The Present…

06 lay across his bunk, pointedly ignoring the persistent message light and the incoming comms sent his way. He had been quite vocal on the comms lately, both denouncing Scadian Wraith, and in silencing the Voices. It had been a draining few weeks, both mentally and physically. The lingering, numerous scorch marks remaining to mar his ships in both his clan hangar and the DF hangar could attest to that fact quite vividly. The Fringe had become a hotbed recently – a veritable cornucopia of passionate viewpoints about every subject under the Fringe’s many suns.

All he wanted to do was take a break, leave his alternate persona behind, and retire completely. He had the money, now. But – as they say – there is no rest for the wicked. As if determined to prove the sage wrong, he slowly drifted into a deep, yet troubled slumber, eyes moving rapidly, perhaps thinking of the blurred and strife-torn days of recent weeks.

The Past…

A whirlwind of activity in the Arena. BreakerXX and Stealer03 engaged in ruthless combat. Taunts, plasma, and blood flow freely this day. Anyone venturing too near is vaporized almost instantly, as if swatting flies. We have 1 Breaker… one Stealer… and one Crusher. Him. Crap. Only himself, versus two of the best the Devil’s Fist has to offer. Thoughts of the future, of a hope-filled new beginning crumble to dust in that split second of recognition. Steeling himself against the coming trial by fire, he raced inexorably toward the titanic battle between these two great pilots. He couldn’t help wondering what he was going to do in his flimsy pegasus versus two behemoth Hammers. Too late to be maudlin. He was in range. He dropped both his blast torps directly at the spot between the two ships.

Far outdistancing the scream of the torp in seconds, he switched to lasers, and squeezed off a shot at XX on his way past, but doing little damage in comparison to the awesome array of weaponry on each Hammer. He heard the torps detonate behind him, watching in satisfaction as both ships suffered moderate damage from the blast, and pulled a high G turn to return to the fray. Now, it was a matter of survival. He had to get one to destroy the other, and pick the winner off. He rolled quickly with a lat reverse to avoid a rail coming his way, but only partially succeeded. He darted nimbly *between* the two huge ships, and got a hit on 03. Glancing at his HUD, he saw 03 was getting dangerously low. Madly transferring energy reserves to keep his shields up, he dropped under and behind XX, strafing his rear shields with triple bolts of crimson fire, then burned up and through the melee to regain his bearings. Crap! Thinking too much, he said under his breath, as two sets of quad plasmas streaked toward him. Almost as an afterthought, it seemed. Man, they were good.

With a tight barrel roll, he latted and burned his way around to a better position. But not before one of the rockets hit him, shredding his shields and reducing him to 75 hull in seconds. He transferred half his burners and lasers to shields. That will have to do, he thought. He dodged, corkscrewed, and reversed wildly, trying to spare himself that random shot that spelled his death. He spiraled in with full burners, reversing directions, trying to get the shot in, taking advantage of his low profile to avoid most of the fire. Arrowing in on 03, he dropped three lasers squarely in the center of their ship, on his way by at 2000 kph. XX’s engines exploded with a blinding flash, as four plasmas slammed into the rear quadrant of his ship, and the pilot ejected out with a pillar of flame trailing behind, as the dying ship jerked convulsively, then shattered into a brilliant flower of light. Down to 03, and himself. The huge Warhammer was dangerously low on resources, but a wounded beast is the most dangerous.

06 reversed course back in the Hammer’s direction. With a cry, he was thrown back into his seat as he kicked in his burners for a pass at the menacing Hammer. Just enough power for one torp. It left his ship with a scream, 5k out from his target, and zeroed in on the hulking black shape. They circled each other, dancing and sizing each other up. The torp impacted with it’s customary high-pitched, glass-breaking ping as the shockwave passed over his cockpit a split-second later.

The Hammer was down to 35 hull, no shields. He had only wounded the beast further. It came roaring at him with ponderous grace, closing in for the kill. Twin rails caught him off guard, and reduced him to a meager 30 hull. Into the fray! He burned up and behind the Hammer, trying to stay behind, and reduced it’s newly charged shields to ribbons with a couple well placed shots. He smiled coldly, and prepared for the coup de grace. He hit the burners, and … Nothing. He watched four plasma rockets gracefully arc their way toward him, and watched, entranced, as they made a beeline for his ship. So pretty, with the nebula as a backdrop.

CRAP!!!! He punched his eject button, and rocketed out of his doomed ship just in time, as the rockets vaporized the paper thin pegasus. 03 flew through the wreckage, saluted mockingly during a victory roll, and headed for the nearest gate. The adrenaline wore off. He shivered uncontrollably. That was close. Way too close.

Bloody Hammers.

