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In the great Cathedral where the Bomb was lord and master of all it surveyed, a mass was in progress. The vaulted reaches of the dimly lit nave echoed with the chorus of voices raised in adoring harmony to the words of the hymn known as Psalm to Mendez II.
To Buck, forced to attend the bizarre ritual, the entire schema was a frightening mutation of the ancient Christian observance. All the singing and chanting seemed to have its origins in sacred songs of the 20th century, now all cannibalized to match the coldness and cruel barrenness of the 25th century. He wondered how it must all sound to the mute Nova, at his side in the front pew, flanked by the fat man, Caspay, the beauteous Albina and the Negro, with four armed guards directly behind them.
At the high altar, now dark, Mendez stood facing a congregation of white-robed listeners. Buck was struck by the demeanor of the entire gathering. An inward spiritual serenity hovered about every face and figure. An outward gracefulness and gentility in mocking contrast with the reason for the radiance and exaltation of those faces and singing voices. The Bomb hung suspended above the altar, still invisible in the gloom of the ceiling.
Mendez was chanting sonorously, his purple robes dazzling as his arms and his voice rose in unison:
"The heavens declare the glory of the Bomb. And the firmament showeth his handiwork."
To a man, woman and child, the congregation answered him. A full-throated, deep, reverent response. The gloomy cathedral echoed with the words:
"His sound is gone out unto all lands. And His light unto the ends of the world."
Now the hidden choir joined with Mendez in an invocation that soared up to the nave. The sound was spectral, ghostly:
"He descended from the outermost part of heaven. And there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. There is neither speech nor language. But His voice is heard among them."
The congregation responded:
"Praise him. My strength and my redeemer."
Mendez knelt at the prie-dieu; his white-gloved hand pressed a button on the bejeweled panel. The floodlight control was released and dramatically, illuminatingly, the Great Bomb, with its inscribed fins, filled the eye. ALPHA and OMEGA glowed like constellations in a sky of gunmetal silver.
Mendez and the choir sung aloud:
"Glory be to the Bomb and to the Holy Fallout---As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be; world without end. Amen."
"Amen," the congregation spoke as one.
Buck had a bad taste in his mouth. His ears ached with the awful, ridiculous, puling blasphemy of it all. Behind him, the four guards, their faces radiant and inspired, were singing with brilliant sincerity. The fat man, Caspay, Albina and the Negro were showing nothing of the revulsion that beat through Buck's brain like a wildfire. Only he and Nova, of all the souls in that damned cathedral, were remote and out of place and out of time. Their rags may have been covered at last with decent robes, but nothing had changed. Buck was still frightened and repulsed by all that he saw and heard.
The multitude of Amens fell away to a whisper. And still, the Bomb gleamed down from its religious base. The main lights of the cathedral had all dimmed, leaving only the Bomb spotlit above the altar where no eye could miss it. Buck pulled his eyes away; the dread in his stomach was as tangible as advanced stage EL-7.
Somewhere, the unseen organist struck a note.
From the prie-dieu, the kneeling Mendez's voice rose once more:
"Almighty and everlasting Bomb, who came down among us to make Heaven under Earth, lighten our darkness. O instrument of God---Grant us Thy peace."
The organ bleated a series of low, muted chords. All of them climactic, beseeching, uplifting, followed by a final hosannah.
Mendez stood up, back to the congregation, his purple robes a blazing field of color. He raised adoring arms to the Bomb suspended above him. His voice reached up, as if to touch it. To caress it with syllables, words.
The choir's multiple voice rang in song:
"Almighty Bomb---who destroyed Devils---to create Angels! Behold His glory!"
Mendez chimed in with the choir:
"Behold the truth that abides in us. His handicraft!"
The choir stilled and Mendez's chant rose on a single note of prayer and supplication:
"The time has come to reveal our true selves to our God!"
And now, incredibly, exaltedly, Albina, the fat man, Caspay and the Negro and all the leaders of this ghastly mass stood up as a body and chanted in a synchronized blend of many voices: "I reveal my Inmost Self unto my God!"
Buck blinked.
As if he had been struck between the eyes.
Nova shrank against him, mewing like a terrified kitten.
