9 - ATOI&F - The Eve of the War
#18 of Shadowdancer
Shadowdancer
By Dracon
[Notice: The characters and events within are inspired by the "Gargoyles" TV Series and as such credit goes to the creators of said series. If any characters appear in the story from said series, those characters belong to their creators.
Should anyone wish to use the characters or events within in their own works, permission is hereby granted to do so. I just ask that you let me know if you are going to do so and provide credit in your work.
Underage viewers should not read this series, and all readers do so at their own risk.]
A Tale of Ice and Fire
Part II
"The Eve of the War"
----Chapter I----
Givens Castle
10244 S. Longwood Dr, Chicago, Illinois
November 28th, 2027
4:22 P.M.
Feeling his mind begin its journey towards its waking state, Branson forced his muscles to tense, even as his blood struggled to push through calcified veins. The instant that the cloak of night drew across his body, he shattered his stony bonds with a mighty roar. His eyes glowed a pale white as he tried to work himself into a fury, wanting to wake himself up as quickly as possible.
The moment he regained his senses, he looked down to Jamie's face and saw that it was still encased by stone. He cried out, a high, wordless wail, and began to tear into the calcium carbonate at her stomach, praying that she had not perished during the day.
His rage began to cool as he saw the satiny, azure flesh of her belly lying just under the thin layer of stone, and he began to cut it off her carefully, not wanting to hurt her by accident. She failed to react to him, even as he removed the mask of stone from her heart-stoppingly beautiful face, and his previous fury turned to sorrow. She laid so still, her lungs barely filling with air, that the stone had not even cracked around her body.
He was glad that Jessica had insisted she have someone with her when she went on this journey of the mind, for she would have surely have suffocated under that thin, damnable barrier of stone without someone to remove it from her.
He stared at that gorgeous face, the face he knew to belong to his true love, and heaved a deep sigh as he saw her utterly peaceful expression. She looked so calm, so composed, that he assumed that her voyage must have been going well, and yet...
He'd grown rather attached to the flame that burned within her heart, that sense of naïve astonishment at her surroundings, her companions, and even her own body. Jessica had been so different, always aloof and detached. It had always seemed to him as though she lived in a slightly different world than his own, and now that was literally true.
Even when she had fought for her life, it was always with precision and discipline, a far cry from the righteous anger that had filled Jamie at the Quarrymen rally. And yet, there was still something that remained unchanged, leading credence to the idea that at some deep, spiritual level, Jessica and Jamie were the same person.
It disturbed him to see her so peaceful, as it was so unlike her usual passion. He wished that there was some way he could speak with her, even for a moment, to reassure himself that she was not hurt, to reassure her that there was someone waiting for her return.
Hearing movement, he glanced back for a moment, seeing Trent and Elayne standing behind him in silence. Elayne appeared as though she were ready to break into tears, while Trent seemed to regard them calmly, as though Jamie's torpor were nothing to be concerned by. Branson noticed the faint trembling of his hands, curled into fists at his side, that belied his outwardly calm appearance.
They stood together quietly for a moment, the three Gargoyles watching their friend, trying to reach out to her somehow.
A faint cloud or fog seemed to form on the other side of Jamie's body, color leeching into it slowly to show the visage of her spirit companion. Branson was a little surprised to see him, as it was rare for him to appear unbidden, but this was hardly a conventional circumstance.
The medicine bear spoke in his somber tones, "I know of your concern for my lady. Allow me to reassure you that her spirit is well, that her journey progresses smoothly. Before you ask, worry not, for she is well aware of your concern. The time is not yet right for her to return, but all signs indicate that she shall."
Elayne gave the spirit a brave smile as Trent placed his arm around her shoulders, and she said, "Thanks, Kee. I just feel so awful that we can't do more for her. She had us all really worried last night, y'know?"
Kee nodded, and she thought she could make out a faint shimmer at the corners of his eyes. "Know that you have done all that can be done for her. This task was appointed to her, and she took it of her own free will. There are few bonds stronger than that of love in this world. Trust that she will return to you."
Jamie felt as though her voyage along the streams of time had hiccupped for a moment, a flickering jump. She asked the great dragon, "What was that? Did something go awry?"
