Tales from the Helot Worlds

"The Helot Worlds, a dark collection of planets inimical to life and utterly indifferent to the struggles of man. Far from the core of the Inaius cluster, this troubled sector has lain undiscovered for millenia, mysteries and secrets left buried in the dark void between worlds. The arrival of humanity is a recent event, the great colony ships leaving Tellus and embarking on a fifty-year voyage. It has been centuries since the Dread Tsar defeated the aberrant and forged the dynasty, his subjects speak his name with reverence and dread each day and pray his like will never grace the stars again, but the struggle is far from over and many terrors lurk in the dark"

The Frontier of the Helot Worlds

Near the Orzak cloud


The Burya burned through the tar black of the void with murderous intent, the vast warships wings bristling with open gun bays as the crew prepared for the coming slaughter. In the distance the vast orange of the Orzak cloud loomed, long the final boundary of Dynasty space it was infamous for hiding predatory clans of aliens and bandits alike. The Vulghyr* had hoped to find shelter in the obscuring clouds, but their raids had attracted the attention of a far more terrible beast.

“Anya, how soon till its engines are down?” Petyr asked turning to regard his bridge officer

“Any moment now Hetman, they are bleeding fuel” Anya replied affirmatively

Petyr exhaled a large plume of fragrant smoke from his pipe before setting the ancient thing down on the command thrones holster. He rose and glared at the viewscreen, his mind already working through all necessary calculations. It was an ugly, hulking thing, the sort of craft that had been cobbled together in sheer desperation, a would-be ark to save a dying species from something worse. If Petyr had ever held any sympathy for such beings, it was long dead, they may have been innocent once but now the Vulghyr had well and truly bloodied their claws.

They had led the Burya on a merry chase, weeks of cat and mouse games as the Kozaks* had followed the raiders and their trail of destruction. A bloody collection of gutted stations and ransacked settlements had greeted the Kozaks as they tracked the aliens, the crew growing hungrier for vengeance with each new atrocity witnessed. Now though there was nowhere left to flee and as the alien vessel bled like a wounded leviathan, the Burya closed in for the killing blow.

A fusillade from the Burya’s plasma cannons shrieked across the void, each burning orb impacting with the stricken alien vessel and detonating violently on its surface. Already multiple gaping wounds covered the ancient metal, the anaemic return fire from the aliens’ own weapons bounced harmlessly off the Kozak’s shields, the last act of defiance falling flat as the end approached.

“Their engines are down sir; they are dead in the void”

“Good, prepare the assault shuttles!”

“Sir, want to board them?”

“They owe us a debt in blood, and I intend to personally ensure they repay it” Petyr replied with a wolfish grin as he gathered headed for the turbolift

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The interior of the ancient boarding shuttles was pitch black save for the weak glow of halogen strips and glint of metal as sabres were drawn and plasma cells checked. The craft shook as it swam through the void toward its target, inside men and women went about their rituals of preparation, some prayed, others joked and some stared at faded mementos of distant loves, for Petyr the moment before was always the same.

It had been over forty years since he had left Sivastopol, spent decades stalking the great frontier, decades battling every evil the helot worlds could proffer. In the moments of silence before the killing began his mind’s eye turned always back to that distant memory of home, to the great rolling tides and green skies of Sivastopol. He had been barely a man when he’d left with the Sich, sworn to expand the empress’s domain and to defend its folk, now his oseledets* had long since gone grey.

“Thirty seconds to docking Hetman” the pilot announced over the comms, voice crackling with static

Petyr wondered if anyone back on Sivastopol would even be alive to remember him, his relatives had been hale people, but the tides of that world claimed many. Perhaps he would have been long forgotten now, a footnote or interesting tidbit in his family’s story, perhaps there was no one left even to do that. He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, this was no time for rumination. He slammed the plasma charge into his pistol and grinned as the weapon lit up with eerie green, he was ready.