The topmost totem of unreality in this world of unrealities had been reached. Once more the universe had reeled and the mind boggled at what the eyes saw---had to believe---had to accept as Truth.
All about them, the leaders were unveiling. Albina, the Negro, Caspay, the fat man---everyone. Unmasking, as it were. Pulling and tugging at their heads and faces---taking off rubberized, plasticized masks which had concealed their inmost selves, their true appearance.
Now Buck and the girl could see in all its blasphemous, unmatchable horror the true depths that their nightmare had bought for them when it set them down in this horrible city of lost souls.
Under each mask, each face now revealed to the awful light of the cathedral was a mockery of nature. A countenance repeated endlessly like some hideous joke at a costume party. A face devoid of all hair, all skin, all color and warmth. Centuries of postnuclear mutation had evolved all these faces into skinless horrors. Repulsively red and blue and pink, exposing all the ganglia of facial veins, arteries, tendons and muscles. As stripped and visible as any anatomical specimens in a medical class. The leaders, including the mighty Mendez, were totally horrible, totally and unbelievably hideous.
Buck and Nova held onto each other, shuddering.
Mendez exhorted:
"Reveal that truth unto that Maker!"
The choir and the congregation sung back their song of homage:
"I reveal my Inmost Self unto my God!"
The congregation now unveiled. The rubbery masks made slithering, uncanny sounds in the stillness of the dark cathedral.
The parody of Life and Nature gleamed from a hundred bodies. Buck dared not look too long. His brain was splitting apart again.
And then all the voices raised around him and the girl as the hidden organ swelled into a final exaltation to the devotees of the Bomb Everlasting. Proud and happy voices rose in a tremendous paean of glory: "All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small...."
Caspay smiled in a brotherly fashion at the Negro and then favored Buck with an extension of that smile. But Buck couldn't in all conscience smile back at this hideous travesty of a human face. He averted his eyes, holding onto Nova's shaking hand.
"All things wise and wonderful," the congregation sang with deep, fervent voices.
The hooded purple head of Mendez turned up to the Bomb again, the spotlit Bomb which looked down on everything. "The good Bomb made us all," the congregation chanted. Some 300 mutant singers blended into an intermezzo between stanzas of the song:
"He gave us eyes to see with, and lips that we might tell How great the Bomb Almighty, who has made all things well. Amen."
During this last Amen, Buck saw Albina jerk her weird face at him. The great beauty was a thing of the past. Buck read her message without hearing any words. Unspoken words.
"We can't," he said. "We're not wearing masks."
She scowled. But Mendez was speaking the Benediction now:
"May the blessing of the Bomb Almighty and the fellowship of the Holy Fallout descend on us all, this night, and forevermore."
Once again he pressed a button on the bejeweled panel board. The emerald one. Even as the congregation's Amen died away to a whisper, the spotlight slowly dimmed. The Bomb disappeared into darkness. Fins and all. It was as if it didn't even exist. Had never existed.
Buck kept his arms around Nova. Poor, mut Nova. A waif for all time.
About them, the horrible mutants they had known as the fat man, Caspay, Albina and the Negro, leered hideously. Colors rippled, eddied.
The cathedral throbbed with horror. And the great Unknown.
And Mendez's chants hung in the dim nave, swirling about the high, vaulted reaches of the cathedral. Echoes of Hell and the Pit on all sides. Buck hung onto the little courage left in him.
He had to.
Or there would be no way out.
None at all.
Whatever God's Hell and Damnation was, this had to be it.
For the first time in his life, he had been able to pinpoint the spot. Give it a location.
Anarchia was Purgatory. The Forbidden Zone was Hell.588Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvNcIUIvkHI
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In a distant quadrant of the Cylon Nebula, nestled amidst swirling clouds of vibrant colors, lay a planet shrouded in an otherworldly ambiance. This peculiar world seemed to have emerged from the darkest corners of the universe, as if it were a manifestation of some macabre dream. It orbited its star in a highly elliptical path, causing extreme temperature fluctuations. Its surface was covered in perpetually swirling dark clouds, concealing grotesque and monstrous creatures that thrived in the planet's harsh environment. The air was thick with an acrid scent, and the landscape was dotted with jagged rock formations resembling twisted bones.
