Chapter 8. The Sandjar
The scavengers of the Wastelands are not of my body.
They do not know my book or follow my teachings.
They will not see my face nor sit by my side.
They are the Outcasts of my love and will feed upon their own.
From the Book of Isarie.
Rawg was the leader of the Norgos. A large family of Sandjars, who wandered the Outlands, taking what they could find, and leaving little behind. They had moved up from the Sirolian Plains and were heading for the dunes of Omar-Ran. This was not something done by a scavenger, for there was little of worth in the barren land, and most creatures gave it a wide birth.
Although this was the Long Summer, and food for all the creatures of Gorn was plentiful, it was not so with the Norgos. They found several fallen Rimar in the past few days, but they were either guarded by Whiptails, or other bands of Sandjar, greater-in-number, than they. Burrow Babies were plentiful, but the scavengers found their taste unpleasant. They ate roots and other vegetables, longing for the sweet taste of meat. Now they were squabbling amongst themselves, for whatever rotting food, was left in the carry wagons.
Sandjar were the scavengers of Gorn, they wandered over much of the planet searching for food, and whatever they could find, to sustain their lives. They were small strongly built, with large eyes and clawed hands. Their skin was a mottled green color, they covered their bodies in roughly sewn Rimar skin. They used crude but effective weapons, made from Itarian steel scavenged from fallen Lightships. They wore no armor. They traveled in family groups, and would not hesitate to eat their own, if times were hard. They had no real language and communicated in grunts and body gestures.
They preferred moving at night when darkness would shield them from enemies. It was also better suited to their large eyes, which were adapted to dim light, not the harsh glare of the twin suns of Gorn. They could travel in the daylight if necessary, by covering their heads with hoods and shielding their eyes. Now it was time, to brave the sunlight!
Days ago, Rawg had watched, as the sky streaked with a ribbon of light that could only be made by a Lightship or cargo container, falling through the upper atmosphere. He could see the general direction of where it had come to earth, now his plan was to reach the prize before any other Sandjar. It meant traveling day and night, and entering the great wastes of Omar-Ran. It was the only way to reach their prize. It would have been seen by others of his kind, if they did not hurry there would be little left for them.
The leader sat holding the reins of his thin Trofar, and listening to its discontented grunts and snorts. That was because they had not stopped to let it, or the other pulling beasts feed. Every time it tried to move over, to munch on the tall grass, it would be struck on the back by the Sandjar, and made to keep moving. Next to Rawg sat one of his mates, a young Sandjar female, holding a recently born offspring. She was one of several mates, for any good leader of a Sandjar family always had more than one female at his disposal. This one was young and attractive, by the standards of the Scavengers. Her skin was a nicely mottled green and she had large dark eyes. She was also the daughter of his third mate. That meant nothing to a Sandjar, inter-breeding, was common amongst their kind, and ensured the tribe would continue.
For all their viciousness, the scavengers cared a great deal for their young. They looked after them, and protected them as best they could. Although that, would not keep them safe in a famine, if the time came, they would be eaten.
Luck was on their side, as the lead wagon came up over a small rise in the terrain. Rawg saw the carcass of a dead Rimar, laying on its side. There was only a small group of Sandjar feasting upon it. It only took a moment or two, for the leader of the Norgos, to make the decision to fight. He raised his clawed hand and made a guttural scream, sounding the battle charge.
Sandjars do not have warriors, who ride out before the others of their tribe. They did not leave their women and children behind in relative safety, while the males rode off to fight. Everyone in the family tribe would fight together. The young and old alike, if you did not fight, you did not receive a share of the spoils. A Sandjar had to learn this, at a very early age, if they did not, they died. It was a harsh but necessary law for the lands of Gorn. Devourer the weak, show no mercy.
So with hunger gnawing at their bellies, the tribe of Norgo headed for their enemies, with only one thought, to kill and survive. It did not take them long, to cover the short distance to the dead Rimar, and strike down the first of their own kind. It was a mistake on the side of the opposing tribe, not to post lookouts to warn of danger. They had been so overjoyed to find the dead Outlander beast, they forgot all danger. Now they would pay the price of that fatal mistake.
The wagons of the Norgo, rolled over the other family tribe, like a strong wind rolls over the plains of Darmock. They struck out with crude weapons, it was Rawg who brought down many of the opposing Sandjar, with his first pass. The advantage of surprise did not last long, with a cry from their leader, the scavengers fought back. They jumped into the oncoming wagons, striking right and left. They killed several males, and a female, and a child, but their number was too small to have any hope of victory.
