Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Fiction
vr 3.00
2008-02-16
"Exodus" by Abraxas | 2005-05-12
Chapter One
Deep in the cold, starry void of space, a ragtag fleet of ships was set to begin a grim and lonely voyage to the unknown. Among the many travelers, the few who languished about the caravan’s flagship gathered within its bridge to stare at the image of a once beautiful planet now altered and transformed into a hellish orb of molten earth and fouled air that throbbed to the rhythm of a march of death. The six Thundercats -- Jagga, Panthro, Cheetara, Tygra, WileyKat and WileyKit -- were transfixed to the monitors, the view screens, sensors and readouts. Some gazed on in stoic dispassion; some could not fight back the tears.
Tygra stood off of his chair, his eyes blood-red slits, his voice low and gruff. “Liono ought to be here,” he announced to the others in the flight deck whose backs were to him.
“No, don’t show him this,” replied Cheetara -- the closest figure to the tiger -- she turned and held his arm, his hand. “Why upset the boy so needlessly?”
“I agree with Tygra.” Jagga’s voice interrupted the scene. The old one remained up front with his back to them all as he continued: “If the cub is to rule, then he must learn to face the good and the evil that exists in the world.”
Cheetara lowered her head in reverence -- Tygra, too, looked away -- “Jagga is right, always. I will bring the cub,” she said.
The tiger raised the cheetah’s head slightly with his finger under her chin and stroked the spotted mane gently with the front of the striped hand. She smiled weakly at his long, solemn face and then walked out of the bridge into the hallway.
Across the room a shrill voice mocked: “Jagga is right, Jagga is right!” It was WileyKat strutting about his sister. “Jagga is always right!”
“No, that’s not true,” Panthro’s voice boomed as he grabbed the hybrid cat by the scruff of the neck. Jagga arched his head to the side, his face framed by darkness, his eyes pointed dagger-like at the mighty blue panther who only then noticed. “If he was always right,” he teased the boy who he dangled in mid-air within his well-muscled arms, “he would’ve left a troublemaker like you behind!”
“Ha ha, Panthro’s right, Panthro’s right!” WileyKit laughed as she pointed at her brother.
Amid the shadows cast by the monitor, the ancient jaguar turned his face away from the others to the staggering, swirling mass of clouds and lava that had been their eternal home only days ago. But their world was dying and no power in the universe -- not even the Sword of Omens -- could save it. Indeed, the wise one rummaged, would the sword’s power continue or would its eye shatter its strength ebb into oblivion along with Thundera? Just where or how did its mystical aura originate?
* * * * * * * * * *
In the bowels of the flagship were the chambers where the Thundercats lived and slept. The rooms were fitted with metal bunks -- the light beds were covered with thick blankets. Few other amenities were provided, as there had not been enough time given to contemplate the need for such non-essential luxuries both because of the Spartan nature inherent to space travel and because of the sudden and poorly planned evacuation.
A door slid open and a slant of light broke into the sleeping quarters.
Cheetara entered -- she slid her hand over a sensor next to the doorway and at once a soft, yellow glow light illuminated the scene. She squinted and searched with her eyes left to right until she spotted Liono’s form beneath crumpled sheets.
She approached the bedside and stooped down to a level just above the boy’s face. The cub slept fitfully, tossing and turning, mumbling words incoherently. Every so often a ‘no’ or a ‘help’ passed his quivering lips clearly and forcefully. She leaned into face and broke the torture of his mind with a kiss.
“Snarf!” he shouted, gasping and panting. He sat straight up on the bed awake and yet trapped in a dream that was not a dream. “Snarf, it’s the Mutants!”
“Oh, Liono,” she grasped him in her arms and cradled his head on her shoulder. “It was a dream, just a dream,” she whispered into his ear.
“Cheetara, what happened?” he asked.
The cheetah released her tight hold. “I’m sorry, I have to wake you.” She kissed his forehead again. “Jagga wants you to come to the bridge.”
“The bridge?” The young lion’s eyes widened and his stare focused in on a distant corner of the bedroom where only shadows and darkness populated the emptiness. For a moment the boy was silent and still -- then he shook his head and said: “Snarf says I can’t. He says I’m a growing boy and I need my sleep.”
Cheetara sighed and for a moment looked back to scan the recess of the chamber. “Why don’t you tell Snarf you’ll have plenty of time to sleep once we get started on our journey?”
“I don’t have to tell him, he heard you,” the cub replied. “He says that’s easy for you to say, you’re not responsible for his -- my -- welfare.”
The cheetah’s eyes widened.
“Come,” she took his hand into her own and helped him out of the bed. “We shouldn’t keep Wise One waiting.”
