Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Fiction
vr 3.00
2008-02-16
"Exodus" by Abraxas | 2005-05-12
Chapter Two
At the bridge, WileyKat and WileyKit sat beneath a monitor and whispered boastful tales to each other. A young and well-fed Liono slept sitting on Cheetara’s lap. Jagga waited patiently next to the cheetah -- the stroked the boy’s red mane as if to say with silent lips that it would be well but his face, long, his eyes, distant, betrayed other solemn thoughts.
Tygra and Panthro rushed into the control room; the two tried to hide with speedy efficiency their collective worry and concern. The panther was still out of breath after his heroics with the ravenous Mutants. Tight windings of bleeding bandages covered the whip-scars along the tiger’s leg.
“What’s the report?” the old one asked as looked up at the working pair. “Can we make it to Object Altaris?”
Tygra shook his head and spoke grimly: “We’re able to repair the subluminal engines.” He looked at the panther.
“But it’s the superluminal engines.” Panthro lowered his eyes from the tiger to the floor. “The hyperdrive overheated and its most vital parts -- evaporated.”
“Evaporated?” The ancient jaguar stood abruptly -- inadvertently waking Liono and alerting the kittens. “But how could that have happened?”
“We think we know,” the striped-cat answered weakly. “When we struggled to free ourselves from the Mutant warships, we gunned the engines and fired the retrorockets. And at the same time the ionic cannons were fired at full-blast. The combination overloaded the engines and the aftereffects just cascaded down through the entire system.”
“In any case,” the blue-gray feline added, “we can’t repair that kind of damage.”
“What’s going to happen?” Liono asked. “We’re not going to --”
Stay calm, Liono, they won’t let anything happen if they can help it.
Jagga petted the lion’s mane and sighed -- he helped him down off of Cheetara’s lap. “Come,” he motioned the adults over to the console. “Without the hyperdrive we can’t rejoin the other exiles of Thundera, we cannot even hope to make it to Object Altaris,” he explained. At the keyboard he entered a series of commands and a starch art was displayed on the main view screen.
“Can we stay out in space, forever?” the boy asked.
“No,” Panthro answered. “If we can’t reach our new home -- at least not by ourselves without help -- maybe we can find another planet.”
“A temporary home,” Cheetara said, getting the general idea. She inputted data into the computer. “I’ll start the scan.”
Tygra added: “We ought to signal the fleet, tell them what’s happened and where we’re going. That way they’ll know where to come find us and rescue us.”
“Yes!” the cub shouted with glee. Snarf was right, he thought, it’ll turn out just fine.
“Make it so, Tygra -- wait -- what’s the time frame?”
The tiger paused and processed a few, quick calculations in his head. “Object Altaris is five light years away. With the hyperdrive that would have been a twenty-day journey. But if we send a communication, it can only travel at the speed of light so it’ll take five years to reach the fleet.”
“So we’ll have to struggle by ourselves for five years?” the panther wondered aloud. The Thunder Kittens and Liono huddled close to the adults, frightened and intrigued. “We don’t have the supplies for such a long wait, before or after the cargo bay became inaccessible.”
“I’ve found ten local planets with atmospheric compatibility,” Cheetara announced.
Jagga sensed that Liono was puzzled: “That means we can breathe the air.” The young lion nodded. “How many are close to our new home?”
The cheetah refined the search parameters -- bits of broken data flashed in her eyes, on her face. “Seven.”
“It’ll have to be isolated,” Panthro said, “we don’t want to take any chances with Liono. Isolated and unpopulated.”
“Four.”
“Let me see,” Tygra swiveled a chair next to Cheetara. “How about Third Earth?”
“Third Earth?” The wise one shut his eyes as if trying to recall a long, faded memory. The children tugged at his hands. “That name is familiar,” he replied.
“Oceans, deserts; forests and jungles,” the red and black tiger muttered as he slid his finger across the lines of the readout. “The terrain hasn’t been touched in millions of years -- in case we need to hide, it could be advantageous.”