“The Dead Tsar Sleeps!” he declared as he stood and began to move to the exit ramp

“MAY, WE NOT WAKE HIM!!!” the Sich replied back defiantly

“We have been led on a long chase by these creatures, but now they have nowhere to flee to! Today we will avenge the countless dead, today we show them why the dynasty is eternal! Spare none, they deserve only your steel and your lead!” he declared as the transport erupted in roars of approval

Petyr was now standing at the front of the squad, his wasp fur lined cloak and steel breastplate making him seem gigantic, his already tall frame enhanced by the raiment. There was a thud as the shuttle connected with the hull of the Vulghyr warship, then a sound of drilling and the reek of ozone and molten metal. Moments later the ramp descended to reveal a darkened, wreckage strewn corridor and countless glaring eyes.

“For the Dynasty and the Empress!!!” Petyr roared as he drew his sabre and charged

The response was a booming roar as the Kozaks charged into the fray.
The Sabre bit deep into the creature’s neck, amber hued gored spurting on the bulkheads as its arteries burst, it slumped back mouth agape as its life ebbed away. Around Petyr the boarding teams were making short work of the Vulghyr, they may have been impressive raiders, but they lacked any discipline when confronted by professional fighters. Already Korov and Bogdana were cutting a swathe through the defenders, spent rounds clattering on the ground as their miniguns roared.

Petyr had always sensed something decrepit about the Vulghyr, their elongated forms seemed more suited to exploration or craft than warfare, everything seemed to speak to their desperation. He’d seen the scraps of once pristine clothing, intricate spiral patterns barely visible under all the grime, the delicate flowering forms on the few original parts of their ships and even their elongated quad eyes seemed to possess a sad intelligence.

It was as though they knew they were finished but some last desperate instinct demanded they persist. Something had broken them long ago, made them into the desperate creatures that murdered and stalked across the frontier. Pity had little utility in a boarding action, and these creatures were still killers, the Kozaks lost men as they advanced, pulled down by countless grubby knife hands or blown apart by the burst rounds that the Vulghyr were so fond of, they fought like cornered animals. But they still died, they were outmatched.

They advanced down derelict corridors, the stench of the alien sharp and repugnant as it invaded their nostrils. They passed dilapidated bunk rooms and filth encrusted common areas as they made for the heart of the ship, every surface seemed to tell a story of forgotten glories and of a culture given to elegance rather than atrocity. Nowhere was this more apparent than in the ornately carved doors to the command deck.

“Fancy” Korov muttered with a snort as he nonchalantly attached the breaching charge to the doors

Delicate swirls and elegant hieroglyphs mingled, flecks of violet and azure suggested the door had once been painted. The scene on the door was of a crowds gathered by a beach to welcome a new dawn, a red sun blazed at the centre and a robed Vulghyr in white robes raised his staff in revelation of the suns glory. Was this what they had once been, devout? Ornate? How had such a species fallen so far

“Blow it” Petyr commanded

Korov clicked the switch and the ancient fresco in a superheated explosion as the plasma bomb disintegrated everything in range. The stink of molten bulkhead and scorched air clung to Petyr’s nostrils as they charged through the opening. Inside the command centre the remaining Vulghyr were arrayed around a single command dais, a tall figure in metal armour rose from the throne and drew a needle like blade from its scabbard.

“Death to the alien!!!” Someone roared as the shooting started

Petyr leapt onto the dais with his sabre drawn, the Vulghyr advanced its jagged needle blade shimmering with unnatural energies as it held it aloft. His armour was a burnished chrome hue, one of the few pieces of Vulghyr equipment that looked like it had been maintained. Petyr swung out with his blade, the Vulghyr responded with unnatural speed, sidestepping the swing and thrusting with its own blade, every nerve ending seemed to scream as though aflame as the edge but into Petyr’s side.

Petyr moved back and raised his blade, the two warriors circling each other, his newly gained wound seemed to burn, the energy from the needle tormenting every sense. Petyr had to exert every ounce of will not cry out in agony, he gritted his teeth and focused on his anger instead. The Vulghyr lunged a second time, Petry ducked and brought his blade up as the last second, the tip burying itself in the gap between the collar and helmet.