“But Snarf says --”
“Shhh!” she hushed the boy’s protest -- the two then were well outside the sleeping chamber inside the winding passage. “Now, Liono,” she said almost stopping just to look at him, “remember to keep this Snarf between us, OK?”
“Someday, someone will believe me,” he sighed, frowning.
She stopped, kneeling: “Just promise me you won’t ever mention your little friend to anyone, OK?”
“OK.”
Cheetara hugged him again -- how harder than before -- it’s for your own good, she thought.
* * * * * * * * * *
In the spaceship’s somber flight deck, Jagga greeted Liono’s arrival with a hand held out for the boy to take.
“What’s going on?” the cub asked with a still-sleepy yawn.
The old one turned to the main view screen -- the young lion took note and peered up at the image. At once the twisted shape of Thundera groaned its last gasp. A fiery explosion, a shockwave of molten rock and plasmatic gas, engulfed the fleet and rocked the flagship.
“Get down!” Liono heard a high-pitched squeaky voice yell and with that the boy dropped to the floor just as the dreadnought lagged and the monitors drowned the bridge in a flood of bright white light.
The howl of the planet’s death rattled the craft and its passengers. The sharp, sliver of terror waned with but the passing of a few moments that seemed endless to the jostled Thundercats. And when at last the visage of that climactic disaster vanished out of sight, the whole vessel fell silent if not for the echoed drone of generators, plunged into darkness if not for the reflected light of stars shimmering through the view screens.
Jagga was the first to come to his senses. He found Liono shivering naked amid the cold, harsh air. The rest were already on their feet busying themselves to and fro checking the fleet and the ship, tending to whatever damage the planetary nova caused.
“What was that, Jagga?” the boy asked.
“That,” the ancient jaguar began, “that was Thundera. That was our old home, Liono.”
The young lion looked up again -- to a view that once held a planet but that now showed a featureless sprawl of onyx nothingness intermingling with textureless glowing embers.
“Yes, Liono, Thundera is gone,” he helped the lion up and stroked the youth’s sparse, red mane while all around them the other, adult Thundercats scrambled about with their radios, their checklists. “But it’s not all gone, as long as the Code lives within us. From this day forth, your sacred duty is to rule according to that law in our new home.”
“Rule? But -- I’m afraid, I --” Liono stammered, rubbing away a tear.
“Don’t be afraid -- what, do you think I fear? Hmmm? Listen to me, cub, nothing about this universe is forever, not this --” he pinched his arm, “not this --” he pointed around at the ruckus that surrounded them. He smiled, grasping the boy’s shoulders. “Justice, truth, honor, loyalty, those are the things that are truly immortal -- what then is there to fear? No matter where you go, no matter what you find, remember, no friend is insubstantial, no enemy is invincible and no earthly power is greater than the Code of Thundera.”
“I’ll try --”
“I know you’ll try --”
Jagga sighed and thought for a moment -- it was a great responsibility especially for someone so young. But Liono, like the other Lords before him, would have the nobles -- the Thundercats -- to teach him the skills to rule wisely. “Now, my very young Lord, I need to show you something -- something that’s one of the most important parts of our heritage.”
* * * * * * * * * *
A long, narrow corridor, whose walls of pipes and bulkheads echoed the footsteps of the pair’s advance, led the two into a mysterious, silent chamber. High above its shiny, metal floor was its ceiling of ornate, circular glass. Sturdy grids of bolted steel beams reinforced the clear, glossy planes. The walls were a dull, gray shale with recessed spans of slate rectangles. A platform at the center of the room was illuminated by an eerie, electric slant of blue light that seemed to have no definite source.
Jagga and Liono entered through the open doorway that shut behind them. The boy turned back and saw that the panels were adorned by a familiar red-and-black insignia identical with the insignia the old one worse upon his uniform, over his chest, only much, much larger. The cub’s attention was quietly directed back onto that central, raised dais and its elaborate, abstract stand. And he was taken to that very spot -- and as he got closer and closer his eyes filled with a nervous wonder.
“This is the Sword of Omens,” Jagga explained as he eased the mystical weapon off of the stand. “It holds the source of the Thundercats’ powers, the Eye of Thundera.”
Liono’s hands were inexplicably drawn toward the hilt and the ancient jaguar obliged. As soon as the weapon was in his feeble grip its blade throbbed and lengthened growing one, two, three times its original size and filling the room with even more of that azure light. Its crossbar curled. Its eye opened ever so slightly.
“It’s alive, Jagga!” Liono stammered. The weapon quivered in his thin fingers, its blade angled downward both by its great weight and the young lion’s weak strength. He dropped it -- its tip struck the floor, its chime rang loudly through his ears.