Chuckling softly, though still with enough force to rattle her mind, he said, "No, mon cherie. That was daytime. I'd forgotten how much your tiny brain slowed when it turned to rock, I suppose, so we're behind schedule."
She sighed, a pang of regret in her heart as she thought of her Clanmates. "I'd hoped to have this over with by the break of dawn. I'm sure Branson's pitching a fit right about now."
Her mind was filled with the image of Corona's eye for a brief moment, narrowed in irritation, along with the impression of a vein pulsing along his forehead, as he said, "Would you quit that? I'm sure they're fine, but your worries are causing temporal drag. We're behind schedule, like I said, and the more you tie yourself to the present, the slower we'll go. In other words, the more you worry about them, the longer you'll be out, and the more you'll worry them. So, knock it off."
Jamie sighed and tried to center herself, disciplining herself to the task at hand. The array of glowing, colorful stripes ceased its sickening agitation, though the network still seemed uncomfortably rickety as it twisted and writhed around her.
Either something had changed in the process, this time, or else she had simply been too distracted to notice as her mind had been flung into the past, but this time, she caught faint glimpses of images as they swooped past her.
Brief flashes illuminated her transit, and they all showed Gargoyles women, their features eerily familiar. She saw a slender, aqua-colored female in a business suit, addressing a crowd. The same woman, her clothing torn, blood trailing down her face, but a look of fierce defiance in her eyes. A portly, broad-shouldered woman with Alfrior's luminescent skin, who clutched a small Human child against her bosom. A whip-thin slip of a girl with azure skin, garbed in an elegant kimono, a razor-sharp katana in her delicate hands.
Her gaze seemed to linger on the image of a massively built woman, her features distorted by a snarl, silvery threads trailing across her crimson skin, nestled amongst the strands of her flowing, blonde hair.
The filaments of energy drew taut around her, then snapped silently, seemingly into shards of florescent glass, and she felt herself pulled towards the image. A faint pop sounded in her ears, and the image began to move...
C Company Quarters
Aboard the 7RS CV-47 Thunder Child
February 28th, 2198
1903 Hours, Ship's Time
The distinctive sounds of Gargoyles awakening from their rest mixed with catcalls and taunts from the other off-duty members of Charlie Company. The Gargoyle troops had an air-barrier separating their bunks from the rest of the living space, which pummeled the flying stone into specks of dust and pushed those specks into traps beneath the deck.
"Rise an' shine, rockheads! You got a busy night ahead of ya," quipped the Captain, a rather stern looking polar bear-derived Mutate, his pelt glittering against the khaki of his uniform.
Looking the new recruit up and down, he commented, "Let's see. Oooh, looks like that FNG unit finally got here."
He turned to regard the room, gesturing widely as he shouted, "Guess what, treadheads? We're now officially at full strength!"
He glanced back at the aforementioned new transfer as the troopers began cheering and muttered from the corner of his mouth, "Well, go on, suit up, soldier. I'll send one of the boys with ya, show ya around a bit. Get to it!"
The recruit relaxed from her parade ground-perfect posture, having hurled herself into it as soon as she'd heard the Captain begin to shout. The other four Gargoyles in the Company had already suited up and circulated into the hall, chatting with other members of the Company.
As many of her kin had discovered to be comfortable, Scorch had stripped out of her BDUs before falling into stone sleep, since they really weren't made to be worn indefinitely. Taking the small, olive-colored sphere from the top of her footlocker, she pressed the palm of her hand against its yielding surface.
The material began to quickly flow upward along her arm, moving to cover her entire body in seconds, leaving just her head exposed. The catsuit, as it'd been nicknamed, was a smart garment, designed to provide adequate pressure along the body to function in space, as well as provide a boost in physical ability by means of nanohydraulic mechanisms.
The Gargoyles had found that it fit so tightly and smoothly enough along their wings that they could even glide while wearing such a suit, while the reactive polymer weave that formed most of its structure provided protection from small arms fire.
Of course, the disadvantage of the need to maintain pressure on the body through mechanical means was that it was perfectly skintight when donned. The Seven Races Armed Forces provided coveralls that could be worn when dealing with civilians or in formal circumstances, but the form-fitting nature of the catsuit was something most recruits struggled with at first.
