Chapter 850: HISTORICAL ARCHIVE

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Chapter 850: HISTORICAL ARCHIVE

...special effects on this are so cheesy.

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Well, yeah. It was 8,000 years ago.

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HAT WEARING AUNTIE

True, but it is a classic.

>sniff

I love this one.

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DARK CRUSADE OF LIGHT

Wait, this doesn't have the Yub-Yub song and dance in it, does it?

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

Wrong series, my man.

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DARK CRUSADE OF LIGHT

Good.

If I have to sit through one more "Living Day" or whatever it was called being sang about by some hippie, I'm going to planet crack random planets till I destroy whoever made that.

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BASS

You're about 9,000 years too late.

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DARK CRUSADE OF LIGHT

Then I shall capture Atrekna and use them to sail the seas of Hellspace until I arrive back at the time they live and then BLOW UP THEIR PLANET!

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HAT WEARING AUNTIE

Well, us Mantid will be glad to see that.

Although, blowing up Earth isn't going to help you now.

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DARK CRUSADE OF LIGHT

Oh, are those crab cakes? I love crab cakes.

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

My man, sometimes I wonder if you should be on medication or something.

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HAT WEARING AUNTIE

GUYS! HURRY UP! IT'S ALMOST BACK ON!

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WE NOW RETURN TO THE CHARLIE THE MOO MOO POWER HOUR HOLIDAY SPECIAL, IT'S THE GREAT FESTIVE HOLIDAY GOURD, P'THOK! already in progress.

The wind tasted of cold ice as P'Thok moved slowly around the dead moomoos, examining them from every angle, the cameras in his eyeshades recording every bit of data across multiple spectrum. He could sense something, feel something, about the slaughter site.

"What is it?" Matron So'Luki, daughter of Matron Mi'Luki, asked as he crouched down next to the savaged moomoo remains again.

"Something..." P'Thok said slowly. He lifted up on bladearm, activating the light on it, and passed it slowly over the ground.

"Matron, our technicians have gone over the site repeatedly," one of the Grays, a Deputy Snarzhauzar, said, his voice full of stiff outrage. "I do not know what you think..."

P'Thok straightened up, holding a single piece of grass. He turned to one of the workers. "Analyze this. Give me the first reading, no matter what your instruments say, no matter how unlikely or impossible the results are."

"As you command," the worker said, still awed to be in the presence of the legendary war hero.

The Matron tilted her head, lowering one antenna and raising the other as she stared down at the diminutive gray biped, whose OD Green poncho his his tool and weapon belt.

"You were saying?" the Matron asked.

The gray bipeds all looked uncomfortable.

P'Thok kept moving around, often crouching down to look at things that caught his attention.

Things are so strange since the end of the war, P'Thok thought to himself. Many things have changed, many things seem to have changed but still remain the same, just more people know how it really is.

P'Thok stood up, the moomoo tender hat he had owned for so many years shading his eyes as he looked at the hoverlimo the matron had summoned for him to travel in.

The cities are still full of angry females who were sterilized when they were little more than hatchlings, to prevent our society from suffering an upheaval even worse than the Great Hatching has been, P'Thok thought to himself. The cities, he made a scoffing sound that drew other's attention as he pulled out a pack of smokes. Millions of Treana'ad pushed together into warrens like Mantid worker caste. The rain washing away the blood and the grime from the night before so it runs thick in the gutters.

TELKAN FORGE WORLD

Wait. Why are we hearing his thoughts like that?

---NOTHING FOLLOWS---Gét latest novel chapters on nov(e)lbj/n(.)c/om

HAT WEARING AUNTIE

It's called a voice over, dear. Now shush.

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TELKAN FORGE WORLDS

No, why does he sound like he's chewing on gravel? Why does he sound so depressed?

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TREANA'AD HIVE WORLDS

The worker raised a bladearm as P'Thok consulted with the gray bipeds.

"Your tech has something," the gray said.

"Thank you," P'Thok said. He turned and moved over to the worker. "What did your equipment determine."

The worker looked uncomfortable. "This is the first result, honored P'Thok. Without further refinement and calibration, I cannot assure you that the first result is the correct one."

"If I am correct," P'Thok said, handing the nervous worker a lit cigarette, which the worker gratefully accepted. "Any further testing would not give that result."

The worker nodded, gulping audibly.

"The markings on the grass was exposure to the highly energetic particles of the burning hyperplane," the worker said slowly.

P'Thok nodded. "Of course. As I suspected," P'Thok adjusted his battered moomoo tender hat. "Gather up more of the marked grass and take it back to the crime labs. Tell Junior Matron Va'lrea to run single tests per sample only."

P'Thok turned around and moved over to the Matron. "The pattern remains intact, Matron."