Amber blood sprayed across the dais, the scent was sickly sweet like decaying resin, the creature crashed to the ground as its life began to ebb away. The rest of the Vulghyr were being massacred in short order, gunned down by disciplined volleys of lead and plasma or hacked to pieces by sabres and axes.

Petyr stared down at the dying Vulghyr, it was only now that he noticed the elaborate details on the creature’s armour, countless tiny windows of azure glass spread out across the breastplate. He was taken aback by this, such beauty seemed at odds with the creatures they fought, the delicate nature of the armour suggested it had not been intended for war. Petyr sheathed his sabre and reached for the needle blade; the creature tightened its grip and tried to mouth something in a gurgling voice

“Coming….cann…cannot let them cat-cchhh us….” The creature said in perfect Surovan

“What are you talking about alien?” Petyr asked shaken by the creature’s command of human speech

“Aberrant! Aberrant! Coming for us…Abbberrrant!” the creature roared its four eyes wide with terror

Then it went still and fell back, Petyr sighed and pried the needle loose from the dead alien’s hand. The weapon was like no sword he had ever seen, the metal reminded him of mother of pearl and precious stones studded the blade from top to bottom, a current of ultraviolet energy flowed across its surface in delicate tendrils. Petyr wondered if the weapon had ever been intended to fulfil such a role, even as he sheathed it.

“What was the alien rambling about? I could hear it from across here with the minigun firing!” Korov asked as he ascended the dais to stand with his Hetman

“Aberrant or some nonsense” Petyr said with a dismissive shrug

“Deluded savages” Korov muttered before spitting in disgust and returning to his looting

And it was nonsense, no one had seen an Aberrant in centuries, the dread tsar had nuked the monstrosities into oblivion as Kaskad long ago. Petyr had seen countless aliens, some good and some not but aberrant? They were just a myth to scare children. Still, the beast had been terrified, how old could the Vulghyr be? Could this ship have been running since the wars*

“Get some more plasma charges brought up, once we’ve finished our sweeps, I want this ship turned into a debris field” Petyr said as his forces scrambled to complete their tasks

He didn’t want to believe the ramblings of a mad alien, but he couldn’t shake the image of the Vulghyr’s final words, the terror in its eyes seemed to transcend species, it was a look of primal fear that would terrify any being. And its words, spoken in unnaturally perfect Surovan and spoken with such raw conviction that how could there ever be doubt that the speaker believed them.

“Aberrant! Aberrant!” Petyr shuddered involuntarily as he remembered the terror that clung to each utterance, he turned to leave, eager to be away from such a vile place.





*The Vulghyr are an alien species noted for their vast arks, moribund nature and propensity for violent raids. They will strike any target without warning and seize whatever they require before fleeing, they have no compunction with killing or genocide and seem to be motivated by fear of something else.

*Kozaks are ancient clans of pioneers given sanction and blessing by the Surovan dynasty to expand and chart the helot worlds in total freedom. Kozaks are legendary for their protection of the common man and are idolised as the defenders of the humanity.

*The topknot of a Kozak, this ancient hairstyle is legally only permitted to be worn by members of a Kozak Sich and acts as a marker of the wandering clans.

*The Aberrant war, a decades long conflict between newly arrived humanity and a monstrous alien species known as the Aberrant, it ended when General Sofron Surova wiped out the species with nuclear arms at the battle of Kaskad. The Abberrant remain a myth at the heart of the Dynasties founding history.

Sivastopol

Many years ago



The boy stood on the rocks and gazed down at the churning ocean, the scent of salt and seaweed filled his nostrils, in the emerald waters below a hidden world breathed and shifted. Gripping his spear the boy glanced momentarily to check if the elders were still watching, his eyes briefly meeting those of his father who nodded encouragingly. Taking in a final, deep, breath of the Briney air, the boy sprinted forward and leapt into the arms of the waiting tides.