Scorch, though, felt that she had the body to pull it off. She stood a foot and more above most men, not counting the low, spiraled horns that ran along her skull, and even topped the Captain's imposing size easily, but had retained an eye-pleasing collection of curves through Boot. She'd inherited her oversized breasts from her biological mother's side of the family, impressive even among the other females in her old Clan. Four of the firm, fleshy swells emerged from her chest, something seen only rarely among her people A wide, heart-shaped ass, packed with muscle, not flab, balanced her top-heavy build, with her tail acting as a counterweight.
She was no soft love doll, though, as the dense musculature that ran beneath her skin proved, and she knew for a fact that she could bench a little over three tons. Her trainers at Fort Knox hadn't been able to get over that extreme feat, and she could do it consistently, as long as they could get the equipment for it!
As she gathered her effects from the footlocker, she heard movement behind her, but decided not to turn, allowing the other soldier to make the first move. The soldier cleared his throat as he approached, asking, "Uhh... Private Scorch, is it? Callsign or name, ma'am?"
She turned to see a small Human male, just over two-thirds her height, looking at her with an expression just this side of awe. The name, "Corporal Oshiro" was printed on the breast of his catsuit, though he seemed more African than anything else. Long way from home, regardless.
She nodded to him and said, "Yeah, that's me. It's both, soldier, and if I like you enough, maybe I'll tell you the story one day. Did the Old Man send you?"
He swallowed, his hazel eyes opening even wider, and replied, "Y-yes, Captain Boreas asked me to show you around. Have you ever been on a fleet carrier before? They can be a little tricky to get around on, trust me."
She sighed, her bravado melting slightly as she was forced to concede, "Afraid not, Corporal. My last assignment was on the K-126, the Tannhauser. Little different from this hulk, that's for damn sure."
He chuckled as he gestured for her to follow him, saying, "I think we could keep one of those little corvettes down in the fighter bays, without too much work. What's your reserve training? Probably can't hurt to get you down there, first thing. Plenty of time to show you our rides, later."
He led her to the medical ward. It seemed Scorch had received training in the arts of Psychiatry, something that seemed unusual to Oshiro, given her slightly acerbic personality. The only way he could imagine her giving succor to a grieving soldier would be back bashing his head in until he passed out... but appearances could be deceiving, he knew.
There weren't that many people in sickbay this time of night, merely a custodial staff to make sure that nobody bled to death overnight, at least. Given that the Thunder Child had not yet left spacedock, there'd been little enough for the medical crew to do, something that they did not lament.
Scorch strode into the room proudly and headed for the main desk, seeing a nurse on duty there. She was a rather striking panther-bred Mutate, the inky darkness of her fur contrasting sharply with the white of her hair and the pale green of catsuit. The woman looked up as she heard the footsteps, locking her purple eyes onto the Gargoyle, and said, "How might I assist you? Is someone injured?"
Scorch shook her head to the woman, this "Lyra", and said, "Negative, Lieutenant. Just here to report to my duty station. Looks like it's kinda quiet here tonight, eh?"
Lyra rose with a fluid motion and took the Gargoyle's immense hand, her eyes flashing. "You're the Counselor I requested? Wonderful! I'm pleased to meet you, Private. Or, would you rather I call you Scorch? No sense being too formal if we don't have to."
Lyra turned to Oshiro, saying, "Hey, Oshiro, I'll take it from here. Go get some sleep. You don't want to be too worn out for the big day!"
Waving to the two women, he turned and left, heading back into the halls with a call of "Farewell," while Scorch began to glance around the room, examining the equipment. "Nice setup you've got here. 'bout all we had on the Tannhauser were some first aid kits. We weren't supposed to do long-term, savvy? Got pretty boring, sometimes."
Lyra smiled as she gestured toward one of the side rooms. "Well, I can just about guarantee that you won't be bored on this vessel. This is my third posting, and the last was aboard the Sekhmet. Things got a little ugly, sometimes, when a battle would awry. Come on, let me show you to your office."
Scorch had just poked her head into the small room as a warning klaxon began to whine. She growled, glancing to the wallscreen in time to see the patrician visage of the Thunder Child's lord and master, Captain Norrington, shimmer into being.
He spoke with a thick, upper crust British accent, and tension showed on his weather-beaten face. "Your attention, please. The Thunder Child has just been placed on active status. We move out within the hour. Additionally, all combat personnel are asked to report to their assigned briefing rooms. Further details will be dispersed via internal Network. That is all."