“I agree with Tygra,” Panthro said as he himself examined the display. “Third planet out of its sun, I wonder if that’s why it was given that name?”
“Hatchiman, I recall, came from an earth,” Jagga noted -- but the name seemed to pass anyone’s attention. “Whatever its name, that planet is almost three light years away.”
The striped-cat leaned back. “If we go, we reach Third Earth after three years. After another two years our signals arrive at Object Altaris. That leaves us with two years to wait -- and survive -- now, the planet resides in what appears to be a no-man’s land and that, too, can be advantageous.”
The old one paused to look at the young lion. Little Liono. He knew the boy would have to grow up fast in that short course of time. “Third Earth it is, then,” he said at last, “let’s get everything ready.”
* * * * * * * * * *
In the conference room of the Reptilian Battleship, Slythe paced impatiently around a large, oblong table. Cluttered about the desktop were cutup photographs of Cat’s Lair, blueprints of various Thunderian vessels and dossiers of the top noble families. Little to no information had been gathered about the Sword of Omens, however, despite the best efforts of his spies. The secrets of that weapon and its mystic Eye of Thundera were well-guarded almost to the point of paranoid hysteria.
A buzzer rang and a soft, red light blinked on the console next to the pile of littered items.
“Yesss?” the ash-white lizard asked -- his scales had not yet retained their natural color if, indeed, they ever would. Vultureman said they would. But --
A squawking avian voice answered: “The three are ready.”
“Send them in.” The reptilian retreated into the shadows -- only one light was on within and it shone directly above the table.
The vulture-man opened the door to let the three individuals enter into the stately, secret chamber.
Slythe whipped the air with his tongue. “You three are my best and most-trusted agents,” he said. “You have done your jobs well, yesss. But your mission is not done yet.” The Thunderian spies -- rather, spies that appeared to the naked eye to be Thunderians -- nodded obediently, humbly. They were, in fact, a prized commodity -- perhaps the most expensive items aboard the Mutant Alliance -- for they were among only a handful of Feline Mutants still loyal to the fractious Plunderian Empire.
“Will you send us to Object Altaris?” the old, blinded lynx-like creature asked.
“No,” Slythe said, tersely. “There’s been a change of plans, a, fortunate change of plans. We’ve damaged the Thundercat’s flagship and now they can’t reach their fleet. Just a few hours ago Vultureman intercepted a signal they sent out to their countrymen -- they are headed to a planet called ‘Third Earth’ to await rescue.”
“Third Earth?” the striped, tiger-like Mutant asked, a bit taken aback. “Rowl, that planet’s been forbidden territory for millennia.”
“Forbidden, in what way, Bengali?” the cold-blooded reptilian inquired -- always eager for new knowledge, new facts.
“Our tribal elders warn us that powers evil beyond imagination reside within that planet’s dark heart,” Pumyra answered.
The reptile laughed.
“I’ve had enough myth and superstition today. Yesss. No, this is the new plan. We will send you to Third Earth in a small, Berbil spaceship.” He threw a rolled-up map at the foot of the female Mutant spy. She took it and unfurled the document. “I have marked a pair of locations: one where you’re to set up base, one where the Thundercats are set to land. But the flagship must not be allowed to land, it must crash,” he beat his fists loudly, “it must not be allowed to land safely,” he instructed. “Vultureman will give you the tools to arrange it.”
“As you wish, Slythe,” the lynx Mutant bowed.
“We will be right behind you,” the reptilian continued. “We cannot be on Third Earth with you or it will ruin the surprise, yesss. I will lead a group of elite Mutant warriors onto the surface and take care of the Thundercats -- whatever Thundercats survive -- and the sword and the eye will be ours.” The lizard angled his leathery head toward Vultureman as he himself lurched forward, toward the spied. “There’s one more thing, a plan ‘b’ of sorts, yesss?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Jagga led the Thundercats into a hidden doorway that opened into an obscure chamber just beyond the sleeping quarters. No one had been allowed to view the room, indeed, no one had been told it even existed -- and he hoped he would have never had to use it. The lights turned on and the walls moved back to reveal alcoves and shelves stocked with items that only the old was familiar with: objects from another time, from another world.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of this chamber earlier,” the ancient jaguar said, “but before there wasn’t the time and until now there wasn’t the need.”