To Be Continued…

He awoke with a start, almost injuring himself against his seat restraints. He took a deep breath, and could nearly taste how close he had come to death. He was alive, however, and he intended to stay that way. He glanced toward his nav computer, hoping he could make sense of his present position in his groggy state. Not good. Smoke lazily drifted from it’s twisted casing. Ok… next plan. He checked his comm systems. Thank the void, they were still functioning. He patched himself through to his personal ship’s comm, triangulated his position, then he and his damaged ship slowly limped toward their destination. As he had nothing better to do, considering his busted up ship, and on half thrust at that, he checked his personal comms. Message from Reamer thanking him for yet another completed contract, yada yada… Message from 03 about needed support in an upcoming battle, (yada yada again) Breaker00 asking for support in his plan to bring new leadership to the Devil’s Fist, and a list of demands… WHAT!? Scroll back. What in the void was he thinking? Reamer will have his hide, he thought.

He was wrong. Once safely back at DF HQ, he was assaulted with propositions from every newly formed faction, all with their own agenda, it seemed. This was ludicrous! “New Blood”, “Old ways are dead”, “Strong leadership”, “Back to what we were” – some of the slogans he encountered. Then the typical Devil’s Fist rhetoric (some people took this too seriously, he thought occasionally) – “They will drown in blood”. “Their screams will echo in the void for eternity”, “they will be as lambs at the slaughter”, and similar rubbish. By the end of his reading, three uneasy alliances had been formed. Breaker00 had initiated the splitup with his noisy public argument over policy with the other wingleaders. Who, in turn, themselves split into two groups. Longtime allies parted over how to discipline the upstart. He had to admit, Breaker00 was a likeable rogue. with a penchant for winning people over, despite his adopted evil persona. Oh, and there’s the message from IK outlining their support of the Breakers. Explains the attack a while ago. This could be a problem.

The Crushers, led by Reamer, were championing the decision to keep DF’s structure, goals, and operating principles essentially the same as they were before this fiasco. We had been decimated by recent LOA’s, public opinion reversals, and other besetting calamities recently, so this was a terrible time for this sort of thing to happen. The Breakers wanted a complete revamp of DF – top to bottom. With Breaker00 in charge of the “reconstruction”, probably. Then the young, impetuous Stealers and Cutters. They very nearly sounded as if they wanted nothing but anarchy. Wow. Quite a day. Of course, he sent a comm out to Reamer affirming his loyalty to the Crushers’ ideals, and explaining he needed a rest before doing anything. He wasn’t kidding, either. About the rest, or his ideals.

He slowly walked out to his ship, set the autopilot for an evasive route out of ther fog, and back to his patrol route. only five hours had passed since he left his barracks. Strange how so much could happen in so little time. Stranger things have been known to happen in the Fringe.

06 arrived at base only slightly late. Not late enough to engender suspicion, thankfully. He blamed his tardy arrival on a malfunction in his autopilot; easily explained by a purposeful failure to update the command protocols issued by the a/p manufacturer (de-updated by the concealed datadisk still hidden in his flightsuit cargo pocket). He reported no unusual activity in his patrol sector, and verified it with the faked data provided by the drone he had activated to mimic his patrol and his ident. Upon arriving home, he promptly collapsed in his bunk. He didn’t want to see what other messages he had waiting. Not surprisingly, he woke to see the message light blinking on his comm terminal. It seemed the Fringe was truly up in arms over this “internal disagreement”, as it was being called. There was gossip flying everywhere, stating everything from power struggles to petty bickering as the reason for this (too public by any account) dispute. Rumors flew over the tachband as to the true identities of the pilots that comprised the DF wings (more than usual…).Almost as bad as the rumor mill concerning supposed sightings of Susan’s elusive “Lance”. He hadn’t seen the comms so lively since the Bora/Galspan war, in fact.

He shook his head and walked out to the hangar. Under pretext of making a cargo run (an independent contract) to deliver goods to a (secretly) DF controlled cargo hauler, he set off (in an Archangel this time) for the hidden base once more. His circuitous route led him deep into the twilight, away from civilization, towards his second home.

To Be Continued…

06 was just your run of the mill pilot. A journeyman in a world of prima donnas. Nothing like Twilight Jack, with his rock star flair, or Werewolf, with his snarling angst. No, he was just a pilot. Better than average, but still just barely hanging on by the skin of his teeth in a hotshot’s world. He wondered sometimes why he had been selected out of hundreds to be a Devil’s Fist candidate.

During a long Fenris Arena Match, he had emerged victorious with a 20-5 record. Not a record-setting performance by any means, but not bad for a relative rookie. Soaked in perspiration, and exhausted from the concentration required to make it through such battles, he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a dark figure, towards the edge of the crowd that always gathered to congratulate the pilots after their matches. Almost gave him the chills when he realized whom this mysterious person was watching. Him! He decided he’d skip the showers and backed warily, almost hurriedly, toward his craft. He’d heard about those pilots. This “Devil’s Fist”. Nothing good, either. They were said to be killers – assassins, mercenaries for hire. They also numbered among them some of the top pilots in the fringe, leading a double life. Clansmen in their day to day lives, they also filled a darker role as their alter-egos; the dreaded “DF”. He evaded the dark-cloaked figure this time. he thought. Little did he know they would become an obsession.