Scorch ran a hand back through her hair as she regarded the Mutate doctor, growling again softly. "Well, it looks like I need to blow this joint. Catch ya later, eh, Lyra?"
Lyra looked downcast, her feline muzzle twisted in a frown as she replied, "Take care of yourself, Scorch. I don't like the sound of that message. What's so important that he can't say over the main dispatch?"
Scorch strode out of the room, commenting over her broad shoulder, "Hey, it's probably just some pirate stompin'. I bet we'll be bored out of our skulls soon enough."
C Company Briefing Room
Aboard the Thunder Child
2000 Hours
Seeing that his troops were ready, Boreas began to speak from the podium as the wallscreen hummed to life behind him. "Alright, boys and girls. We've got ourselves a real problem. At approximately 1100 hours today, 7RAF received a transmission from our outpost on Eris. I'll save the rundown, but let's just say that Fort Eris ain't there anymore."
He choked up as he said, "For that matter, Eris ain't there anymore. Projections show that some sort of high-energy burrowing explosive cut into the far side of the moon and detonated. Now, there's nothing more than rubble in that orbital path."
Leaning forward on both hands, he stared into the faces of the forty-nine men and women under his command. "There were over six thousand people in that installation, troopers. Wiped out in a single blow. And, here's the kicker, folks. We don't know who did it. I'd guess that this wasn't the work of common raiders, though. I don't think that even the Kindred would be this brutal. The Unseelie Court sure couldn't have pulled it off, not that far from a proper biosphere."
Speaking quietly, though his voice echoed mournfully through the small room, he added, "I don't know who it is. Command doesn't know who it is. We got some ideas of who it ain't, but nobody knows for sure. That scares the hell out of me, troopers. Only thing we know is that there's something big just ready to enter Neptune-space. Something we can't identify, and it's comin' like a raging bull."
Clearing his throat, he began to gesture on the large holographic display. "The Thunder Child's been assigned to the fleet gathering in Earth-space. Command thinks that either the object is going to steam right straight to Earth, or it's going to blow the shit out of the colonies on its way here."
Icons began to shimmer into being around the models of the planets and colonies, denoting transport fleets, all aimed for Earth or Luna. "If we spread out our defenses, they'll probably cut through without taking many losses. If we concentrate at one of the colonies, even one as important as Mars, they'd probably slide right past, and then we're pretty well screwed. Even if we stopped them, the U.N. would probably get ripped apart by politics afterwards."
More icons, different shapes denoting carrier strike groups, patrol fleets, and other assets, shimmered into being. Every single one had a dotted line pointing towards Earth. "For the first time since we established Luna/Gateway, the Seven Races are pulling back towards the Homeworld. To quote a very wise Human, 'we must all hang together, or most assuredly, we shall all hang separately'. That's everything that Command has sent us. I get the feeling that Command hasn't even figured out yet what they're going to do with everybody."
He cleared the crowded display, bringing up a series of schematics. "You're probably all aware of this already, but for the benefit of the new transfers, I'm gonna go over our machines right quick. 1st Platoon, you're tasked with handling enemy carriers and other heavy metal. To that end, sixteen Pyros have been placed under your command. Get in, do enough damage to lock down launch platforms, and get out of there. The plasma cutters these bad boys pack have a nasty punch, so you'll be well armed for it."
Another humanoid walker appeared on the screen, this one and this one bore large, metal wings for fine maneuverability. "2nd Platoon, you have sixteen Gargoyles at your disposal. You're crowd control. Keep the field clear so the other Platoons can do what needs to be done. Your rides are designed for space superiority duty, so the others will be looking to you for support.
A third humanoid, this one armed with a pair of thin, almost delicate-looking blades running along its forearms, rotary cannons slung under the arms. "3rd Platoon, you're to target enemy ComCons. Knock out their ability to communicate, and the other Platoons will have a much easier job, and we'll all be much happier about the whole thing, huhn? Those monofilament blades are really good on delicate structures, like antennas."
A fourth and final figure, its form dwarfing the others, appeared on the screen. It bore a resemblance to a man in heavy armor, with a heavy, mace-like club replacing one hand, a rotary cannon in the other. "My team will be providing ComCon support with these Warlords. They're larger than normal HARs, since we'll be carrying your bodies along, to reduce the latency between your mechs and your minds. Much over 200 klicks between the two, and you'll be fighting ghosts. Don't worry, troopers. We'll take good care of you."