Amidst this haunting scenery, the menacing city stood as a testament to both ingenuity and madness, adding to the haunting atmosphere of this mysterious realm. The architecture that adorned this desolate place was nothing short of grotesque. Its towering metallic spires loomed over streets filled with flickering holographic advertisements that displayed distorted images of happiness and prosperity. The air was thick with toxic fumes, causing its citizens to wear gas masks that hide their faces and their intentions.
In the tallest of those towering buildings, nestled within the opulent chamber that stood farthest from the murky surface of the planet below, Princess Ardala found herself on the receiving end of her father's wrath. The resounding slap across her delicate face reverberated through the room, its force propelling her backward until she crashed against the cold, unforgiving floor. As pain surged through her cheek, a whirlwind of emotions engulfed her being. In that fleeting moment, amidst the sting and humiliation, a profound longing welled up within her - a desperate wish that perhaps this fall would have brought an end to her existence.
She sat up, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at the towering figure of Emperor Draco. His presence alone was suffocating, his aura exuding power and dominance. The room seemed to shrink in comparison to his immense stature, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread wash over her.
"You were wise to run from me, you traitorous scum!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the opulent chamber. His eyes burned with fury as he glared down at her. "You began the attack on Earth without my command or support. You dare defy me?"
She trembled under his gaze, realizing the gravity of her actions. The weight of her betrayal hung heavy in the air, and she knew that there would be dire consequences for her defiance.
Draco walked over to the building's ornate window, his eyes fixated on the mesmerizing yet horrifying sight that lay beyond.
The sky outside his ornate window was an abomination of colors, twisted and distorted in ways that defied all logic. A sickly hue of purplish black dominated the heavens, casting an eerie glow upon everything it touched. It seemed as though darkness itself had seeped into the very fabric of the atmosphere, suffocating any remnants of natural light.
Within this miasma of darkness swirled ominous clouds that writhed and churned with an otherworldly energy. They twisted and contorted in grotesque shapes, resembling monstrous creatures lurking in the abyss. Lightning crackled within their depths.
He immersed himself in the study of his homeworld, Draconis Prime, a desolate planet shrouded in perpetual darkness. Its eerie landscape was dominated by treacherous swamps, where venomous creatures lurked beneath the murky waters and poisonous insects filled the air with their malevolent buzzing. The very essence of Draconis Prime seemed to exude an aura of dread and despair.
Once, this forsaken world had been inhabited by a primitive civilization, but they were no mere "barbaric sword-wielding pagans." They were a formidable force that had evolved into something far more menacing and terrifying. These ancient inhabitants had embraced the darkest depths of sorcery and forbidden rituals, delving into the black arts that twisted their souls and corrupted their bodies.
Driven by an insatiable hunger for power, these malevolent beings had risen from the mire of their homeworld to become the scourge of the galaxy. It was a destiny none but the darkest of gods could have conceived for the Draconian race.
"If you were anyone but my daughter, I'd order you disemboweled at once," Draco seethed, his voice dripping with venom. He refused to meet Ardala's gaze, his anger palpable in the air. But then, in a swift and unexpected motion, he spun around, fixing his piercing glare directly on her.
"However," he continued, his voice low and menacing, "I've come up with a punishment that might even be worse than death itself." A cruel smile played on his lips as he relished the thought of delivering this devastating blow to his own flesh and blood. Ardala's heart sank as she realized the severity of her father's words.
"You are hereby sentenced to an orbital prison for the rest of your miserable life!" Draco declared with finality, his voice echoing through the grand chamber. The weight of those words hung heavily in the air as Ardala struggled to comprehend the magnitude of her fate.
Suddenly, Ardala burst into tears, whimpering like a child. "No, Father... No... Please, Father," she pleaded desperately, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and sorrow. Her heart felt heavy with the weight of impending abandonment.
But Princess Ardala's pitiful pleas fell on deaf ears. Once Draco had made up his mind, nothing could change it. His stern expression remained unyielding, his resolve unshakable. It was as if Ardala meant nothing to him; he did, after all, have twenty-nine other daughters to carry on imperial business.
