Author's Note *& Legal at bottom
The Nature of a Conquest
By SHADO Commander
Lord Wrathblood looked over the latest reports again and shuddered. Strange. He'd thought his many years of training and constant battle had turned him into a creature with a heart as stony as the craggy continence of his scarred green face, but he now knew that not to be true. For even he, one of the mightiest of all the Tarn of Lowardia's greatest War Masters, had learned the meaning of the word fear.
And fear, as he had discovered, was pronounced "Human." Or perhaps "Earthling." Or "Terran." Or any of the hundreds of other words they had for themselves. What kind of insane species could occupy but a single world, yet have more languages than the three hundred and sixty three worlds the Great Galactic Federation Of Peace had used prior to their conquest by Lowardia? Now, of course, the former worlds of the Federation spoke only Lowardian… or had, until the Earthships had arrived.
And so he sat at his stone dais and contemplated the action he was about to undertake. No doubt future historians would look back at this day, this moment, and endlessly debate the course he had chosen. Perhaps he would be heralded. Perhaps he would be proclaimed the greatest fool in the history, even greater than the legendary Great Blue who had allowed himself to be speared in the back only moments after teaching the secret of weapons to the first Lowardian to rise out of the primordial ooze… but he had consulted with the Tarn himself and they had agreed that it was a path that must be followed if there was to be any future Lowardia for historians to argue over.
Less than two Karns ago, a minor and particularly unstable pair of Battle Lords had attacked a cursed yet deceptively peaceful looking orb of blue and green. A planet that circled a star so far down on the list of future conquests that the paperwork for assignment of a temporary pre-naming in Lowardian that would have prefaced the standard Declaration Of Acquisition announcement was still Karns from being filed. Not that the fact that that an official D.O.A. proclamation handn't been made should have made any difference. Young and ambitious Battle-Lords slipped off to conquer worlds all the time, and fleet quartermasters were all too happy to issue a Standardized – Invade – Crush – Kill package of world subjugation hardware to anyone who wanted to borrow it and was willing to grease their palms with a few Sagoth fangs. That sort of self-promotion was actively encouraged unofficially, though it irritated the older War Lords who didn't have the luxury of sneaking off with a well endowed Battle Maid for a little bit of recreational sex and violence. And by all rights, by any application of any kind of logic or logistics, this "Earth" should have fallen in less than three of that planet's standard planetary rotations.
Except, inexplicably, that hadn't happened. No one knew exactly what HAD happened, but what WAS known was that, for the first time in over a thousand Karns, a Lowardian Invasion fleet had not only failed to achieve the simple goal of the conquest of an indigenous species, it had been completely obliterated.
Indeed, the loaner invasion fleet had been destroyed so effectively that no one on Lowardia was even aware that a battle had been fought. So no follow up fleet of occupation and processing divisions had ever been launched, and because of the lack of the filing of the proper forms, which in this case had been particularly sketchy, no one had noticed that the supplementary Lowardeforming gear required to adapt all new worlds had never been requested. In fact, the only two things that might have ever given anyone a clue that something had gone wrong were the suspicions of a nervous quartermaster who'd proven to be rather exceptionally good at covering up certain "equipment shortages" in order to protect the skin that now served as a flag at the Great Tarn's fortress, and the fact that Worhok's personal pleasure tank had remained parked in a weekend only parking zone outside the Bureau of Interplanetary Conquest for so long that it had eventually becoming buried underneath a camouflaging blanket of traffic tickets once thehalf-karn payment he'd left in the bribe-meter ran out.
So, instead, exactly one Karn ago today, the first warning that the warriors of Lowardia had received of the unimaginable COUNTERATTACK had been when the impossible fleet of HUMAN ships had burst out of hyperspace and began dictating terms to the incredulous Regional Tarn of the Lowardian World of Aaaaaagh! (named, as per Lowardian tradition, after the first words spoken by the first native encountered by the conquest force.) Indeed, the Tarn of Aaaaaagh! had been completely unable to decide if he was in the presence of the stupidest race of creatures in the history of time, or the victim of a ridiculous prank being played by his jokester cousin, the Arch-Thok of the Lowardian World of Ouch! And because of that, he took the time to send a long, involved diatribe to his cousin about the poor taste of the joke, including a holographic transcript of the Earth Creature's messages, BEFORE opening fire on the pathetic Human ships.
Which had turned out to be a good thing, since, as far as intelligence experts at the Divisional Operational Office For Universal Surveillance & Skullduggery and the Bureau Of General Underhanded Sneakiness had been able to determine, no one had ever heard another single word from Aaaaaagh! again.