He logged hundreds of hours for his new clan – a wise choice, considering his lack of experience in space combat. He participated in several battles with, and without, his wingmates. Some he excelled in, others not. He was a young pilot as of yet. Eventually, he grew in skill, and flying acumen; learning his ship, and the Fringe itself – his new home. He fought to contain the missiler threat, fought against outlaws, pirates, other clans, yet somehow he remained unscathed despite it all. He considered himself lucky. Then one day, it happened. He entered his barracks, to find a comm waiting for him. As he plopped down in his chair, he noticed the message would not immediately initialize. Coded to my DNA pattern? He thought. Must be some new orders. He decoded the message, and initialized it. That wasn’t his wingleader. Grinning hideously at him from the viewscreen was a white, deathly pale face. He wore black leather, a mockery of a flightsuit, and looked to have a forest of pins sprouting from his ghostly head.

“Greetings, Pilot.” Said that grinning face. The face of Cutter01, the infamous Breaker Wingleader. “I have been monitoring your progress with great interest. With a little time and experience, I’d like to have you join us” The message continued, but his mind was racing. He was aghast. Him, a killer? No sir! he closed the terminal with a bang, and headed to the simulators to work out the issues running through his head. I’ll NEVER be a killer! So he thought.

Almost compulsively, nearly against his will, he began reading all he could find about the Devil’s Fist. A group shrouded in secrecy, yet thinly guised as a mercenary group, they policed the Fringe as noone else could. With fear. With intimidation, and the strength of their reputation as cold-blooded killers. Founded by one known only as “SoulReamer”, the Devil’s Fist burst upon the scene just prior to All Hallows Eve; a traditional night of forbidden magics and sorcery. The other two wingleaders, SoulReaper and SoulReaver, were instrumental in the group’s establishment. They silently began their work. Few in number at first, but deadly fliers, all. Accept the contract, fulfill it, and post proof for the solicitor. “An evil business”, quoted Reamer in an earlier text. “But necessary. Would you feel safer knowing your own wingmen are accepting these jobs, and not some unknown quantity? Better the devil you know…” Interesting, in a macabre fashion. Their numbers grew, and chief among these new recruits was a pilot assigned to the “Cutters” wing.

His original callsign was “SoulCutter02”, but the bravado and panache displayed in his piloting, as well as the artistic flair with which he displayed his kills quickly earned him the “01” position in his wing, and eventually his own wing, the “SoulBreakers”. Suffice it to say, our “hero”, (if you will) had a bit of a falling out with his clan. A faux pas, I suppose you would call it. The offshoot of this involvement was this; in an insane moment of frustration, he contacted Cutter01 concerning that job with the Devil’s Fist. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on his state of mind when thinking of it) two members of DF left; one over DF’s methods of taking and completing contracts, the other over a missiler in a private arena. Quite an ugly scene at the time, but regardless of the outcome, that left DF two pilots short. He got the comm the next day. “Your application to the Devil’s Fist is hereby approved. Stand by for confirmation codes, and the route to stronghold. Welcome, SoulCrusher06, to the Devil’s Fist”.

This post is short fiction. My short fiction, actually. I’m going to post a few of these in lieu of a “real” blog post, because I’d like to share it with you. Be warned that some of it may not be for those who are squeamish.

This story was inspired by an “actual” in-game event – so I wrote a story around it. It comes from the game “Tachyon: The Fringe”, which I have played for 6 years, off and on. I still think it is the best spaceflight combat simulator ever made. Primarily because of the flight model. Without further ado…

Chapter 1

SoulCrusher06 looked up from his ‘pad as the incoming message alert sounded. The data encryption algorithms processed, and a similarly encrypted face gazed at him from his viewscreen. “06, we have a contract. Do not reply. A pilot in your sector has been suggested to us as a potential contract due to his decidedly amoral conduct concerning honorable battle. Customer’s comments. Not mine. Here is an excerpt from the formal contract.

Dispatch this individual and upload the completion data and ident match to the usual location. Hull him! Reamer00 out.”

06 inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a visible slump to his shoulders. He stood up, and surveyed his quarters with a regal air, exited toward the hangar area. On his way, he passed several of his clanmates, and greeted them with false bravado concerning the upcoming arena matches with their rival clans. Yes, they were going to kick some butt. No, they weren’t going to stop at anything to win. And so on and so forth. He had other things on his mind. He was used to killing. He was a combat pilot. The world in which he had embroiled himself was another matter altogether. To kill, not for the honor of his clan, not for his ideals, not for pride; but merely because someone asked a pilot dead. Of course, his victim was an idiot. He had tried to kill an unsuspecting pilot like himself. Somehow, this was different. The Devil’s Fist was not your usual group.