As her tears continued to flow uncontrollably down her cheeks, Ardala's mind raced with memories of happier times spent with her father. She recalled the countless hours they had spent together in the palace gardens, where he would teach her about leadership and responsibility. She remembered how he used to hold her hand tightly during their walks through the bustling streets of the empire's capital city, ensuring her safety and instilling in her a sense of confidence and determination to one day carry on his legacy.
A burly Draconian soldier, his grip tightening around Ardala's wrists, ignored her desperate pleas. "No, father... I beg of you... no... Please!" she cried out, her voice filled with anguish. But her pleas fell on deaf ears as the soldier forcefully dragged her out of the chamber.
Draco, Ardala's father and the ruler of the Draconian empire, watched with a cold detachment as his daughter was taken away. His decision was final; he had severed all ties with Ardala. She had betrayed him and their people by aligning herself with their sworn enemies.
But Draco's attention quickly shifted to another pressing matter - Kane. The loyal and devoted servant knelt on the floor, his head bowed in reverence. Draco approached him swiftly, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Kane.
"Rise," Draco commanded in a commanding tone. Kane obeyed without hesitation, slowly lifting himself from the ground but keeping his gaze lowered in respect Draco's piercing eyes bore into Kane's soul, silently demanding unwavering loyalty. "I've decided to give you another chance, Kane. After all, it was my daughter who gave the command to attack Earth, while my forces were still light years away."
Kane's heart skipped a beat as he absorbed the weight of those words. He had expected nothing but condemnation and exile for his role in the devastating assault on Earth. Yet here he stood, facing the man who held his fate in his hands, offering him an unexpected lifeline.
"Thank you, my worship," Kane replied, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude. "You won't regret it."
As he rose to his feet, Kane felt a surge of determination coursing through his veins. This second chance was an opportunity he couldn't afford to squander. He had been loyal to Draco for years, serving as his most trusted advisor and executing countless missions on behalf of his interstellar empire.
Draco's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on a holographic map of the galaxy spread out before him. "The empire must have Earth," he declared, his voice laced with determination. "It is not just a mere planet; it is a vital steppingstone to the only region of the galaxy we have yet to conquer."
"Yes," hissed Kane, his eyes gleaming with a sinister determination. "And you will have revenge on Buck Rogers for destroying the Draconia. But we must be patient, my loyal lieutenant. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and our time will come."
"I've decided that for a change we should throw some panic into the Earthlings and make them believe that we are closer towards preparing a final assault against them. Our pattern of attack every few months to a year has perhaps reached the point where it no longer intimidates them as it should. Therefore, we shall attack them again, two days after the last one. This sudden increase in frequency will surely catch them off guard, leaving them bewildered and vulnerable. The element of surprise is our greatest weapon, and by striking so soon after our previous attack, we will instill fear and uncertainty in their hearts. They will question their ability to defend themselves, doubting whether they can withstand our relentless onslaught. The Earthlings have grown complacent, believing they have adapted to our tactics and can easily repel us. But little do they know that we have been observing their defenses closely, studying their weaknesses and devising new strategies to exploit them."
"But with all due respect, Draco," Kane began, his voice laced with skepticism, "how does that supposed intimidation tactic actually manage to instill fear in them?"
"It forces them to deploy more of their squadrons, stretching their resources thin and leaving vulnerable gaps in their defense lines. And when they do so, our target of priority shall be the Earthman known as Buck Rogers, for he has proven to be a formidable adversary time and time again. I have long suspected that his exceptional leadership skills are the only thing that has held their defenses together, inspiring loyalty and resilience among his fellow fighters. If forced to increase their defenses, they will likely send their best leaders into the field, particularly Rogers, knowing that he possesses the strategic brilliance and unwavering determination to rally his troops against any odds. If we can eliminate him from the equation, it would not only strike a devastating blow to their morale but also cripple their ability to effectively counter our advances. The loss of such a prominent figurehead would undoubtedly create chaos within their ranks, causing confusion and disarray among their remaining forces. Without Rogers' guidance and expertise, they would be left scrambling for direction."
