Peter David - Out of the Darkness

Hiller of the planet Mipas had always been an enthusiast about Earth history. He wasn’t alone in that regard; many of the residents of Mipas shared the interest. Earth history had become something of a fad. But Hiller specialized in one particular aspect of Earth activity and culture, and that was the great art of mountain climbing.

It was a practice that was virtually unknown among the Mipasians. Not that there was a lack of mountains on Mipas; far from it. There were several particularly impressive ranges, including some that rivaled those scaled by the immortal Sir Edmund Hillary, someone for whom Hiller felt a particular closeness thanks to the similarity in their names.

However, no one on Mipas had ever displayed the slightest interest in endeavoring to scale any of these peaks. All in all, Mipasians weren’t an especially aggressive race—they preferred to live their lives peacefully and avoid the notice of the more aggressive and bellicose races that populated the galaxy.

Hiller, though, felt the urge to tackle the mountains.

They seemed to taunt him, their peaks shrouded in cloud and mystery. It was said that gods resided up there. Hiller didn ‘t lend much credence to that theory, but nevertheless he simply knew that, sooner or later, he was going to have to try to find out for himself.

“Why?” his friends would ask him. “What is this need? Why this driving ambition to clamber up the side of a protruding geographic formation, at great personal risk? ” Hiller would always give the exact same response. He would toss off a salute with one tentacle and declare, “Because it’s there.” He was rather proud of that quote, having come across it in his studies.

Now Hiller was on the verge of accomplishing his most ambitious feat. He was in the midst of essaying a climb up… the Big One. The Mipasians had never bothered to name their mountains. This one was dubbed the Big One for convenience’ sake, simply because it was the biggest mountain around. Many days had Hiller climbed it. Many times had he nearly fallen to his death, dangling by the tentacles before continuing his long, slow, and oozing way up the side. And finally, after many perilous days and nights, he had nearly reached his goal, peak had broken through the clouds, and was using a breathing device to aid in his ascent, since the air at the mountaintop was quite thin.

He felt giddy. A child’s wonder possessed him, as he wondered whether he would indeed witness the surprised expressions of the gods, gaping at him, when he managed to reach the peak.

And then, as he stopped for a moment to rest, he heard something. It was a deep, sonorous sound that at first seemed to be coming from everywhere. It echoed from all the rock walls, its origin impossible to discern. Hiller looked around with frustration, then plunged a tentacle into his pack and extracted a viewer. Mist and clouds hovered all around him, but the viewer could easily punch through and give him a clear idea of what, if anything, lay in the vicinity.

He activated the viewer and again wondered if he would find the gods waving at him. How amazing—and amusing—would that be?

After a few moments, he began to discern shapes. They were coming from the north… no. No, not quite. They were coming from overhead and descending quickly, horrifyingly quickly. Two of them, no, three, perhaps four. It was impossible to be certain. What he did know, though, was that they were getting closer.

The mountaintop began shaking in sympathetic vibrating response to the powerful engines that were propelling the objects through the sky. Pebbles, then larger rocks began to fall, and at first the full significance of that didn’t register. As even bigger rocks tumbled around him, though, he suddenly realized that he was in mortal danger.

He started scrambling back down as quickly as he could, having spotted a cave on the way up that might provide shelter. But it was too late, and he was too slow. A massive avalanche fell upon him and Hiller lost his grip. His tentacles flapped about in futility, and suddenly the mountainside where he had been clinging was gone, and he was falling, unable to stop himself or help himself in any way. Gravity had taken over, pulling him down. He hit a protruding cliff and tumbled off it, hearing things break inside him and not wanting to think about what they were. Then he landed hard on an outcropping.

For just a scintilla of a second, he thought he actually might be able to survive. Not that he had the slightest idea how he was going to get down off the mountain, considering that he was already losing feeling below his neck. But he reminded himself that it was important to worry about one thing at a time.

However, the entire issue became academic as the gigantic pile of rocks tumbled around and upon him. He let out a last shriek of protest, frustrated that something so unfair and capricious was happening at the moment of what should have been his greatest triumph.

Fortunately, the rock slide left his head unscathed. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite as generous with the rest of him. His body was crushed, the pain so massive and indescribable that his mind simply shut down, unable to cope.

And so as it happened, from his vantage point on the ledge, Hiller was able to see the cause of his death with his own eyes. They were huge ships, smaller than the gargantuan cruisers he had seen on news broadcasts, but larger than the one—to—one fighters that were so popular with the local military.

The style, however, was unmistakable.

“Centauri,” he whispered. Whispering was all he could manage, and even then it would have been incomprehensible to anyone who was listening.

The Centauri ships moved off at high speed, heedless of the damage they had already left in their wake. Amazingly, the clouds seemed to part for them, as if with respect. Each ship possessed four curved fins, jutting at right angles to one another, knifing through the sky. He was able to see, far in the distance on the horizon, one of Mipas’ largest cities. The ships were going right for it. The velocity with which they were moving was staggering. One moment it seemed as if they were near the mountain; the next they were practically over the metropolis.

They wasted no time at all. Their weaponry rained death down upon the city. Hiller watched helplessly, his body dying all around him, his vision becoming dark. Because of the distance involved, he saw the flashes of light that indicated that the city was being fired upon, and some seconds later, the sounds would reach him faintly, like far-off thunder.

It made no sense. Why would the Centauri attack Mipas? They had harmed no one. They were neutral. They had no enemies, nor did they desire any.

As the world faded around him, his mind cried out to the gods who had not chosen to present themselves, “Why? We have not hurt them! We never could, never would hurt them! What possible reason could they have?”

And then the words of his friends reverberated through his brain just as that organ shut down for good. His final neurons and synapses answered his own question with another one that made ironic sense:

“Why climb a mountain…?”

It is with some degree of shock and personal disappointment that I must conclude that I am losing my mind. I know this because, for the first time in… well… ever, I must admit… I actually felt sorry for Mariel.