He climbed inside his Galspan Pegasus fighter under pretenses of patrolling the border of the Twilight Region from attack. Yes, he replied to the command section query, just adding an extra shift because he couldn’t sleep. No, he wouldn’t let his guard down due to sleeplessness. Of course not. He powered up his fighter, the vibrations from the mighty engines rattling the entire hangar, but strangely distant to him in his padded and heavily shock dampened custom seat, inside his vibration and soundproofed cockpit. The engines roared, and he tore out of the hangar at the top speed of the Pegasus, (which is considerable). He glanced at his own personal motto, mounted on a plate to the right of his instrument panel. It said “Fly with courage, with chivalry, and with skill. No matter the outcome, your honor will be without question”. em>Tell that to my victim, he thought.

He arrived at the Devil’s Fist hangar, which as usual, which was devoid of any signs of life – as it was tucked away deep in the all-encompassing fog – and pulled his fighter in without incident. The rows of menacing black craft shone with a deceptive gleam as he took in the view inside the voluminous hangar. He landed behind his own personal collection of ships he had purchased with his newfound credits. Blood money, all of it, he thought fleetingly. Enough of this. This pilot was an idiot, a danger to others and himself. it was time to hunt. He walked over to his locker with a deceptively easy stride, and gathered his Devil’s Fist flightsuit and all his equipment.

Nothing should identify him. As he pulled on his sable gauntlets, and pulled his jet-black helmet on, he truly looked a killer. The Devil’s Fist is feared throughout the Fringe. Sure. If they only knew who we were, he thought.

He selected a Warhammer to execute Johnny with. Only fitting. See how he likes plasma rockets decimating his shields, he thought to himself. He powered the ship up, and slowly pulled out of the hangar.

Once safely away from the secretive base of operations, he began to scan the comms for signs of his quarry’s whereabouts. Nothing on the RG comms, nothing from IK. This might take a while. He continued to scan through the comms. There! Void Alliance frequency, one “Captain Scarlet”. “That idiot Johnny Rebel’s playing with plasmas again”, he heard from the comm. 06 smiled to himself. Gotcha. He swung the ship around to the new heading, and as he passed through the gate, his last thought was, Poor sucker. Wonder what else you did to piss people off? The Tachyon gate accelerated him to impossible speeds, and the jet black ‘Hammer elongated, then disappeared in a flash of light.

He emerged from the gate with a euphoric rush, and shook his head huriedly to clear the effects of the jump. Within seconds, he had a lock on his victim. “Oh Johnny….”, he said over the comm. “The Devil’s here for his due…” There was an abrupt break in comm traffic as the current occupants of the sector took in the black lines of the Hammer’. He caught the tail end of an encrypted message from an IK pilot. “There’s one … those … scum. I say … take him, and take … the garbage …. him.” Crap, he thought. Just what I need. An IK patrol flight to deal with too. Ah well. Take what comes. Two Pegasi and an Archangel. Great. Let’s see; Target at 240, IK at 160, VA at 230, on the target’s butt. The base is what he’s heading for. Let’s see what this baby can do. “This is The Devil’s Fist, SoulCrusher06 on contract for Johnny Rebel. Stand down and allow me to complete it”, he said in his most authoritative voice. “DF slime, take your contracts back out in the fog, where you both belong. get out of the Fringe!” The IK patrol leader said ominously. So much for the DF mystique…..

The IK fighters were closing, and fast. He still had 35 klicks on the targets, and the IK patrol was almost within range. Crap. Just then, came his break. Captain Scarlet scored a direct hit on his starboard engine, slowing him down considerably. Closing… 20 klicks. IK in range. Plasma, he breathed, don’t let me down. The two pegs roared past him as he kicked the Hammer into full reverse. His shields still whined in protest as two single deimos still scored. Down to 65. Crap… He kicked on his burners in an attempt to close the gap. it succeeded, until he realized one crucial thing he had missed. The sturdy ship bucked in space as quad blast torps scored direct hits on his shields! The Bloody Archangel!

Space him…

10 shields, 60 hull. Crap. Still at 10 klicks out. Closing… bloody peggies are coming back around. He reversed his lats haphazardly, in an attempt to buy himself some time. Another deimos took what little was left of his shields. There goes the rails, he thought, as he transferred laser power to his shields to keep himself (hopefully) intact. 7 klicks… as another deimos hit him aft. 4…. plasmas away, clean quad shot. The rockets hit Rebel’s aft shields in an explosion of light, and brought him to critical on 06’s scanner. 06’s ship rocked as a blast torpedo found it’s mark once again. Crap! Another clear shot… and another set of quads turned Rebel’s ship to stardust. He immediately turned his transmitter on to upload the evidence, in case he didn’t make it out of this one. (He was beginning to doubt the outcome. Most assuredly)