He approached a closet-shaped alcove and removed a blue cape and gray helmet. He turned to the others and explained: “As long as we lived in peace on Thundera we did not bother with protective clothing and weaponry. But we do not know what awaits us on Third Earth so we have little choice but to prepare.”
Clothes were legacies from the farthest reaches of unrecorded history -- throwbacks -- which brewed a general prejudice among the Thunderian nobility that garments were of ungodly, Mutant origin and therefore ought to be avoided whenever possible.
“Each of you chooses a uniform.” One by one he walked past the alcoves. “Panthro, Tygra, Cheetara, the Thunder Kittens and Liono.” He pointed to shelves and said: “And take the weapon you are most comfortable using.”
The wise one sunk into a corner to let the other Thundercats alone -- there he fixed the cape around his nick with his insignia.
After a few moments the adults and youngsters were making excellent progress with their new-found uniforms. Panthro thought the metal prongs of his leather harness well suited his gruff personality, but he was not impressed by the knumbchucks available in the makeshift armory. Tygra, the ever-pragmatic scientist, did not care for such things as uniforms so he took the first set of clothes that fit his body without care as to style or comfort. However, he was partial to the whip he had taken from the Mutant invader and did not reach for another weapon. Cheetara seemed to have trouble with the one and only adult female costume.
“What are you waiting for?” Jagga asked, softly, sympathetically. “I know it’s uncomfortable,” he said, “but in time you’ll be surprised you’ll get used to the feeling.”
“It’s not that, Jagga,” she said, tugging the asymmetric outfit about her legs. “It’ll make feeding Liono difficult -- it’ll compromise my speed.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But it will keep you safe from the elements. You cannot outrun the cold of winter, the rain of summer.”
“I,” she sighed, “I guess you’re right, Jagga.”
“Jagga is right, Jagga is right,” WileyKat and WileyKit pranced about the room, repeating in that shrill tone their mocking incantation. The kittens, it seemed, took to their clothes as if the garments were new toys.
“Children!” The old one clapped his hands. “Behave yourselves!” He watched the two stop and sulk. “Go help Liono,” he ordered them.
Cheetara slipped into her full-body uniform with a little help from Tygra to get at the back zipper. The tiger needed such help from the cheetah and was more than happy to return the favor. Out of the bins where the weapons were loosely stored, her curiosity was taken by a small, stick-like rod. It fit neatly into her hand and under her sleeve, so neatly, in fact, that she thought it could have been a part of her uniform. Studying its form, she realized that its length was divided into two parts: a lower and upper half and, further, if she twisted the two halves one way the staff elongated and if she twisted them the other way it retracted.
The next step along the Thundercat’s unfortunate journey was both obvious and unavoidable. It was a course that led directly into a room deep within the center of the flagship. It was a decision that had been made silently at the moment Jagga and the nobles agreed to escape to Third Earth. It was a room filled with suspension capsules -- hibernation pods rigidly attached to central beams -- that lured the weary travelers with their soothing, inviting beds of plush comfort.
“Will we have to stay in there?” asked WileyKit.
“Until we’re old?” WileyKat added.
“Not at all,” Jagga answered. “The suspension capsules reduce the aging process,” he explained, “and that’s how we’ll be getting to Third Earth.”
“Oh,” she got the picture and turned to her brother: “We’ll sleep through the trip.”
“Will I have dreams, Jagga?” WileyKat seemed fearful -- too fearful. “What if I have bad dreams and wake up --”
“Don’t worry, child,” Cheetara comforted the mixed-breed cub, “nothing of the sort will happen.”
The wise one took off his helmet and bowed his head: “You will find a pod for each of you -- but I will not be joining -- I will stay behind to pilot the ship.”
The adult males paused and looked at each other for a moment then turned away. Cheetara gave Liono’s hand a gentle squeeze as if to draw him closer to her. The kittens were a bit confused.
