people!"

"He isn't standing by," Kalib said. "Borg screwed things up for them real good. Reeeeal good. Probably the turning point, unless the Empire really screws things up."

"But the prophecy-"

"Ah, this ought to be good," Kalib said as he stretched out, chair squeaking in protest.

"He's supposed to deliver the Empire through its darkness!"

"And he did," Kalib said. "Empire would have been carved up by the Vong already if it hadn't been for the kid and his Borg buds."

"But not like this," Kilana said in exasperation. "It's not supposed to be like this."

Kalib shrugged. "Thing about prophecies is, they don't tell you nothing. You think you know, so instead of facing reality you deny it, insisting what you constructed for the future was the true reality. There's a word for people like that: crazy." Kilana just glowered at him, and he closed his eyes and let the deep sawing sound of his snore fill the room.

The warmth from the explosion of Kalib's ship has already been sucked away by the eternal winter of Halva, and the departure of the Millennium Falcon returns it to the lifeless category. But let the mind's eye drift away from this icy world. Another galaxy, another time, but another world nearly as devoid of life as this one. It has no name, save a dutiful note in a few catalogs throughout the galaxy, but a world with no need for concern among those who think in galactic terms.

This is the planet's surface; not bare rock, as is usually the case with such worlds. The soil is bare, exposing its rich blackness to the sky; not the dust that would be expected. On a world where agriculture was still new, this would be ground worth going to war over. But there's not a single trunk or stem or shoot rising from it from horizon to horizon. The wind blows, and the topsoil begins to dry and fly off with it. The erosion will run unchecked.

There, just on the cusp of vision, a spore tumbles upon the breeze. The wind picks up and its white fluff flaps in response, slipping higher into the air. Following it, the scene seems almost not to be moving as mile gives way to mile of empty fields. The only sign the scene has changed is the appearance of a rocky outcropping, or a small, quiet lake. Then a mountain comes into view, directly in the path of the floating spore. But as it approaches, the surface becomes more distinct and the astonishing truth is revealed: this is no mountain. That is, it's not what would normally be considered a mountain; no tectonic force raised it, no flowing magma shaped it. There was no rock or dirt in its makeup, although clay might be given a symbolic nod from a certain religious perspective. This was because the mountain was alive. Aside of that small detail, it was certainly everything else you might expect from a mountain. It was half a kilometer tall and sprawled under its bulk across the bare soil. It didn't move, not until the spore struck its surface, and even then it was barely a movement. A tendril the size of a hair wrapped around the spore and pulled it inside the pink and gray mass.

Nothing that size should be alive, the mind insists. The weight of its own body would surely crush it. But all the same, it was there, sharing the world with the bacteria and a few other creatures more fortunate than the spore. It made no other sign of movement, and showed nothing to indicate any kind of intelligence. But still, surrounding it seemed to be an aura of malevolence, and soon fear overpowers curiosity and the thing is left behind.

More barren land passes, the rich dirt giving way to sandier soil, but still nothing. Soon, another shape appears on the horizon... another shape like a mountain, but not a mountain. A change in direction, and the soil gives way to white sand, and then ocean water. It's a clear blue that allows a view straight to the sea bottom. There are no fish, no signs of life.

And then, the largest, ugliest lily pad in the universe comes into view, floating atop the salt water of the ocean. It's dozens of kilometers in diameter, but flat, the same grey-pink mix of the mountains. And a few hundred kilometers away floats another, and another. And when the mind rushes away from the world in sheer horror, the ocean is shown to be dotted by the sickening shapes.

Before the mind can process the scene fully, a ship slides into view, followed by others... hundreds. They drop over the world and invisible forces grasp at the monstrous things and pull them into orbit. As they leave the surface and the high gravity they finally begin to move. The atmosphere is thin, but the sound is like the snapping of tree trunks and the grinding of bones. The organisms gradually form into a sphere; not long after, ice begins to form over their surfaces. The fleet pulls its grisly cargo away from the planet and disappears at superluminal speed. Behind hangs the world with no name, and virtually no life. No one would ever know of it, except as an abstract concept, but it had been the first. Sadly, this means that there will be more.

Go To Part IV
Back to Dawn of Forever