Captain Scarlet suddenly burst out of nowhere, almost directly on top of him, and caused him to duck involuntarily. He distinctly heard hull armor blow up. Galspan hull. He drained the last of his laser power, and hit his slide button once oriented toward the gate. He rotated around his vertical axis on his way back past the IK fighters, and let loose several volleys of plasma on his way by. The second pegasus was not keeping up anymore, he noticed. Now he rotated fully behind his slide path, and let loose with the remainder of his plasma rockets. Busy dodging the lethal hail of rockets, he dropped back a whole 5 klicks. 06 could almost feel the deimos shots as they scattered around his overly large (or so it seemed now) profile. “Why did I bring the Hammer again?”, he asked himself. A large explosion echoed in his ears, leaving him temporarily deaf. The peg had caught back up. The acrid smell of an electrical fire, as well as the distinct feeling he was losing velocity, began to work their way to the front of his mind. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap became almost like a mantra. This was it. His luck had run out. Seething energies surrounded him, took hold of his conscious mind, and he knew no more.

To be Continued…

This post is short fiction. My short fiction, actually. I’m going to post a few of these in lieu of a “real” blog post, because I’d like to share it with you. Be warned that some of it may not be for those who are squeamish.

This was written for a friend of mine. He was going to write a work of fiction containing multiple, short vignettes, set in the Tachyon: The Fringe universe. The subject choice is his. The writing is my own. Enjoy.

/record/

Some people just burn
Like a Roman candle

Some people just see the burning
They can predict it… Unfortunately, they go insane.

Some people see… nothing
They just didn’t get lucky yet.

There aren’t many of us left, now. We used to be a vast, sprawling, brawling race of explorers, warriors, adventurers, and an all-around great bunch of people. Now, we’re just the moldering remnants of the once-great sails of an ancient ship of the line. Tattered, torn, rotting away – yet valiantly trying to keep our heading in the teeth of the gales of history. Yet nothing we attempt can possibly return our crew to our decks – we’re adrift, despite our best efforts. We are an anachronism, yet futilely struggle on, oblivious to the fact that nothing we attempt can possibly affect the outcome.

The human race, he pondered, is reduced to this, now. We’re nothing but a huddling group of frightened children, sheltering inside our walls, while the wolves howl outside. We desperately try to convince ourselves that the wolves are merely a figment of our collective imaginations, so we do nothing but share the warmth in our little bodies, awaiting something we know, deep down, is inevitable. We still try to make believe that the day will never come – when the wolves find their way inside, and devour us all.

He knew he was a little mad already. That, he also accepted. It was the way things now were. Those who didn’t burn, were doomed to know when the others would. Those that neither saw, nor burned – they were, simply, not yet dead. Nothing more, nothing less. Welcome to the human condition.

It began with the visions, long ago. Some began to see the flames. It was written off for a century or more as simply a product of stress, environment, an unbalanced mind, or simply as “the unknowable” – the favorite bastion of the psychiatric community. Until the Burning began. Oh, it didn’t begin all at once. It took quite some time for the first discoveries to be made public. It happened so fast, you see. First, you saw them stiffen, as if rigor mortis set in at a blinding speed. The nimbus appeared. Their eyes opened wide, as if they saw all the mysteries of the universe unfolded to them – then, it happened. Almost too fast for the human eye to register, a white sheet of flame began to consume the body. Beginning at the extremities, working its way inward, the flame races in, leaving only a haloed afterimage in your mind’s eye. Then, without a sound, without a trace – they’re just… gone. During the initial stages, the theories abounded, and the scientists treated it like a cheap tabloid stunt. Then, the frequency increased.

At first, you see, it only happened once or twice a decade. With the speed at which it occurred, you couldn’t really be sure you saw what you saw. It was freaky. It almost never happened around heavy electronics, which people lauded as a deterrent to the Burning, for a while. So there was never a good-quality image to break down and analyze. Later, though, we had more images of it than we could stomach. Because, you see – it took a large majority of the cyborgs first. Maybe they were just attuned with it, somehow. We still don’t know. There’s nothing like the internal data from a cybernetic eye watching it’s bodies’ own limbs vaporizing – I have to say that much.

All of them didn’t go up, though. It skipped around, like some insane wildfire. Here, a mother holding her child’s hand on a shopping trip. The child’s hand wasn’t even hot to the touch, seconds afterward. A man walking down the promenade, freezing, staring into nothingness, and immolating. Right in the center of a throng of chatty shoppers. It finally reached galactic attention, though, when the pilot of a bulk freighter went up while on approach to GalSpan headquarters. A quarter of a trillion creds went up in flames that day. It became real, then, it seems. I don’t know. It was over 450 years ago. I’m something of an anomaly now, I suppose. I’m a sane Prophet. I can tell you, just by looking at someone, the exact date, hour, minute, and second that someone is going to Burn. We’re all Chosen for something, they tell us, now. Some to Prophesy, some to Burn. Some still even die of old age. The odds are only about 50-50 now. 50% of the human population, if the figures I have aren’t lying, are slated to Prophesy and go stark raving mad, or go up like a firecracker. Only 200 years ago, it was only 5%. If that doesn’t bode ill for our race, I don’t know what does.