The Matron rubbed her vestigal wings together in distress. "Are you sure, Honored Sire?"

P'Thok nodded and turned to look at the field. "Menacingly carved festive holiday gourds. Strange patterns that do not match grav drive patterning. Scattered Terran festive holiday candies. Savagely mutilated moomoos," he folded his bladearms behind his back. "Despite claims, these are no random attacks."

"You believe there is a pattern?" one of the gray bipeds asked. He held up a dataslate. "Our algorithms detect no pattern in where this killer strikes, only a pattern in how many victims and how many times it will strike."

P'Thok nodded. "There is a pattern here. I just need to see it."

DEE DEE DEE!

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BOBCO AND GURDY'S! PAMPER YOUR DUCK TODAY WITH THEIR FINE PRODUCTS!

DEE DEE DOO!

P'Thok moved through the office, nodding to the other investigators and detectives who worked tirelessly to protect the Treana'ad people during the uncertain times of what many were calling The Great Upheaval. He stopped by one desk, where the former warrior H'Djez was examining pieces of grass already analyzed by the crime lab. The big warrior was lifting up each piece of grass with a set of tweezers, bringing them close to his antenna, which had several more segments than most warriors.

"Anything?" P'Thok asked.

H'Djez nodded. "Slight woodsy scent. Strange. Never smelled it before."

P'Thok took off his hat. "Can you enhance it so I can smell it?"

"Sure," the other warrior said. He held it out and P'Thok waved his antenna over it.

"Hmm..."

TELKAN FORGE WORLD

What was that smell?

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HAT WEARING AUNTIE

A clue. Now hush.

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P'Thok tapped his brow with his antenna as he moved back. "It is familiar to me, but I do not know why. I reminds me of something."

The other warrior nodded respectfully and P'Thok moved away, moving through the office.

P'Thok moved into his office to the map and stared at it.

Only two pins. Soon more pins will be added, he thought. Those poor moomoos.

P'Thok pinned up static 2D images on the board near the pins, pictures taken from each crime scene, then backed up, looking at it. Cocking his head, he frowned at the board.

Is there already a pattern? One that I can see but I'm not aware of? P'Thok wondered.

For a second he smelled snow and fire. The plasma pistol, a souvenir from his days as a Warrior during the War of Terran Aggression, seemed to suddenly weight more in the shoulder holster.

One... two... he's coming for you... rang through his head.

Sighing, P'Thok left the office, moving down the hallway. The light flickered slightly but P'Thok was too caught up in thought to notice. As he passed the pictures of slaughtered moomoos he was unaware of their eyes following him as he went by. The door squeaked as he went into the lunch room and looked around.

The intercom clicked.

Puffies began singing over the intercom, the Pubvian children's voices pure but somehow cold and strange. There were no words, just notes, that wound together.

P'Thok saw his exhalation steam out in front of him and he slowly turned around, moving the sarape out of the way.

"Computer," he snapped, addressing the office limited VI.

There was no answer.

P'Thok moved quickly, drawing the pistol from his shoulder holster. The orange and black swirled wheels on either side of the engraved plasma chamber began to spin as he put a slight bit of pressure on the trigger. The orange and yellow rings at the end of the barrel began to glow even as P'Thok turned in a circle. The lights buzzed and flickered, the windows on the doors leading to the hallways off the room were black squares that gave no hint as to what was in the hallway.

Holding the plasma pistol at the ready, P'Thok moved toward one of the doors, the door that led back to his office.

His footpads thudded on the polished tile floor.

The wall to his right was plastered with posters of missing and mutilated moomoos, all of whom stared at P'Thok as he went by.

The door to the hallway that led back to his office was slightly open and P'Thok reached out with one hand, taking his bladearms out from behind his back and drawing them close to his chest.

The plasma pistol's exciter wheels made a buzzing sound as they spun, the black arcs on the orange background turning into a weird spinning pattern.

A puffie giggled in the hallway.

P'Thok slammed open the door.

AKLTAK

IT'S SO SCARY!

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P'Thok rushed to his office.

The moomoos on the posters leaned out slightly to watch him run by.

The lights came on with a snap as P'Thok skidded to a stop.

He grabbed file folders, flipping them open to the last page, where a map of all the atrocities sites sat silently.

Working quickly, he put pin in at each site. His fingers were steady as he pushed in each pin, then touched the map, then pushed in the next pin. He yanked open desk drawers until he found what he was looking for.

Textile fiber string.

He began running the string from pin to pin, connecting some to one another.

Finally, he stepped back.

On the board, created by the pins and the string, was the image of a malevolent festive holiday gourd.

WE'LL BE RIGHT BACK AFTER THESE MESSAGES!