The wise one raised an eyebrow and for the space of a few, wordless moments he studied the boy with a mixed sense of fear and wonder. He had heard the very remark once before but he had never -- no, he shrugged it off. “Yes,” he said at last as he soothed the cub, “but do not be afraid.” He picked up the sword and helped Liono hold it steady. “The Eye of Thundera,” he said, pointing to the onyx gemstone, to the convex dist embedded within the hilt. “It sleeps now. Yes, it sleeps until it’s needed. And those,” he added, lifting the curls at the ends of the crossbar up to the young lion’s face letting him see through the holes that they formed, “are slits that when you look through them will give you sight beyond sight. They will show you dangers that lay in wait, even before you face them.”
Liono examined the ornate workmanship of the divine blacksmith. “How do you wake the eye?” he asked.
Again the old one paused. “You do not wake the eye, it knows when it is needed,” he said.
To his shock and amusement, the young Lord of the Thundercats saw the dark lids of the ethereal gem part ever so slightly.
Lights flashed red -- the howl of alarms shattered the veneer of tranquility within the flagship. Impacts shook the vessel so suddenly, so unexpectedly it listed and careened onto its side. At once gyrostabilizers whirled in a vain attempt to level the craft. Through that unclear and uncertain situation the ship moved, dodged, evaded with tumultuous, erratic maneuvers that knocked Liono and Jagga off of their feet and scattered the stand and the Sword of Omens across the floor.
“Stay in the sword chamber, Liono!” the old one ordered as he rushed toward the doorway.
“No,” the young lion protested, “if there’s anything I can do to help --”
“Do not argue, boy!” Jagga turned to Liono -- face stone-cold -- as the door panels slid shut before him.
Go to the sword.
Still on the floor, the boy scanned the room from one side to another.
“I know it’s you, but I can’t see you.”
I’m hiding in the dark, I’m watching you.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He sat still and silent and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I’m just so scared --”
I know. I understand.
“I don’t want to be alone, Snarf,” the cub sobbed.
You will not be alone.
Liono felt a warm tenderness grip his shoulders and though the touch was a mere passing, fleeting instant in comforted and reassured him far beyond the power of Jagga’s words or the hold of Cheetara’s arms. He stood -- the Sword of Omens lay askew between his legs not much more than a short dagger. He looked up at the windows of the vault of that otherworldly room just in time to see the images of strange, unfamiliar vessels race past view. He looked down at the mystical weapon as a low, muffled growl erupted out of its glowing eye now fully unsheathed.
That’s it, that’s it, cub, pick it up --
* * * * * * * * * *
“We’re being attacked!” Panthro shouted into a radio. “Take evasive action! Take evasive action!”
“Who’s it? Who’s it, Panthro?” Jagga shouted as he struggled through the long, cramped passages into flight deck. “Who’s responsible for this vile act of cowardice?” the old one asked while Tygra and Cheetara arrived.
“It’s the Mutants!” the cheetah said almost dispassionately at the main view screen.
Three massive flagships emerged out of the cloudy blackness of the void into the tight formation of the Thunderian fleet. Tiny, well-shielded vessels of unmatched speed and mobility accompanied the titanic dreadnoughts -- the man-to-man fighters cut through the defensive barriers and pounded against the poorly prepared and ill-equipped caravan of would-be exiles.
“But -- but can it be?” Tygra rushed to seat himself at his post. “The battle ships carry the insignias of three Plunderian clans: the Reptilians, the Apes and the Scavenger Tribes.”
Jagga shook his head in cautious disbelief and in utter certainty. Yes, the Mutants from Plundarr had attacked. Yes, marauders had threatened to do so for years, for decades -- ever since the Thundercats last, successfully repelled them -- but they, those three clans in particular, those three weakest of all of the tribes, they had been at war among themselves for centuries.
“Only one explanation exists -- they allied their forces to attempt to seize the Sword of Omens.”
“That -- or maybe they think they might be able to retrieve the Sword of Plundarr,” the tiger added.
The ancient jaguar turned pale white, his eyes seemed to sink, his body almost collapsed at the realization -- and just as quickly, just as physically the wise one dismissed the feeling --
“It’s not logical, Tygra,” Jagga said, more to himself than to anyone else: “They must know -- they ought to know -- that relic was destroyed.”
“We’re losing ships!” Panthro cursed aloud.
“Tell the fleet to scramble to the pre-assigned coordinates!” the wise one shouted, resettled and reenergized by the gravity of the situation. “Tell the ships to get to Object Altaris!”