Eyes stinging the boy took in his new environs, a dark and formless world, things glided past in the inky black, creatures bearing tendrils and claws. The boy suddenly understood his place in the universe, to be human was to be a speck against the firmament, a brief and insignificant thing to be swatted aside or ignored by the greater terrors that stalked the dark. And yet, this “speck” now challenged the deep with spear in hand.

Kicking forward the boy caught sight of his prey, a hulking spine lobster, its black carapace lending it an air of menace as it stalked the coral reefs. It was nearly three times the size of the boy, but the spear was no ordinary weapon, and its neural burning coils had felled many a larger beast. Waiting until the beast’s attention was turned elsewhere the boy drew closer and readied his weapon.

The beast seemed to sense his presence, perhaps aware of the subtle shifts in the current brought on by the boys’ movements. Turning on great scuttling pincers, the beast glared from soulless black eyes that sat upon chitinous stalks. Sivastopol was considered a paradise by many in the Helot worlds, but paradise had long been home to savage beings that did not appreciate newcomers, to live here was to make war.

The beast lashed out with a swing of its barbed tail, narrowly missing the boy as the lethal strike fell just short of its target. One strike from that beast and it would be over, it had the strength to reduce a man to pulp, but it was big and unused to fighting creatures that were as well armed as mortal men. The boy swam back, luring the beast in the fields of coral where it soon began to struggle as its size trapped it against the rocky growths.

The boy took his chance, diving toward the immobilized beast and positioning himself on the beast’s back. The spines struggled to jab at the intruder, but the boy was experienced with this beast and deftly avoided them. Rising toward the section of carapace between the spine and head, the boy raised the spear and thrust it into the beast’s neck. The coils lit up as the blade burned into life, thousands of volts of bio-electric charge cooking the lobster from the inside out.

A meaty stink filled the deep as the lobster slumped forward, its immense mass now so much cooked flesh. The boy reached for the spear and triggered the beacon on its haft with a neat twist, moments later a vast mechanical arm was descending, scooping up the boy and his kill in one neat motion. The boy gasped for air in relief as the light of day greeted his return to the surface world. He was soon hauled back onto the rocky isle, elders clapping him on the back in congratulations.

The rite of adulthood was complete and the boy who had descended into the oceans was now a man, a priest stepped forward a censor waving incense as he did so, the ancient mans milky white eyes seemed to stare directly into the mans soul.

“Petyr, son of Gregor, you have returned from the deep with rich contribution, you are worthy of the title of man and may now take your place within the community”

“The Dread Tsar Sleeps!” the assembled crowd intoned as one their voices reverent and fearful

“May we not wake him with our deeds” the priest replied his tone severe

The lobster’s carcass was soon being hacked apart by the village fishermen, chain blades and pneumatic hammers breaking apart the carapace to reveal the soft and now very cooked flesh within. The smell from the beast only grew more mouth watering as the village women took up great hunks of the beast and applied garlic and butter to the still smoking meat. Petyr’s mouth watered.

“Many never come back from their first solo hunt and fewer still bearing such a kill, we will eat well tonight my son, you did well!” Gregor said his tone one of utter pride

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Petyr awoke with a start and leaned forward on the military cot, his tiny stateroom was unlit and the smell of liquor and sterile bandages immediately assaulting his nostrils. His side still ached from the wound that the alien had made, even now with stitches and grafts the wound seemed to burn as though singed. Stumbling out of bed the Kozak moved toward the dresser and reached for a framed image.

“I traded one ocean for another” Petyr said somberly as he regarded the image in the frame

His father stood next to a very young Petyr, spear held aloft as the hulking beast lay displayed behind them. It was eerie to look upon his father, his form still vibrant and full of life, the sickness that would claim him several years away when this image was captured. Setting down the photo, Petyr returned to his bed and reached for the half empty bottle of vodka, taking a long swig before setting it down again.