Sandjar were vicious fighters, as well as their steel weapons, they ripped with their clawed hands, and bit deep with their sharp teeth. They felt little pain and could continue to fight with a missing limb or a deep cut. Breeding only the fittest of their kind for centuries, made them extremely tough and savage. Now that toughness, was being put to the test.
Rawg, smashed the head of a young Sandjar, with a heavy club. It was a lump of steel, fitted to a strong ironwood handle. He used it to crush, the hard skulls of two males and one female. Covered in greenish blood, he looked for more victims for his hunger rage. He found one and quickly dispatched it. He stood over the remains of a small child and pulled his club from its small skull. He turned, to see a large scavenger, heading straight for him, with a raised cutting ax in his hands. With a twist to the left, he saved himself from certain death, then struck out with his right arm, to smash in the ribs of his attacker. The big male went down with a scream, clutching his side and rolled over on the ground. He tried to raise himself, but a blow from Rawgs club, crushed in his skull, splattering brains over the Sandjar's body. Seeing their leader dead, sent the remaining tribe members fleeing, with whatever they could carry, leaving the Rimar carrion to the Norgo's tribe.
When Rawg saw that his tribe was victorious, he lifted up his bloodstained weapon and let out with a loud scream. Those left alive took up the cry, and it echoed over the battlefield, warning others, the dead Rimar belonged to Norgo's tribe. Then without stopping they fell upon the dead beast and began to feast.
Some distance away, and deep within the great ship once called M-91, a half-human, half-machine man was growing used to his new power.
The Darkman could not see his face and even if he could, it would matter. He was content to know, he was no longer a thing of pity. If any Outlander had seen him, they would say, he was no longer a man. His scarred face, was now half covered in metal plating, and where once an eye had been, there was now a disk that glowed with an evil light. This new device gave the Shadowman superior vision and the ability to see over great distance, with accuracy.
Looking at his body, they would have said it had been corrupted, not only by the rotting of the poison lands, but by some metal disease that replaced flesh and bone, with steel and wire. It would have been impossible, for them to know, he was now a Cyborg, a composite of technology and organic tissue. They would have known, he was not a creature of this world, but a demon from beyond the dark gulf. This no longer mattered to the Darkman, all he knew or cared about, was the fact that now he could continue his dream, of destroying all Nomads.
He sat upon a transverse-connector, near the great Orb and flexed his metal hand, slowly opening and closing it. Around him, moved the small Repair-bots that had given him the new appendages and visionary u
nit. During the time he had been inside the control chamber, he had grown used to the sight of the metal creatures, and no longer thought of them as unholy things. They went about their tasks, making sure nutrients continued to flow to the Orb and all was in order. As for the half-human, it was a simple matter to create a nourishing, if somewhat bland paste, it could consume to keep its internal organs functioning.
The Shadowman, had seen them doing this work for a time now, so he ignored them, concentrating on his new metal hand. It is a gift from my God; he told himself; he fell from the stars and gave me the power. He looked up at the glowing Orb and smiled; he will give me more power if I please him. The thought of more capability made his smile widen, he stood up and faced the thing that was now his God.
He was about to speak when the Orb spoke to him. “Who are your enemies?”
“You cannot read my thoughts?” The Darkman asked.
“No, your mind is to slow to understand,” the Orb replied, “you are a creature with limited calculating abilities. Unable to coordinate your thoughts, in a way that can be understood with a Mindlock, you are sub-standard”.
He does not know my mind; the Darkman thought; I can keep secrets and secrets are power, the power to know what others cannot. Knowing, this God could not see into his mind, pleased the Shadowman very much. The idea of someone, anyone, invading his mind, filled him with dread. There were dark places in his being, he wanted kept hidden, places, even he, did not want to see.
“My enemies are many great lord, they walk the lands and speak lies to all who would listen to them,” the machine man said. “They are not the chosen of your kind, they should be punished”.
Truth or lie, meant nothing to the Orb, false information was deleted and factual data was stored, it was a matter of correct gathering and analyzing. Anything that was not correct was a malfunction of the gathering unit. The idea of punishing the unit was nonsense, you simply destroyed it and replaced it with a more precise device.