The panther relayed the message -- at once all of the non-military vessels were ordered away toward the new Thunderian home world.
“It is clear,” the jaguar said, “that the monsters came only for one ship -- ours.”
“Five armed vessels remain,” Cheetara announced. “They’ll try to fend off the Mutants but they won’t hold long against that kind of firepower.”
“May the gods who rule the heavens not leave me yet,” Jagga prayed to himself. “We hope for the best, Cheetara.”
The Thunderian nobility watched as the spacecraft that carried their fellow countrymen rocketed into the unknown thankfully -- as it were -- alone. It was true, what Jagga said was true, the Mutant Alliance only came for one vessel and they were very careful, cautiously careful that they did not fire upon it directly.
The five warships that remained with the flagship assumed defensive positions and organized counter attacks aimed at the larger, Plunderian battleships. The Mutant dreadnoughts, though fired-upon, did not return the attack blow per blow -- a measured tactic that proved the intent to keep the Thundercat flagship intact. It was the smaller, lighter craft doing the fighting throughout what would be the last, great encounter between two empires.
“We’re losing them, we’re losing them!” Tygra panicked, unused to failure of that caliber.
And --
“They’re gone,” Cheetara said. “They’re gone. We’re alone, Jagga.”
The monitors echoed that clear and emotionless report. Indeed, even the small, man-to-man fighters vanished. Only the three, large battleships remained and they -- their images -- grew steadily larger and more ominous.
“We make our last stand here,” Jagga the Wise said at last. “We’ve lost too many of our finest warriors to not die like Thundercats now.”
Parabolic dishes mounted below the Plunderian vessels shot electric beams against the hull of the Thunderian flagship. With those attractive force fields the Mutants moved their prized catch into the center of the circle formed by their trio of invading warships. Panthro blasted the retrorockets. Tygra fired the ionic cannons. But the attacking fleet was too strong and the frantic defensive maneuvers served only to deplete their reserves and overheat their hyperdrive.
The yellowy, wavy beams burnt holes along the outer surface of the Thundercat’s ship and, as soon as the breaches were complete, solidified into makeshift tunnels -- Mutants of all three tribes rushed through the passages and swarmed the spacecraft.
The Thundercats -- minus Jagga -- stormed out of the flight deck and entered the holding bay were already a mob of Plunderians was gathered. Panthro broke into the group headfirst and attacked the slimy, scantily clad reptiles with every chop, kick and punch he knew -- he grabbed one squirming lizard by the neck and tail and flung it into the crowd. A grunting baboon-ape and a salivating hyena laid ravenous eyes on Cheetara and sheepishly, almost arrogantly tried to lure the cheetah into a trap with blows from their wooden staffs. She dodged the two so fast that that she seemed to disappear before their eyes -- the pair stood confused for a moment then were smashed into each other by the swift one who reappeared behind them. Tygra roared in pain as the sharp sting of a whip seared and scared his skin even through his fur -- he grabbed the weighted ends of the leather instrument and twisted it off of his thigh. Enraged, he forced the weapon through the Mutant’s hands and used it, expertly, to beat back a gang of invaders. Even WileyKat and WileyKit added to the general mayhem with the aid of smoke pellets and firecrackers.
Yet it was only a diversion and Jagga knew it -- the true danger lay elsewhere. The old one was torn: he wanted to act yet knew he could not interfere. As barbaric as he knew it sounded, Nature must be free to take its course. It was the way he was taught by his ancient Lord and Master -- it was the only way the new generation ever learned -- after all, he would not always be there.
* * * * * * * * * *
Slythe the Reptilian, the leader of that unholy alliance, personally commanded a tiny band of followers through the winding passages and twisting corridors of the bowels of the flagship.
“We’re getting closer, yesss,” he hissed, forked tongue flapping out from between his dry, wart-covered lips. “I can taste it!” The cold-blooded monstrosity thundered into a partly open hatchway. It was exactly as the spies described it would be. “Look!” he exclaimed, pointing to the far end of the hallway, to a set of doors with the red-black Thundercat emblem. “It’s there and with any luck it’s unguarded!”
“It won’t open,” Jackalman said, pounding on the heavy iron frame of the panels.
“You fool!” The reptile grabbed a blaster and at close range melted a rent into the barrier wide enough for him to slither through. “Come on, come on, yesss!”
The gang piled into the mystical sword chamber -- the group formed a wide semicircle and inched toward the central platform. Closer and closer, out of the shadows into the light, their horrid, twisted -- mutated -- forms emerged through the darkness. Their eyes, eerie red in the ghastly ambiance, fell like daggers onto the object of their quest.