Kane's confident smile widened, his eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and superiority. "The morale of the Inner City squadrons will fall," he declared, his voice laced with an air of certainty. "Their once skilled pilots will no longer soar through the skies with the same level of expertise they have displayed thus far." With each word, his conviction grew stronger, fueling his belief in their imminent victory.
As he continued to speak, Kane's words seemed to carry an almost tangible weight, as if they were already shaping the outcome of the impending battle. "We will exploit their weakened spirits and crush them like ants beneath our feet," he proclaimed, his tone filled with unwavering confidence. His mind raced with strategic possibilities, envisioning a future where their adversaries would be left in awe of their overwhelming might."
In another section of the palace, Ardala's wailing continued, even as Draco's soldiers mercilessly dragged her through the dimly lit corridors. Her desperate pleas echoed off the cold stone walls, reverberating with a haunting sense of despair. The once regal and proud Royal Princess Ardala now found herself reduced to a mere captive, her voice carrying a mixture of fear and defiance.
As they approached the launch pad, the soldiers' grip tightened on Ardala's trembling arms, their faces twisted with sadistic pleasure. The air was heavy with tension, as if the very atmosphere sensed the impending doom that awaited her. The launch pad stood before them like a sinister gateway to an unknown fate, its metallic structure casting eerie shadows in the darkness of the bleak Draconian sky.
Ardala's heart pounded in her chest as she desperately fought against her captors' relentless hold. Her eyes darted around, searching for any glimmer of hope or a familiar face that could come to her rescue.
"Let me go! I am the Royal Princess Ardala. Let me go...HELP!"
"Shut up, wench!" the soldier ordered, as they dragged their captive to the yawning airlock of the prison capsule. They threw her in hard, then closed the airlock.
As the air-lock sealed shut with a resounding thud, Princess Ardala found herself engulfed in darkness. The chilling silence was broken only by the faint hum of machinery echoing through the narrow confines of the prison capsule. Panic gripped her heart as she struggled to adjust her eyes to the dim light that seeped through tiny cracks in the thick metal walls.
The capsule's interior was a haunting sight, reminiscent of a macabre nightmare. Rusty chains dangled from the ceiling, their ominous presence casting eerie shadows across the damp and mildewed walls. The air was heavy with a musty stench, a combination of despair and decay that seemed to permeate every inch of this wretched place.
In the opulent throne room, adorned with glistening gold accents and intricate tapestries, a servant approached Draco with a sense of urgency. Bowing respectfully, the servant delivered his report in a hushed tone, "I have the launch pad on line six, sire. They report that the take-off sequence has been meticulously programmed and is ready for execution."
Draco's piercing gaze met the servant's eyes as he absorbed the information. With a nod of approval, he commanded, "Very well, they may engage." His voice resonated with authority and confidence, reflecting his unwavering control over his dominion.
Meanwhile, in the vast launch pad deck below, where silence reigned supreme amidst rows of dormant spacecrafts in a deserted courtyard, the controller's voice suddenly boomed through the air. The sound reverberated off the cold metal walls as if it were an echo from another world.
".....5...4...3....2..One!"
The capsule's rocket motor roared to life, its powerful engines propelling it forward with an incredible force. Princess Ardala, the captive within, could feel the intense vibrations coursing through her body as she was thrust into the vast expanse of space. The speed at which they were traveling was mind-boggling, almost incomprehensible. It was as if they were defying the laws of physics themselves.
As the capsule soared higher and higher into the sky, a captain and a lieutenant stood on the ground below, their eyes fixed on the disappearing spacecraft. The captain's face wore a somber expression, while the lieutenant couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness for Princess Ardala.
"It's sad, really," the lieutenant murmured softly, his voice filled with empathy. "She'll be floating in space in that tiny capsule for the rest of her life—alone." He paused for a moment, contemplating the gravity of her situation. "With no control over her fate or the endless void surrounding her, she will forever be a solitary figure, lost in the vastness of the universe."
And so began Princess Ardala's journey of solitude, a path she had never anticipated walking. As she ventured further away from the comforts of her kingdom, the weight of her actions settled heavily upon her heart. The once vibrant and bustling world around her now seemed distant and insignificant, as if it were mocking her for the choices she had made.
"So lonely father...so lonely-y-y-y-y-y."588Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfrTITYDW2L
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