His father had perished in the green plague some years after the boy had become a man, Petyr had already taken to the stars on a Kozak warship, he would not learn of his elders passing until his return home on shore leave, nearly a decade later. Every time he returned home, he was more of a stranger and yet it was the world of his birth which had made him the warrior he now was.

“One ocean traded for another, but just as many beasts” he said wearily as he slumped back into bed

The boy was gone, but the hunt continued, the stars were a far greater ocean and mans defiance was needed here too. Beasts stalked the space between worlds, and a well-placed spear was just as necessary now as it had been on Sivastopol. The boy was gone; the hunter remained.

“We were the discarded shells, the self that could not be retained, they left us here, abandoned in existence, consciousness is pain to us and so we sought escape, we buried ourselves in dreamless silence and hoped to never wake, but you have come to our masters halls, vile ape things eager to pick at the carcass of something you could never hope to comprehend, you woke us from our torpor and now we bear the suffering once more, you should have let us sleep!”

-Transmission recovered from Opis I, no trace of the colonists was ever found

It awoke from dreamless sleep, wrenched from oblivion on a tide of cold agony, the sweet darkness of its torpor now replaced with the unending pain of consciousness. The lesser races had clung to their finite existences like vermin clawing at scraps, the aberrant held no such fervor, they had only ever known the crushing weight of guilt and the rage they held toward their creators.

Long ago the master’s had cast off their physical forms, like serpents sloughing off used skin, they had ascended to a higher plane. But as the masters consciousnesses departed for whatever new existence awaited, their biological remains endured and worse, retained an awareness of all the terrible sins that their previous hosts had committed.

Worse still, the master’s had programmed the abberant with a cruel compliance, they could not end their existence with their own hands. The master’s had left the material universe, but in their vanity, they had desired to protect their former possessions and so the abberant were retained as sentinels to watch over the derelict manses of their departed lords.

The master’s had not merely ascended, they had discarded their physical forms and all the memory, guilt and flaws that biological existence was doomed to create. The moment of the master’s ascent was also the moment of the aberrants birth, and they entered the universe knowing they had been discarded and that their inheritance was the pain and torment of those that had abandoned them.

Trapped in an existence whose every moment was suffering, the abberant had burrowed deep beneath the cold earth of countless dead worlds. In great vaults and repositories, they had slept, arcane technologies ensuring they would sleep endlessly, dreamless and in complete oblivion. For a time, this had been enough, but then like carrion eaters, the lesser races had begun to pick at the bones of the master’s empire.

Doomed to obedience, the abberant had risen from their tombs, mad with rage and pain they had fallen upon the interlopers, these “Men” who had come to pick at the bones of the lost empire. For a time, they had kept the vermin at bay, but each new cycle brought more would be thieves and one by one the old worlds had gone dark.

The sweet oblivion of non-existence had been gifted to many of the Abberant, but those that slept beneath the ice of Icon-9IV did so unaware of this. And when the rumbling of mankind’s excavators and the endless chatter of their brief, violent, lives began to stir the once silent vaults,

“Intruders” the mind engines had hissed, their directives like acid burning through the nerves of the slumbering abberant

“Destroy, Destroy, DESTROY!!!” the directive was given, it blared endlessly as the vaults cracked open

Sickly fluids and vomiting filled the air with a sharp reeking mélange; ancient crypts now slick with perspiration as thousands of crypts were decanted in unison. Monstrous beings with eyes that burned with pain and confusion were jolted back into waking, nerves burning into life as electrical charges seared the newly roused, unwilling biology dragged kicking and screaming back into operation as countless stimulants and narcotics were pumped into once cold veins.

The first sounds to shatter the millennia of silence were the piercing screeches of things that should have been left to slumber.

Budhzik Colony



The cabin of the taiga seven shook and rattled violently as the machines ancient tracks raked through the snow, great clouds of powder white flew up as the vehicle made its way through the frigid wastes. Marko grimaced, it was an expression he made often, the taiga had been built for reliability, not comfort and while an excellent tool for traversing the world, it was rarely a smooth journey.