“Now, boy,” Slythe uttered as he motioned with his arm, his hands: “Give us the Sword of Omens.”
“You’ll never have it while I live,” Liono shouted in shaky confidence almost as if he were reading from a script, from prepared lines.
Slythe’s forked tongue whisked about the air and sent shivers of fear down the young lion’s spine.
“We won’t have to wait long,” Monkian hooted. “Revenge for the Sword of Plundarr!”
The rest of the Mutants growled the catch phrase of revenge, the vulgar motto of their ghastly union.
Slythe reached out for the blade of the mystical weapon that the boy-cub held firmly in smallish, shaky hands.
Now, as I taught you!
“Thunder!” Liono thrust the sword forward as he jumped back behind the fallen stand. “Thunder!” The hilt quivered, the blade lengthened and a smoky, blue light sparked through its metallic substance. The gathered mutants froze -- battled-scared veterans of the last war had told them stories about the Sword of Omens and its powers but they had dismissed the tales as simply myth-making. They only wanted to destroy the Thunderian artifact as their Plunderian icon had been destroyed by Jagga at the end of that failed campaign eons ago. “Thundercats, Ho!”
Attaining its full, emboldened length, the weapon burst forth an eruption of red lighting. And under its own volition, its natural, animalistic impulse it raised itself -- Liono’s hands in tow -- above the boy’s head. It whirled churning an aura of blinding incandescence that horrified the fleeing invaders.
“Snarf, help!” he cried. “What do I do next?”
“Back to the ship, back, back!” Slythe shouted in terror as he tried to run right through the crowd of Mutants. “It’s coming after me!” he wailed.
The Thundercats in the holding back could not believe their eyes when they saw the Slythe creature storm into the scene. His slimy scales were as white as ash, his frantic comrades fared no better and were madly dashing through the tunnels behind him. The leader got what he was looking for -- or so the mob of beaten Mutants thought -- and with that followed the frenzy back into their own ships.
“What was that all about?” a worn-out Tygra asked as he coiled the weighted whip about his hands.
“I don’t know,” Cheetara said, “but if they withdraw those beams while we’re still here, we’ll be sucked into space.”
“Hurry!” The light of danger dawned on the mighty panther. “To the flight deck!” He grabbed the Thunder Twins -- a kitten in each arm -- and bolted out of the warehouse. Tygra and Cheetara sprinted through the wide open doorway armed with a newfound vigor.
The power to the Mutant’s parabolic dishes were cut off and the hollow tubes that emanated from them vanished amid a sea of electric embers. But the holes that the infernal contraptions carved into the flagship’s hull remained and with the tentacles gone the cargo hold quickly depressurized. The air leak triggered an automatic mechanism and by sealing off the cargo bay the vast stow of goods and equipment became totally inaccessible to the Thundercats.
At the bridge the nobles regrouped and watched with exhausted satisfaction as the Plunderians retreated into the very darkness out of which they emerged. It seemed that they won a victory, howsoever small. It seemed, too, that they might yet be able to return to the caravan of migrating Thunderians but --
“Liono!” Jagga shouted as he remembered that he left the boy in the sword chamber alone. He rushed out of the control room -- the others gasped in haphazard realization and followed the old one through the ship’s depths. Worried, in the back of his mind he knew the Sword of Omens would not allow itself to be taken by the Mutants -- that evil empire of malformed miscreants -- and he knew, too, that it would protect Liono for the cub was destined by fate to rule the Thundercats and, in so doing, wield that very weapon hopefully as its master.
“Oh, it’s just you, Jagga,” Liono said, putting the weapon down. The mysterious blade shrunk to its normal length, the mystical eye slumbered again. Once more the room returned to its previous state -- an odd mixture of dark shadow and blue light. “I thought they were back.”
“Are you all right, boy? Did they hurt you?” the old one clasped the young lion’s shoulders, his hands cold, deadly cold.
“Yes, I guess so --”
“The Mutants tried to attack you?” asked Tygra -- he and Panthro stared at the melted panels of the fallen doorway.
“They wanted the sword, but, I held them off,” he explained, looking every so often at a spot in the room where there seemed to be nothing.
“You held them off with the Sword of Omen, all by yourself?” asked Panthro as the picture was becoming clearer and clearer.
“Well,” Liono was hesitant -- he fidgeted, focused, as Cheetara noticed, at that certain, distant corner of the chamber. “I guess it did it for me.”
Panthro folded his arms and grunted, a half-smile, half-frown painted across his lips.
Jagga stroked the cub’s mane and said: “You were very brave my very young Lord, weren’t you?”
END OF CHAPTER
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