So yes, I suppose I’m something of an oddity. I’m 28 years old, I’ve had the Sight since I hit puberty. If you’re going to Prophesy, you’re normally mad by age 22. More males than females can See, while more females burn. Statistically. But when you’re talking billions of deaths every year, the numbers aren’t exactly important. I’m also an oddity, because I still fly. They grounded most interstellar travel after the Space Burnings 75 years or so ago. Pilots had done historically well prior to that – some attributed that to the high concentration level required to become an accredited pilot. The Space Burnings changed it all, though. Roughly 12 million spacefarers all Burned within 7 hours, in every nook and cranny of the known galaxy – over 82% of the then-current licensed pilots. The Tach system is still operational – barely. The network keeps degrading, and those of us that are left play Russian roulette every time we make a jump. In an existence like that, though, things like that ceased to matter a long, long, time ago.

Let me write this down, while I’m still lucid. Most people with the Sight are already a little mad shortly after they discover what they are doomed to become. I was, a little. My father refused to let my Sight interfere with our family business, and he trained me to fly, as he had both of my brothers. They both Burned, shortly after their first solo jump in Dad’s miner. I told them they would. We’re wrong about 7% of the time. They figured they’d take their chances on those slim odds. I don’t blame them. If you’re going to go, why worry about it? If I look into your eyes, and I see the flames – I know you’re going to go. If I concentrate, I can tell you precisely when. If I really, really meditate on it – I may even be able to tell you where. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know, and neither does anyone else. Trust me, every theory under the sun has been advanced, and nothing explains it.

I, on the other hand, have lasted well beyond the usual threshold for Seers. Maybe it’s because I’m a pilot. Maybe it’s because I’m a real rare item – a fighter pilot. Who knows. All I know is, I’m still mostly there. As much as fighter pilots usually are. As the grid slowly deteriorates, our kind are heading toward extinction. Along with our decline will follow the once-great Human civilization. Our latest colonies are already guttering candles. Over 90% of the Fringe’s population is gone, with the highest Burn rate anywhere in the galaxy. “He has formed me from the dust… and to dust I shall return.” I have a sneaking suspicion that the Corporate sector colonies will be next. Just like a Burn – extremities first, then inward, to the center.

Anyway, yeah, I’m a pilot. I’m wondering how long this will last, though. Just this last week, I’ve seen flames everywhere. They are all telling me that the inferno will begin in roughly 3 hours from now. Now, that isn’t anything new. I’ve seen mass Burns before. I’ve even predicted them. This time, though, I saw the flames in the eyes of a Seer. That doesn’t happen – but it did. I keep seeing the guilty stares when they look at me, too. There’s a time for everyone. The Burning taught us that. This might be everyone’s time. I’m trying to deny it, still. I haven’t seen anyone’s eyes that WERE NOT filled with flames. Even the ones in the mirror.

So, I’m flying. Well, not quite true. I’m sitting. Sitting roughly 20 meters from where I was born, actually. It’s fitting, I think. So, here I am, maybe listening to the very last Twilight Jack cube in the entire galaxy, and waiting to die. I closed my eyes not too long ago, and I fell asleep. How anyone could do that while waiting to die, I don’t know. But I did. My chrono shows 4.8 minutes left to the time I, and every other Seer, predicted. I really don’t know what to say. I really do hope someone finds this message cube, one day. Obviously, if you’re reading this, someone did – and someone is still alive. As for every other person in the surrounding 5 sectors, we’re dead men. I suppose it’s just now sinking in. I don’t believe it, further than on the intellectual level. All I know is, I’m still in my Archangel. There’s no better place to die, for me.

2.4 minutes. So, I guess these are my last words. What do you give yourself as a eulogy? “Alas, for he isn’t dead yet?” I really don’t know. If you’re reading this – I’m glad I got to talk to you.

Whoever you are. .6 minutes. In closing, all I can say is this. I’ll type as it happens. Maybe I can, I don’t know, describe it, as it
happpppppppppppppppppppppppp
/record end/

Some of you may not be aware of the fact that I’ve written some short, science-fiction stories and vignettes. Would there be any interest in me posting them in a serial form here?

I may do it anyway, whether there is, or not. I thought I’d ask, though 😀

I agree with the first comment on this post. (Blest‘s) – Pure Genius.

Triablogue announces a response to The Empty Tomb: Jesus Beyond the Grave. Go take a look.

Challies has an uber post, as always. Revel in it’s uberness.

Grace is ridiculous. See Jared explain the scandal.

Joe is Plagued by Certainty. Cool.

I got home very late from work tonight, so this is all I’m going to post. I’ll get to TULIP when I have… umm… a normal night. This isn’t it.

The baby’s name will officially be Rebekah Luthien. I like it. Bonus points to anyone who identifies the origin of the middle name.