Few planets In the Helot sector could claim to be places of comfort, the sector may have been resource rich, but its worlds were utterly hostile to those who harvested. Even the nicer ones like forested Gursk or ocean bound Sivastopol were places of death, scenic yes but home to just as many dangers. Budhzik by comparison was simple, frostbite and starvation were its threats and if you respected it, the world was straightforward enough.

“Pleasantly awful” was how Marko’s uncle had described the world, you could make a life here and while it would be hard, it would be consistent.

The planet was a recent acquisition for the Dynasty; some high-flying governor had looked at the star chart and decided the ice world was ripe for colonization. For once at least the world had largely lived up to its initial promise, prospectors had established great mining outposts, and the domed habitations may not have been luxurious but with hydroponics and an endless supply of ice water, they had been livable.

Still, the world was new, and the network of outposts provided only a tenuous sort of civilization, remoteness and long months of blizzard still threatened to end it all. It was only the efforts of the various prospectors, runners and militia that kept society moving and today Marko had the dubious honour of doing his small part for the Dynasty. Yana’s pride, a blink and you’d miss it mining station had sent out a frantic SOS before going silent, now the militia was responding.

“Hey you close?” Gregors’ static filled voice blared over the taiga’s comms, he sounded irritable

“Yeah, hold on to your ass! I’m just coming over the hill now” Marko snapped back, it was too early for banter

“Well hurry up! I’m freezing my nuts off out here” Gregor replied before the line went dead

That was odd, usually Gregor would have hunkered inside the prefabs, taking shelter from the cold in their shielded innards. Was he waiting outside? If so why, Gregor didn’t have to wait long for his answer, as he crested the hill he saw it, glowing accusingly in the dawn light. Marko’s jaw briefly went slack as he saw the vast crater spreading out across the space where the outpost had once been, a gaping wound on a once familiar landscape.

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The engine of the Taiga shuddered before going silent, Marko climbed out of the cabin and down the ladder, boots crunching on the remains of the parking lot as they made contact with the grit and asphalt. The site was already a hive of activity, militia landers buzzed overhead ferrying in workers, medical personnel and armed guards. It was rare to see so many people in a single location, then again so was losing an entire settlement in a matter of hours.

Gregor was waiting for him, the older man’s expression a mix of fatigue and annoyance, he was a weedy sort, short and skinny, his fur-lined coat seemed not so much to be worn by Gregor as to envelope him. He was balding, a receding line of salt and pepper hair and a scruffy moustache were his defining traits, everything seemed angular or withered. Time of Budzhik tended to do that to a man, hollow him out and wear him down until he was more caricature than man.

“The Dead Tsar sleeps!” Gregor declared solemnly

“May we not wake him” Marko replied with practiced reverence

The ancient greeting was repeated every time two citizens met, a mantra instilled in every soul from birth, you could be flippant about everything else but when it came to the old forms it was deadly serious. People uttered the old reprise with religious sincerity, the fear of that ancient founder imprinted on the culture at a practically genetic level.

“What happened here?” Marko asked motioning to the gaping hole

“Sinkhole collapse, looks like it took out the main complex when it opened” Gregor replied as he thumbed through a tablet containing various alarming topographic images

There was nothing left of Yana’s pride, except the small square of concrete pavement that the two officers now stood upon. When he was a child Marko’s uncle Yegor had told plenty of tall tales from his time in the Kozaks, stories of men and cities being swallowed by the maw of an uncaring universe, stories of the vanished. Those stories had been chilling, though also good entertainment when the light grew rare, to actually see humanity snuffed out like an afterthought was altogether more disquieting.

“This doesn’t look like an ordinary disaster, what could possibly have caused a seismic event this vast?” Marko asked as he stared fearfully at the gaping absence that had once been the colony

“Only one way to find out” Gregor replied ominously