It was as if an entire world, three million Lowardians and who knew how many slave races had simply disappeared from the map of the universe. The exact same fate that befell every ship that had been sent there to investigate before the humans turned up again.
Which indeed they had; appearing shortly thereafter at the atmospheric border of the Outpost Worlds of Gurk! and This Is Boring (it had been uninhabited,) the Agricultural Planet of "Untranslatable Shriek," and then Ouch! itself, each time repeating their unacceptable demands for complete and total surrender, the immediate liberation of all sentient slave and food species and the rights to install refueling depots and some instruments of world domination called "SmartyMarts" and "Bueno Nachos" across the surface of the stellar bodies in question.
Each time they were quite rightly fired upon… and each time that was the last anyone in Unoccupied Lowardia ever heard from them.
Again, Wrathblood felt a shiver run up his plated spine. Unoccupied Lowardia. A Karn ago the concept that there could ever be an OCCUPIED Lowardia had been unthinkable. Now, if his analysts projections were correct, the humans might very well control more Lowardian space than Lowardia did. And the only reason the Earthers hadn't progressed even further had been the desperate plan of the Grand Order of Supreme Hardasses to meet the human ships in space whenever possible. And GOSH's plan HAD slowed the humans down.
Slightly. Just a little bit.
But only because of the Humans' tidy habit of always stopping to collect the opposing ships they'd left lying dead in space behind them, using the defeated battleships' own tractor beams to drag them behind the Earth battle cruisers like slave-thralls until leaving them at whichever planet they next conquered. Where, no doubt, they were being refitted to re-launch against other Lowardian worlds. Assuming they were even needed.
Unfortunately the latest numbers… the ones Wrathblood had just perused again… seemed to indicate that recycling of those ships wasn't likely to be necessary at all. In the last ten planetary rotations, four hundred and seventy eight more warships had been lost, taking with them the last twenty thousand Tripods, still secured in their launch bays and now destined to never be delivered to the besieged outpost worlds. IF there were any left. The last they'd heard, before the FTL communications nets had gone completely dead, was that Lowardia had already lost eight hundred PLANETS to the invaders. EIGHT HUNDRED!
And that was just what they knew of, for once a ship or world disappeared into the alien's expanding sphere, neither they nor the worlds beyond them were ever heard from again.
By the Testicles of Tartog! The mightiest star empire ever conceived, the greatest star nation the Universe had ever known, was being sliced apart as easily as one of those sweet snacky deserts his grandmother had made before she'd been declared redundant and sent to the processors to be tendered into protein. What kind of monsters had those fools Warmonga and Warhawk unleashed? And as if all that didn't seem unbelievable enough, if the limited intel that his people HAD been able to gather was even close to true, the humans had done it with only three ships.
Oh, they had a support fleet tagging behind them, but the three largest ships always moved in first. Exactly what they did… every single reports simply ended abruptly, it but obviously implied some kind of complete and instantaneous annihilation of all sentient life. A technology Lowardia had sought for years, yet never quite managed to attain.
It seemed seemed impossible… but then again, that WAS what HER name meant in her own variant of their language, wasn't it? Kim Possible.
Kim Possible The Destroyer. A hideous creature with the pale, wormlike pallor of a skrug, a huge mane of blood red hair and flat green eyes the color of zug-zug nut shells.
Kim Possible. The Commander of the Invasion Fleet.
But now… here and now, Lord Wrathblood swore… the Destroyer's reign of terror would end. And, by the Claw of Gothmer, he would be the one who ended it!
Because today marked the passage of one Karn exactly from the Human's first unbelievable appearance, and unlike most species system of time measurements, the Karn had nothing to do with planetary movements, seasonal cycles or the amount of time it took a whomprat to see its shadow on a cold winter morning.
No, the Lowardian Karn was a reminder. A commemoration. Of the longest single conflict that remained recorded in Lowardian history (which, to be fair, only went back about three thousand Karns, given the Lowardian propensity for blowing things up.) Indeed, it had been that war, between the Warclans of Gothmer and Splatz, that had defined the Lowardian way of life. Was there a Lowardian child who didn' t know of that great feud, which ended only when the last two male survivors… a two year old Gothmer and a Splatz said to be four (though Wrathblood had heard variations going as high as twelve) had faced off and the Great Gothmer had finally beaten the Splat's head in with his own toothing ring.
Surely, he had believed a child, no other battle could be so glorious. So epic. And yet, here he was, in a battle for the survival of all Lowardia and its traditions that made even that great bloodfeud dim in comparison.