Aaron finds a professor from Cali who thinks Satan is just misunderstood. What? Read it here.

A post on Challies from a few weeks ago really caught my eye. The Butt of Too Many Jokes.

STR has a cool post from yesterday: The Danger of Unquestioned Answers

Oh, and Jon Rowe thinks Jefferson has something authoritative to say about orthodoxy. I think not.

Back to TULIP tomorrow. I had choir tonight, and didn’t get home until pretty late.

Update: Hilarious Chuck Norris Facts-style post about James White. Read it.

Well.. it’s pretty simple.

Tough, but simple. This time, all I’m going to do is list the 5 points – which, if you will remember, are the responses to the Remonstrants’ 5 points.

I’ll reference 3 sources for each point, just so you can see a bit wider range of definition. I’ll link them at the bottom of the post.

T- Total Depravity

1.

Because Adam was the representative of all mankind, when he forsook the commandment of God, and ate of the fruit, he did plunge all men into an irreversible state of spiritual death. This death renders all those born of woman, other than the perfect Lord Jesus Christ, spiritually dead, incapable of knowing, doing, or even desiring those things which are pleasing to God. By nature, man is at enmity with His Creator, thinking only of himself, and the gratification of his sinful flesh. (Romans 5, Ephesians 2:1, etc.)

2.

When we speak of man’s depravity we mean man’s natural condition apart from any grace exerted by God to restrain or transform man.

There is no doubt that man could perform more evil acts toward his fellow man than he does. But if he is restrained from performing more evil acts by motives that are not owing to his glad submission to God, then even his “virtue” is evil in the sight of God.

Romans 14:23 says, “Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.” This is a radical indictment of all natural “virtue” that does not flow from a heart humbly relying on God’s grace.

The terrible condition of man’s heart will never be recognized by people who assess it only in relation to other men. Romans 14:23 makes plain that depravity is our condition in relation to God primarily, and only secondarily in relation to man. Unless we start here we will never grasp the totality of our natural depravity.
Man’s depravity is total in at least four senses.

(1) Our rebellion against God is total.
(2) In his total rebellion everything man does is sin.
(3) Man’s inability to submit to God and do good is total.
(4) Our rebellion is totally deserving of eternal punishment.

3.

Man is spiritually dead. Because of the fall, man has become spiritually dead, blind and deaf to the things of God and is therefore unable of himself to choose spiritual good and determine his own destiny.

U- Unconditional Election

1.

God, in the mere good pleasure of His own will, not constrained by anything other than His Own good purpose did, before the foundation of the World, elect a people unto and for Himself, to the “praise of His glorious grace.” He did so and gave a people unto His Son, Jesus Christ, to believe on His Name and to escape the wrath that was to come through the transgression of Adam. In eternity, this is the Covenant of Redemption. The historical outworking of this Covenant, it is known as the Covenant of Grace. (Ephesians 1, John 6:37, 44 (etc.), John 17, etc.)

2.

If all of us are so depraved that we cannot come to God without being born again by the irresistible grace of God, and if this particular grace is purchased by Christ on the cross, then it is clear that the salvation of any of us is owing to God’s election.

Election refers to God’s choosing whom to save. It is unconditional in that there is no condition man must meet before God chooses to save him. Man is dead in trespasses and sins. So there is no condition he can meet before God chooses to save him from his deadness.

We are not saying that final salvation is unconditional. It is not. We must meet the condition of faith in Christ in order to inherit eternal life. But faith is not a condition for election. Just the reverse. Election is a condition for faith. It is because God chose us before the foundation of the world that he purchases our redemption at the cross and quickens us with irresistible grace and brings us to faith.

3.

God’s election is unconditional. God’s choice of certain individuals for salvation was not based on any foreseen response of obedience on their part, but was based solely in His good and sovereign will.

L- Limited Atonement

1.

Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God, came to earth to “save His people from their sins.” His death was a vicarious sacrifice, actually purchasing the Church of God with His own blood, securing their justification before God and satisfying His demand of perfect obedience to His Law. His death was for the elect, and the elect alone. This limits the Atonement in its extent, whereas the damnable heresy of Arminianism limits the Atonement of the Lamb of God in it’s efficacy (but praise God only in their defective theory!) (Matthew 1:21, Acts 20:28, etc.)

2.

The term “limited atonement” addresses the question, “For whom did Christ die?” But behind the question of the extent of the atonement lies the equally important question about the nature of the atonement. What did Christ actually achieve on the cross for those for whom he died?

If you say that he died for every human being in the same way, then you have to define the nature of the atonement very differently than you would if you believed that Christ only died for those who actually believe. In the first case you would believe that the death of Christ did not actually save anybody; it only made all men savable. It did not actually remove God’s punitive wrath from anyone, but instead created a place where people could come and find mercy—IF they could accomplish their own new birth and bring themselves to faith without the irresistible grace of God.