It knew exactly what an enemy was, it had been programmed to seek and destroyed all its enemies. It did this without the need to know why, all that mattered, was completing its mission and waging war, until all enemies were gone. Now the long cycles of wishing to die were erased from its memories, and replaced with one purpose once again.
Destroy.
“Where are your enemies?” the Orb asked.
The Darkman smiled once more, “everywhere”, he said.
Rawg had seen that all the flesh of the dead Rimar, had been stripped from the heavy bones, and put into his tribe's carts. They placed the long leg bones on top of the fresh meat and strapped it all down tightly. The leg bones would be cracked open later, and the rich marrow eaten at their leisure. The heart and liver of the great beast, would be given to the top males, for they needed to be kept strong, to defend the tribe. The skin of the Rimar would be dried and cleaned, then made into clothing.
When all was done Rawg, gave the order to continue and they moved on, they did not bury their dead, they simply left them where they fell, and did not think of them anymore. In hard times they would have taken them to be eaten, but with their carts full of fresh meat they had no need. So they let them lay, knowing the Sun-droppers, would soon remove all trace of their bodies.
With the dead, Rawg also left his infant son, the tiny baby had been killed with its mother, in the battle over the Rimar. For a time, the leader of the Sandjar would feel a loss, but it would soon pass, and he would not think of them again.
They traveled onward, moving past herds of Rimar and a group of large Ax-breakers. The Sandjar were not capable of bringing down a strong Thundra beast, and they could never hope to crack the armored shell of the huge Ax-breakers. So they went around them and headed for the place where the Lightship had fallen. They continued for another day and night, then at last, found what they had been searching for.
When Rawg saw the huge fallen craft, half-buried in the sand and surrounded by ancient machinery. He could not believe his luck, the ship was titanic, a treasure chest of goods that would surely make them, amongst of the richest Scavenger's of the Outlands. These goods could be traded with the people of the Stone Cities, and others for materials, prized by the Sandjar. So with a gesture of his hand and a loud grunt, he pointed to the half-buried ship, and the wagons of the Sandjar began to roll towards their prize.
Deep inside the great ship the Shadowman talked to his God.
“... there are those that dwell within the Great Stone Cities, their structures are strong and their weapons powerful. Surely, a God like yourself could destroy them all”.
The Darkman, had told the Orb, all he knew of the Outlands people, there was much to tell about their ways and their beliefs. At last it had been said and now he waited for the Orb to speak to him.
The Orb had listened silently, to all the man had told him, it understood most of what had been said. Many things did not meet the standard of logic, used in the thought process of the glowing sphere. The behaviors of those who made this planet their home, made them seem to be erratic, emotional creatures without a defined purpose or goal. They spent energy and time on matters that had little consequence and wasted resources. There was one thing, the Orb could understand quite well.
They loved to kill.
In fact they seemed to be very good at it. The Shadowman was correct, when he said, he had many enemies, they were all around him, creatures great and small, powerful or weak. They all fed upon each other, and this was something, the Orb understood perfectly.
The entire life of the once great terror ship had been in the stars, it knew the heavens as a Nomad knows his land. Stars, planets and moons were just guide posts, to use in maneuvers to defeat an enemy, now, the M-91 would never move through those stars again, the Orb must adapt to its new home.
“What are the magnitudes of the Fazic Projectors and the resistance of the Polycromic shielding of your enemies?” the Orb asked.
The Darkman tried to understand the words of his master, try as he might he could not find an answer. “Your words are strange to me my God” he finally replied.
The Orb thought for a moment then asked again, “tell me of their central command-targeting computers and what level of Coregranic Dimensioning System they use?”
Again the Shadowman had no reply, “they have no systems” he uttered.
“Then what is the time-span of the self-repairing capabilities, in their weapons array?”
“They have no such ability”
“How strong are the Metiplexon containers that house their internal Mindlock receptors?”
“They have no such containers”, the Darkman answered; he is testing me again, seeing if I know the questions that Gods ask. It was then, the Shadowman remembered the three questions of Isarie.
Do you know my Book.
Do you follow its teachings.
Do you believe.
Questions, every child of the Nomads knew, he had been told these words before he was cast out in the Choosing. That time when mothers and fathers must make a choice, who is to live and who is to die. Remembering those words again brought anger to his heart. Foolish questions, he told himself, why did Isarie not come down from the stars like this God and show herself to all? This question made him smile; because she is weak, she is not the all-powerful Goddess, she is nothing.
