Chapter 465 (1/2)

The day was cool, with a breeze coming across the grass that was loaded with moisture and managed to worm its way through clothing to bring a chill to the blood and bones. The grass was waving back and forth, the early spring flowers bobbing and swaying.

The little house was modest, small flower boxes at the windows, an herb garden out back, flowers in front of the front porch, a stone path leading to the post fence.

A rocking chair was on the porch, occupied by a small female Tnvaru. She was holding the tray with cookies and tea with her lower hands, her gripping hands of her four hands. Her catching hands, the upper shoulders and longer arms and slightly longer hands with strong fingers, were holding a cup of tea and a pipe.

Her fur was striped, with a few splotches, greyish, dark green, dark brown. She had silver fur down her back, around her eyes, and on her shoulders beneath her hand-made blouse. Her eyes were glossy black, warsteel. Not cybernetics, but as if her eyeballs had been crafted from pure warsteel and put in her skull.

She lifted up her cup of tea, blew on it, and took a sip as she stared at the road.

Her name was Matron Sangbre. She had been a Consortium Matron, a leader of her people, married with children.

Her husband had spoken when he should not have on a subject he should not have spoken about, and had vanished. Sangbre had boarded the next ship and left, her instincts telling her that she would be well served to leave and leave quickly.

That journey, in some ways, that dinner meeting with another clan of traders, had been the first step that had led her on the path that had led her all way to the porch.

Of a small cottage.

On a grassy plain.

On the genesis world of the known galaxy's most fearsome intelligent primate.

In a place called The Vodkatrog Lands.

She watched as a group of massive cyborgs, the smallest nearly fifteen meters tall, all of them festooned with chains, weaponry, armor, and ornate decorations. They all signified a respectful greeting through their datalinks to her as they continued on their patrols.

They weren't why she was sitting and waiting.

She had seen that she would have a visitor.

To be honest, it would better described as she had foreseen that she would have a visitor, via dreams and portents and omens that she was slowly learning filled the world around her.

She was a matron of her clan, had once guided a massive consortium, was part of a space faring civilization and a species that had mastered space flight for thousands of years.

But now she lived in a world of supernatural events that could undoubtedly be explained by someone who understood the science. Portents, auras, omens, even whispered stanzas of prophecy that came to her on the morning breeze.

People would tell her there was no such thing as magic, that it was just technology.

But the warsteel eyes she possessed saw the world different. She could see another's purpose, another's lives.

Part of her insisted it was nothing more than high technology applied in strange ways. She'd learned that about the Terrans. She snorted to herself as she watched another one of the Tunvan Warsteel Horde move by. A thirty meter tall cyborg that was dinged and scarred by past battles that carried enough weaponry to besiege a city by itself.

Still, it wasn't what she had dreamed of. Why she was on the porch.

A raven took flight from one of the trees, circling three times around the house, cawing out. The breeze moved the flowers with a soft sighing whisper that spoke to her. The way the air felt and how the insects suddenly stopped buzzing.

Sangbre tensed inside.

This moment.

A blur appeared at her gate. It thickened into a prism.

A Terran male made entirely of swirling code appeared.

Sangbre gasped at the purpose rolling off of the figure. Millions, billions of hands reached out to him and he grasped each one with equal attentiveness. A trillion children were born with him as a witness.

It dimmed, burning within rather than blotting out the sun.

The Terran male lifted the latch, opened the gate, and stepped onto the lawn. He turned and closed the gate, making sure the latch was fitted.

The figure wore modest clothing of darker code, giving him a warm look, a friendly look, as he moved up and sat down next to Sangbre on the other rocking chair that was designed to take the weight of a Terran warborg.

”It is a pleasant afternoon,” the Terran made of code said softly.

Sangbre nodded as she turned the other cup over. She poured the steaming tea slowly.

”Two sugars, and a splash of goat's milk, if you would, Sangbe,” the figure requested.

Sangbre felt pride that her hands did not shake. She held the cup out and the figure took it. As she watched he blew on it gently, then sipped it.

”A wonderful cup,” the Terran said softly. Sanbgre noted that his code was scarred, the crisp blue coding replaced in a patch by soft white Telkan runes. ”A fine drink to warm ourselves with.”

Sangbre nodded, shifting her hand made shawl.

”You, of course, knew I was coming,” the Terran said.

”I knew someone was coming, but not who,” Sangbre said, her voice level.

”You know who I am,” the figure said.

Sangbre went still for a moment, then slowly inhaled before she spoke.

”The Digital Omnimessiah.”

”Yes.”

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