For if Christ died for all men in the same way then he did not purchase regenerating grace for those who are saved. They must regenerate themselves and bring themselves to faith. Then and only then do they become partakers of the benefits of the cross.

In other words if you believe that Christ died for all men in the same way, then the benefits of the cross cannot include the mercy by which we are brought to faith, because then all men would be brought to faith, but they aren’t. But if the mercy by which we are brought to faith (irresistible grace) is not part of what Christ purchased on the cross, then we are left to save ourselves from the bondage of sin, the hardness of heart, the blindness of corruption, and the wrath of God.

Therefore it becomes evident that it is not the Calvinist who limits the atonement. It is the Arminian, because he denies that the atoning death of Christ accomplishes what we most desperately need—namely, salvation from the condition of deadness and hardness and blindness under the wrath of God. The Arminian limits the nature and value and effectiveness of the atonement so that he can say that it was accomplished even for those who die in unbelief and are condemned. In order to say that Christ died for all men in the same way, the Arminian must limit the atonement to a powerless opportunity for men to save themselves from their terrible plight of depravity.

3.

Christ’s death was designed to actually secure the salvation of all of God’s chosen people. Christ’s death secured and actually accomplished the salvation of all of God’s chosen people. God has determined that all for whom Christ sacrificed Himself will be saved.

I- Irresistible Grace

1.

Since man is born dead in His sin, incapable of doing right or seeing rightly, it takes the powerful, sovereign, irresistible grace of God to raise the man from the dead. On the removal of such a dark veil from the natural man’s eyes, God’s grace is “simply irresistible”. God replaces man’s heart of stone, with a heart of flesh. A heart that desires to be right with God, and would not, nay could not, resist such an offer as the forgiveness of and deliverance from sin. This call is an effectual call of God, always resulting in the way God has desired, never returning unto Him as void.(Isaiah 55:11; John 5:21, 6:37,44; Romans 8:29-30, etc.)

2.

The doctrine of irresistible grace does not mean that every influence of the Holy Spirit cannot be resisted. It means that the Holy Spirit can overcome all resistance and make his influence irresistible.

The doctrine of irresistible grace means that God is sovereign and can overcome all resistance when he wills. “He does according to his will in the host of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay his hand!” (Daniel 4:35). “Our God is in the heavens; he does whatever he pleases” (Psalm 115:3). When God undertakes to fulfill his sovereign purpose, no one can successfully resist him.

3.

The Holy Spirit regenerates every one of God’s chosen people, enabling them to believe. The Holy Spirit graciously regenerates every one of God’s chosen people, creating within them a new heart and enabling them to freely and willingly believe in Christ as Savior and Lord. The New Birth precedes and makes possible Saving Faith. Life gives Faith.

P- Perseverance of the Saints

1.

It is only logical and consistent (not to mention Biblical) to conclude that if man is inacapable of earning salvation, or even cooperating with God to get it, then it must all be a work of God from start to finish. That being the case, it is impossible for man to render salvation lost, or to fall from a state of grace. If a man apostasizes, falls away, or renounces Christ, he has merely proven he never was in Christ to begin with. Such is the teaching of the P in T.U.L.I.P. Many today believe what’s known as “once saved always saved”, but it falls thoroughly short of the biblical doctrine presented here. Those who belong to Christ will ultimately be conformed to Christ, growing in the grace and the knowledge of Him. That it may be said, “those who persevere to the end shall be saved.” (John 6:39; Philippians 1:6, etc.)

2.

It follows from what was just said that the people of God WILL persevere to the end and not be lost. The foreknown are predestined, the predestined are called, the called are justified, and the justified are glorified. No one is lost from this group. To belong to this people is to be eternally secure.

But we mean more than this by the doctrine of the perseverance of the saints. We mean that the saints will and must persevere in the obedience which comes from faith. Election is unconditional, but glorification is not. There are many warnings in Scripture that those who do not hold fast to Christ can be lost in the end.

The following seven theses summarize our understanding of this crucial doctrine.

Our faith must endure to the end if we are to be saved.

Obedience, evidencing inner renewal from God, is necessary for final salvation.

God’s elect cannot be lost.

There is a falling away of some believers, but if it persists, it shows that their faith was not genuine and they were not born of God.

God justifies us on the first genuine act of saving faith, but in doing so he has a view to all subsequent acts of faith contained, as it were, like a seed in that first act.

God works to cause his elect to persevere.

Therefore we should be zealous to make our calling and election sure.

3.

All who are chosen by God, redeemed by Christ, and regenerated by the Holy Spirit are eternally saved. They are kept in Faith by the Power of Almighty God and therefore continue to persevere in faith.

Source 1: Josh, Reformers and Puritans
Source 2: John Piper
Source 3: Dory, Wittenberg Gate

So, that’s TULIP. Next, we’ll go into each point in-depth, along with opposition to each point.

However, that’s for another day.

Part of the TULIP Series.