The Darkman looked up at the glowing Orb, “my lord, the people of the Outlands do not have your power. We fight with what we have, the machines, were once the playthings of your kind no longer move”.
It took only a moment for the mind that now called itself Atos to reply.
“Then I will use them to repair myself”.
Rawg could hardly believe, the thing that had fallen from the sky was now his, as he approached it with his tribe, he wondered at the power of the Gods whose plaything this surely was. His primitive mind would never have understood the technology, and advanced mechanical capabilities that had allowed the great ship to move through the hea
vens. No amount of explanation, of interstellar propulsion or gravimetric mathematics, would have mattered to the scavenger. He was a creature of earth and sky, who simply accepted it, as a gift from the Gods.
The wagons of the Sandjar, came closer to the great twisted hulk then stopped, with a grunt from their leader, they got down from the carts and began to search among the wreckage for treasure.
They would find only terror.
The Orb could feel the scavengers approaching, it had felt the invading tremor as they entered the Fazic Shielding that radiated out from the glowing sphere, stopping it from being destroyed, by the entity deep within the planet. This and only this made it able to retaliate against the creatures that came near.
The Cyberman also knew something was coming. He did not understand the new power that enabled him to see with his mind, beyond the confines of the dim chamber that was now his home. He found the sensation exhilarating. How can I know what I know? He thought, this was something not easily explained. Perhaps when the Orb invaded his mind he was linked with it at some small level that was why he knew, what could not be seen. For whatever reason, he delighted in the gift from his God.
Now he closed his one original eye and saw through the artificial device, the replacement for his damaged eye. It was strange, he saw figures moving, and when he concentrated, the images became clearer.
Sandjars!
Rawg looked around the sand dunes and broken machinery. It made him smile, to see, there were no others of his kind near. The great ship's contents, would be theirs and they would not have to fight for it. He gestured to his tribe to begin the search, with hesitance, they entered the broken ship, through a large crack in its hull plating.
Inside it was dimly lit, there was still enough light to search by, so they began to pick through the remains of their gift from the Gods. There was much to be thankful for, there was an abundance of Itarian steel. Wire, could be used for trading or in weapons. The copper flex couplings were perfect for holding together broken wagon parts, or jewelry worn by the females of their kind. There were many containers, sheeting, flexible plastics and all matter of rare things, all of it, there for the taking.
The family of Sandjars were very content to know, they could load their trading carts, with enough goods to last them for a very long time. This and the fact, they had a goodly amount of meat, made them grunt in approval and forget about their troubles.
Then they stopped.
They all stood frozen like statues, no matter how hard they tried, they could not move. They could however speak in here crude way, in moments the air was filled with screams. Rawg tried, with all his might to raise the weapon in his hand. It was useless, he could move his head slightly, when he looked down to see no bindings, or any other forms of restraints holding him, it made him fight even harder. A primal fear of the unknown, now filled every fiber of his being, it swept over him like a dark wave and engulfed his mind. It was only the being of his nightmare, out of the dimness of the broken hull, he saw strange creatures approaching. As they came into the light he could see they were not things of flesh and bone, but metal.
The Repair-bots had their orders and would once more take what was weak and make it strong.
To say what happened next, would only add horror onto horror, the Sandjar were taken one by one to the inner chamber. There they were cut apart and their weaknesses replaced with steel and circuitry. It was not quick, many processes had to be done. First they were scanned for defects, schematics had to be evaluated for maximum efficiency, replacement parts had to be manufactured in the storage chambers, then attached to the still functioning, living organs. It was all done with efficiency and skill, soon all the creatures, once known as Sandjar, were things of the stars.
The Darkman watched all this happen, he did not show emotion of any kind. He still had a heart, but, it had stopped feeling for others long ago. Now it was only a pump to move fluid through his half-body. As for the screams of the Scavengers, he had heard screams before, and they did not hurt his ears.
When all work was done, and what had been weak was now strong, the once weak creatures stood before the glowing Orb waiting in silence. Their eyes no longer showed any signs of understanding, it was not necessary that they question their existence. As for their knowledge, it was now at such a primitive level, the Orb did not take the time to process it. All that mattered was, the newborn God, had servants to do his will, and help it to perform its primary function.
To seek out and destroy all enemies.