“But, Jagga, you can’t stay behind,” Liono said, breaking away from the cheetah. “Can’t the ship pilot itself?”
“No, Liono.” He picked up the lion cub and cradled him into his arms. “It has to be this way, son, the computers just aren’t working right,” he ran a hand up and down the youth’s back to soothe his tears. “Now, now, there’s no need for that.”
“We’re ready,” Panthro announced.
One by one the ancient jaguar helped the Thundercats into their beds, shutting their glass lids, saying good-byes in quick, nonverbal messages as if to say with casual stride that it was not a good-bye at all but a brief pause, a momentary lapse that with a quick flutter of heavy eyelids would pass to be united once more, on the other side of light-year gaps of space and time.
“Why can’t you come with us, Jagga?” Liono asked, worried about the one man who had ever been like a father.
The old one put the boy in the last capsule. “I am by far the oldest,” he answered, “and even under suspension I will age -- so you see, Liono, I will die either way.”
“But, but you can’t die, Jagga.”
He chuckled: “Of course I can, boy, but don’t be afraid of such silly things. And don’t be sad, either. Death is only a part of life, it would be unnatural, it would be evil not to die.”
“I don’t --”
“I know --”
“If you die, will you come back? Will you be like Snarf?” He shut his lips too late.
“Snarf? Who’s Snarf?”
“A friend of mine,” he answered, bowing his head. “But Cheetara told me not to talk about him.”
“Did she? Hmmm,” he thought, rubbing his chin. “Tell me more about this Snarf.”
“Well.” The boy fidgeted. “He tells me things.”
“What sort of things.”
“Grown up things. Things I don’t always understand.”
The gray jaguar raised a gray eyebrow. “I see --and when was the last time you saw him?” The cub paused, visibly upset. “Liono, you know not to lie --”
“He’s here, in the pod next to me.”
“Oh, he’s an imaginary friend.”
“No, he’s real, Jagga, he told me so. He,” he paused again and looked behind. “He doesn’t want me to talk about him.”
Jagga nodded. “That’s all right, boy, that’s all right.”
“I’m glad I told you about him, I feel much better about it. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course, boy.” He patted the young lion’s red mane. “It’s good you have this, friend, to talk to. It must have been very lonely for you, even with Thunder Twins and Cheetara. I understand. I do. I used to have an imaginary friend: he was small, red and yellow but that was so long ago, so long ago.”
Liono’s eyes widened as he sat up: “Promise me, if you die you won’t leave me.” He threw his arms around Jagga’s neck. “Promise me, you’ll find a way back.”
“Now, Liono,” he said -- but relented: “If I can comeback, I will.”
The wise one broke the youth’s hold and stood, towering above the boy.
“What will I do without you?”
“Be brave, my very young Lord, that is your duty.”
Jagga held Liono’s hand one last time and tucked him into the blanket. He stayed by the boy’s side and watched him fall into a drowsy sleep. He watched the cub’s eyes shut and not open again and -- confident that the youth was indeed asleep -- he stepped aside and approached the control panel.
He had always told himself not to interfere with Nature, not to meddle with matters of internal politics and, foremost, not to alter the course of history. But as a Thundercat and as the acting Lord of the Thundercats he had no choice but to live with the compromise of trying not to interfere. And in that, even in that, he failed for it was his zeal to destroy the Sword of Plundarr that set into motion the events of that very, that self-same dreadful day and hour and minute he found himself trapped inside of forever. Yes -- he saw it again and anew in his mind’s eye -- it was at the conclusion of the last, titanic battle with the Mutants, after their defeat, after he took their weapon and launched it into the sulfuric pits of an erupting volcano, it was at that instant that Thundera’s fate was sealed. The planet’s death was slow and gradual, going undetected for decades until that day when it uttered its last gasp.
So it stood to reason: if he did one thing for the greater good that turned out to be utterly evil, could he not, then, do another thing that was wrong but would be for the best?
