Wednesday, November 11, 2009

NaNoWriMo'09, Words 6043-6667

The window was wide, offering a panoramic view of the space behind it. The Coryan leaders stood in a line before the large window.

The Borrynzians had pointed out a planet, out deep in the space behind the large window. The planet looked small, but the Borrynzians said it was of a similar size to Cory.

"Fire," said the Borrynzian captain, quietly. The gunner pushed the button initiating the firing sequence.

The Coryans saw a bright white light shoot out into the void. The light disappeared. For a few seconds, the Coryans saw only the smooth, small-looking planet; and the stationary stars.

Suddenly, the planet cracked. Fissures opened up between panels, as between pieces of shell in a well-cracked hard-boiled egg. The broken pieces began to separate; and then they were flying apart, seemingly propelled by flailing thick tongues of fire.

"Turn around," said the Borrynzian captain. The ship slowly swung 180 degrees around, and began to move off through space.

The Coryan leaders stood stunned and silent. The ship had been in motion for some time when it was suddenly jarred from the starboard side. The Coryan leaders stepped out suddenly to the port side, to keep their balances, lurching and leaning a little until the ship stabilized.

"We didn't move out fast enough," said the Borrynzian captain.

The Coryan prime minister looked at the captain. His face was pale and his eyes anguished.

"What do you want?" The words only barely came out.

"Cory and everything on it," said the captain.

"Or—or that?"

"Yes. Or that."

"Why?" cried out the prime minister.

"Because," answered the captain. "Because we can."

* * *

Robert Bentler was angrier than he had ever been; angrier than he had ever before thought possible for himself. Robert Bentler was a vastly wealthy man. He had created his wealth himself, over eighteen years starting when he was eighteen years old. He had created his wealth with the power of intelligence backed by the force of a strong personality.

He had become accustomed to people hearing him when he spoke. He had become accustomed to his carefully chosen words carrying weight.

Now he was stymied, and was unconsciously clenching and unclenching his fist against his powerlessness. He truly did want to strike the insolent, heedless man before him. The man was mocking him, gloating and leering at every one of his questions, protestations and demands.

"How is this possible?" said Bentler. "In this day—how is this possible?"

"We have a monopoly of knowledge," answered the Borrynzian ambassador. "A certain essential piece of knowledge. We decided to press our advantage. Can you stop us?"

"You can't stop us. You have no allies. The other Utthrian nations have not spoken a word. They will not speak a word against us. They assume the Great Bomb did not coalesce out of thin air. They assume we have other, less great but still fearsome bombs. Do you think otherwise?"

"What will you do if we resist? The Urtthrians who live—who have lived, some of us our entire lives, on Cory. It is our planet too."

"Hardly. A few individuals, scattered across the planet? If you protest, we will ignore you. If you resist with violence, we will imprison you; and then who will hear you champion your Cory?"

"I want to see the footage," demanded Bentler, again.

"No again," said the ambassador. "It is proprietary. You are smarter than the Coryans—you might figure something out. Doesn't your company do tech?"

"Not this," said Bentler. "Not this perverted, low, manipulation of powers."

"Words," said the ambassador. "Not much good against a Great Bomb. Does it sadden you to know they're all you have to defend your planet with?"

* * *

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