For if this battle with the humans were to continue one rotation more, it would give lie forever to the most fundamental belief that beat in the twin hearts beneath the groin of every Lowardian child. That there WERE no greater warriors in all of Space, and that all that was Lowardia, from the brutal hazing in the nurseries to the staggering walk of the seniors to the protein tanks, was justified by the simple truth that might makes right. And if, somewhere out there in depths of space, it was proven that there were even greater warriors, like the mythical Great Blue, that conviction upon which all Lowardia turned would be so shattered as to destroy Lowardia completely.
And because of that... because this war had to end now... today, Wrathblood had resorted to a truly desperate strategy.
He had offered to make peace.
Oh, he had no intention of doing so, of course, but he'd rationalized that if he could get the commanders of the Destroyers' three main ships down here, onto the surface of Aiiiieeee!, he knew that he and his personal guards could overwhelm them… and while their system of command was disrupted, there was just enough time for last fleet reserves that he had hidden buried under a thin layer of ash on the other side of this world's moon, to destroy the three ships in the chaos and confusion. It was a plan built on cunning, deceit, and the assumption that the Humans would not simply use their annihilation weapon and destroy their own Destroyer, this Kim Possible, out of hand… in the process giving Wrathblood and his elite warriors now concealed behind the curtains, time to act. Had it been against any other foe, honor would never have allowed it.
But Wrathblood and the Thok of Aiiiieeee! had agreed. If the humans were to be stopped, they had to be stopped now, at any cost. For to go past a Karn, for another race to have battled Lowardians longer than the Lowardians had been able to battle each other… Then Lowardia would be forever broken no matter what followed.
So now he sat at his dais and waited. Honor be damned.
The Thok, against his will, had been evacuated to a secret underground bunker on one of the outer planets. If Wrathblood failed… well, best not to think about it but someone had to pick up the sword.
And then a geldpage… a Lowardian who had proven nimble of mind but weak of body and had therefore been removed from the gene pool… raced into the room with the words he had been awaiting.
"They're here!" the gelding yipped in a high pitched voice. "They actually came my Lord! They're approaching even now! All FOUR of them!"
"Four?" Wrathblood repeated in surprise. "Four?"
"That's right," an unfamiliar female voice interrupted. "We were having dinner when your invitation came, so Ron just had to bring the wife and kid-to-be along. If you've got an issue with it, you'll have to deal with Princess here."
Lord Wrathblood felt something very much like a rock plummet to the bottom of his stomach, and he found that raising his eyes from the geldpage to the figures standing in the doorframe was one of the hardest things he had ever done. For that simple act caused his gaze to meet that of the sinister green spheres glowing like death-suns in the demonic face of the Destroyer herself.
"So, what's the sitch?" Kim Possible yawned.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART II!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yeah, yeah, that's an evil place to leave it, but it's just a two parter and the rest'll be up before June 7th, 2012, given that this is my official entry in Pinky Jo Curlytail's KP Anniversary Fanfic Challenge commemorating the 10th anniversary of the first airing of a certain demonic… I mean loveable redhead's first appearance on U.S. TV. Since I already did an actual show anniversary story last year ( see A KIMIVERSARY SPECIAL .net/s/7017130/1/bA_b_bKimiversary_b_Special ) and the only restriction of this contest was that it had to written around an anniversary, ANY anniversary, I opted to go in a rather different direction this year and tackle a question I'd long been wondering.. As for why I'm putting it up in two parts? Partly because I have to wrap Chapter 60 of AT THE CENTERFOLD OF THE STORM, but also because not enough people read the KP forums and I want people to be aware of and participate in this challenge, darn it! It's the boinking* 10th Kimiversay people! So, if I put the first part up this early, maybe it'll get someone else to contribute a story or two. Oh, and there's ALSO a deluxe no prize for the first person to identify the source of the title of this story in a review. (*Yes, boinking. One of the restrictions of the challenge is a T rating max, so you think I'm going to waste one of my precious allotment of T-allowed naughty words here?) Anyway, if you're STILL reading this, here are the as always highly anticipated LEGAL NOTES AND STUFF: Kim Possible, Shego, Ron Stoppable, Workhok, Warmonga, the Lowardians and all other characters borrowed from the wonderful KP Universe are the creations of Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, and those names are all trademarks of the Disney media organizations. All Lowardian planets, names and customs are my creation, but if anyone wants to build on them go ahead right ahead chicky monkey. What am I gonna do, sue? Oh, and on that note - This work is a work of parody and therefore protected by parody law, but just in case: I ain't getting a penny for this, and if you Disney folks would get on the ball and give us a BOINKING box set, you could make a lot more money than you'd ever get coming after people who love and worship KP as much as the whackos here do.