“Liono is simply too young,” Jagga said aloud, trying to convince himself. “Too naïve.” He knew the boy would not be taken seriously neither by the Thunderians nor the Mutants. It was a time of crises and what they needed was not a cub-king. But -- if in the ensuing time his body aged to that of an adult that might give the Thundercats the advantage. Though his mind would be that of a child, the nobles would be there to mold and shape it into that of a true and proper leader. A wise rule, wiser, even, than Jagga.
It was an act that might correct the precarious imbalance -- it was a gamble he was willing to take.
He scanned the settings for Liono’s pod and was disturbed by the figure it displayed for the child’s mass. The weight was simply too high -- it was as if two youngsters were within the capsule. But, as he expected, when he turned to see there was only Liono visible under the glass. He stepped toward the site for a closer look and he could not deny the evidence of his senses.
“It must be the computers,” he told himself. “The damage.” Just to make sure all was well with the equipment itself he checked the readings for the others -- indeed their conditions were normal. Again he stared into the cub’s glass confines. A foggy mist clung onto its inner surface. “Hmmm.” Without further thought he altered the settings for Liono’s pod -- the Sword of Omens flew out of the claw shield from around his leg and embedded itself into he floor before the young lion’s capsule The sword was fully extended, the eye open and growling.
Jagga finished his self-appointed task and set the claw shield down next to the sword that remained upright, its blade sunken nearly a foot into the metal bulkhead of the chamber’s floor. He turned off the room’s lights and sealed the doorway. He sighed and prayed one last time that his tampering with Nature would not fail again.
* * * * * * * * * *
Slythe remained by the window at the back of the conference room as the spies retreated. He watched through the reflection off of the glass -- even as he sipped his tea of blood -- as Vultureman collected the evidence that had been strewn across the conference table. The reptilian could not be sure -- yet -- of the avian’s technical genius but of his unnatural cleanliness and compulsive disorders he could more than attest to. Still, the bird-man could be trusted -- if anyone could be trusted -- the madman cared little for politics, only his own, warped sense of ego.
“You spent too much time hatching up that plan ‘b’,” he said, sternly, matter-of-factly. It was useless being too complimentary. Somewhere, somehow in the pit of his gut he knew the avian just would not take complements well.
“It’s a weakness inbred in the nobility,” the bird-man squawked. He turned to the lizard commander and continued: “It isn’t enough simply to destroy the Sword of Omens. At last we have the power to destroy Thunderian civilization itself. I only suggest we use it. Why not exploit it? Why not try for it?”
Slythe sipped more of the tea -- dense, red vapors vortexed around his warty lips. “If I might get my color back, I’d try for that.”
“Think of it, just think of it,” Vultureman said, with a beaky smile that to the lizard seemed to be among the most grotesque images ever seen by mortal eyes. “Reintroducing Plunderian DNA into the Thunderian gene pool -- it would be like the Grune Rebellion all over again but this time perfect, flawless.” There was a glimmer in those sharp, black eyes that appeared maniacal, even deranged. “In a small group, in a backward planet, completely isolated from the rest -- with such an infusion of Mutant blood from our spies, by the time they rejoin their countrymen the Lord of the Thundercats will be a throwback. And then,” he said, accentuating his words with a shaky finger, a heightened tone, “and then their obnoxious prejudice will be their own destruction.”
Slythe retreated into the view of the window and its stars. Its endless stars, its shapes, its connections -- as if trying to decipher a deep, dark, secret meaning hidden by the intricacies of their motions. Another sip -- another taste of blood -- it was in vain but yet, perhaps there was somewhere out there one mind, one being infinite enough to comprehend it all.
“Pan ‘b’. One needs infinite patience to work plan ‘b’ through to the end. It would take forever, Vultureman, a million years -- and even then, without someone guiding the plot start to finish, little chance the Thundercats will be destroying themselves. I am a lizard without patience, yesss.”
A wicked smile crept across the reptiles whiteish, raspy lips and as Vultureman looked on he could not help but shudder at the image of it.
“Go back and prepare the hibernation capsules.”
END OF CHAPTER
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