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History and Myth of the Orcs’ Invasions – 01

Image: Menacing looking shoot of a T-800 endoskeleton prop by Dick Thomas Johnson

Hi everyone. This is my first short story. As you probably already know I’m a huge fan of both fantasy and science fiction. This series of short stories (ranging from one to three thousands words) is my homage to both genre: ORCS IN SPACE!

This story was first published a week ago on my Patreon page. If you want to support me, you’ll find the story in downloadable format, PDF and EPUB.

Also, exactly right now my second post is being published on Patreon. It’s kind of a short story I wrote for #MerMay. You should really check it out, it’s very nice.

Enjoy the story and feel free to comment on it.

This story is distributed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License 


History and Myth of the Orcs’ invasions

Extract from “Reports of the firsts contacts”. Planet X-2HHR6A by the name of Camichi. Viewpoint from a member of the native race of the Flozarin. A day before the invasion.

I was tidying up the kitchen. Clean dishes to dry and dirty dishes to wash. The counter was not very big and to be able to work I had to keep switching between the two: filling the sink with dirty dishes and then cleaning and drying them, just to start over again.

I could see the sky flaring as the battle continued. The actual battle started two days ago, but considering all the preparations from building gigantic spaceships to the strengthening of public bunkers, for a civilian like me this life on the brink of war was going on for more than eight months. I imagined for the military it was even more, probably since the first sighting of the orc’s spaceships in our quadrant.

We prepared for their arrival united, as a planet. A worldwide temporary truce was signed and we were ready to fight as a race. Yet the air was tense. It was like we knew that defeat was inevitable. After all, they were orcs. We had considered the possibility, and we acted accordingly. The first ship we built was a passenger one, capable of hosting two hundred and seventy of the bests our planet could offer: scientists, philosophers, teachers, physicians, engineers. Everyone we deemed essential for the survival of our civilization was boarded, and sent as far as possible, to start again.

It’s a horrible feeling to know only defeat awaits. But at the same time it carries a soothing feel of renunciation. The world could end tomorrow, yet I felt the need to clean those dishes. Our ships were better, as was our technology. Our soldiers were trained and brave. But against the orcs’ tactic it meant very little, as the reports from other planets suggested. No one had managed to defeat or even slow them down. Conventional weapons were useless against their absorbing shield. They started to call them “air bags” on TV, and the name seemed fitting. Instead of focusing on building ships resistant to missiles and explosions, the orcs developed a magnetic field that would let everything in, but nothing out. So, during a battle, even when someone could inflict damage, they simply repaired their ship with the debris floating inside the air bag after the end of the battle.

And it wasn’t just that. They figured out a way to turn that amazing defensive capability into offensive. They mounted smaller versions of the air bag generators on escape pods and modified the launching conduits and pods engines. They turned what for us was a last chance of survival into an infallible weapon. Our ships would be hit by just one pod and get surrounded by an absorbing shield, making it impossible for everything to leave the ships, including our missiles. Then their troops would storm out of the pods, turning space battles into medieval brawl, with swords and axes. And in these context they were almost invincible.

It wasn’t their physical strength or reflexes that made them so frightening, although they both were way above average compared to most known races, but their resilience. First reports of orc soldiers who kept fighting while missing an arm or with their guts spilling out were approached with disdain. Then came pictures, and videos. And then came the understanding of their true superiority: those weren’t dying warcries, a last push before leaving the battlefield. Most of those soldier survived those kinds of injuries. And they would come back in later battles with blades attached to their forearm, or hooks instead of hands. No one of our race could have survived those wounds. They could heal a fractured bone in less than a month. Almost any loss of blood wasn’t fatal to them, with reports of soldiers losing as much as a third of their blood volume before fainting. Fainting, not dying! That realization hit the morale of our troops like a thunder, and many of the first battles were lost due to that. And then the last blow, the sudden understanding that not only they were strong, and resilient, and fierce. They were also experts: every single orc without an eye or an arm was a veteran of several battles. Their tactics were not simpler cause they were stupid, they were the refined results of hundreds of battles. They were, compared to us, unstoppable.

While I got ready for bed, closing windows to shield my eyes from the flashes in the sky and powering the sound deafening panels, I noticed how the explosions were starting to decrease. They had reached the horizon and were descending, following the light side of the planet. I didn’t know what to expect for tomorrow morning. Would the explosions still be there? Would I see our spaceships land in the capital’s spaceport on TV?

Or maybe I would be waken up by a deafening silence. No flashes, no explosions, while the orcs patched their ships and soldiers in orbit, before landing and beginning their conquest. They would raid our streets, seeking survivors and breaking the last resistance. Yes, we would fight, for our pride. We would shoot at them and hit them with everything available. We would break their skin and have their red blood run, even knowing it wouldn’t carry any lasting result. All of this, until the last of us, man, woman or child, would push out their last breath, until our brown bones would be all broken, until the last drop of sap in our nerves would be spilled, until all our lungs would dry up.

But they would survive, again. And they would take what was needed to repair, feed and reproduce, just to jump back into space, headed towards a new planet.

Posted on May 29, 2017 in HMO, writing

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About the Author

Design, book layout and typesetting are my passions. I love to take a work and make it as readable and appealing as possible. Right now I’m working on several projects as a freelance graphic designer and book layout artist.

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