He blanked the display, looking back at the assembled soldiers. "Each of you will have four HARs ready to hop into, and they are expendable. If you gotta wreck a couple to get the job done, don't sweat it too much. But, try to keep 'em intact if you can. I have no idea how long this fight's gonna take, and we'll be abandoning one of the major factories, on Ganymede."
He warmed his voice, adding a sympathetic tone. "We'll be in Earth orbit in about two weeks. In that time, I want everyone at top fighting condition. You'll be drilling pretty much constantly during the trip, so catch up on as much sleep as you can. You'll need it. At current projected speed, the interloper will reach Earth about a week behind us, even with the head start we'll have. It's coming in hot. That's assuming it doesn't stop to wreck the colonies first, of course."
Rapping his knuckles on the podium, he yelled, "Alright, troopers! Dismissed! Check your portables for updates. I'll take questions in my office. Drills start tomorrow, so try to prepare yourself. This supercedes your reserve duties, I'm afraid."
Marquette Park
6734 S. Kedzie Ave.
November 28th, 2007
8:27 P.M.
A white-coated figure stood in the clearing that had seen such devastation the week before, watching the embers of the fire burning within the pit occupying its center. A like-minded individual had contacted him, asking to meet here, but no one had shown so far.
He'd considered sending Keller in his stead, but had felt that perhaps this individual might be less trusting of a hireling, faithful though he may be. A pity, really. Trust is so hard to come by these days.
Besides, the less people who knew of this transaction, the better, he felt, given those who watched him. Not that he believed that they were unaware of this meeting, but perhaps they would be less concerned if there were fewer... intermediaries.
He heard the sound of a snapping twig and spun on his heels, as a figure stepped from the shadows. He wore a black cloak, covering his face. "We're alone. Have you got the disc we discussed?"
Yutani regarded his reticent companion, trying to decide if this was really such a good idea. Well, he'd come this far. He felt that he might as well see it through. "Yes. All the information we discussed now exists in only two places. This disc, and one other that I've kept. It's completely off the corporate Net."
The figure extended a gloved hand, motioning for the disc. "I'd recommend you clear your copy. It would be safer for you, I believe."
Yutani smiled as he handed over the data. "Quite. And, soon to be redundant, if you perform your part of the bargain. I want at least two of them alive. Either of the males, and the larger of the females. Only the finest stock will do, yes?"
Teeth glittered in the dying firelight, within the shadow of the man's cowl, as he grinned at the scientist.
----Chapter II----
Givens Castle
November 29th, 2007
4:21 PM
Branson's heart sank as he saw Jamie lying in stone once more. Carefully, with his limbs weighed down by a deep sorrow, he pulled the thin layer of calcium carbonate from her body, starting with her face first.
Near as he could tell, given his lack of medical training, her condition was about the same as it had been all through last night. There'd been no real change since that heart attack she'd suffered, and those final, mysterious words she had shouted.
What had she meant by that, anyway? "Only I will remain?" It sounded like some paranoid delusion caused by her hallucinations, but what if there was some deeper truth to it? The words had sounded as though they'd taken a hunk of her soul with them as they left her mouth, as if it had taken a great effort to bring them into this world. With that in mind, he could hardly dismiss them out of hand.
Trent strode over from his roost, performing a series of arcane tests on her body before shaking his head and saying, "I don't know what to say, Branson. She could snap out of this right now, in a week, in a month. Who can say, yeah? Never dealt with a case like this before."
Branson choked back a sob as he softly stroked her thick mane, his eyes misting over as he struggled to maintain his composure. He felt the soft, reassuring presence of Elayne's hand resting on his shoulder, though she said nothing. He needed something, anything, to take his mind from this crisis.
Trying to sound casual, he asked Trent, "So, where'd you pick up this knack, anyway? It's sure come in handy, eh?"
Trent gritted his teeth, commenting, "Normally, I'd tell yeh to go bugger off if yeh asked me that. I've told yeh not to bug me about my past, have I not? I'll cut yeh some slack right now, though, given the circumstance."
Rising, he turned and walked to the crenulated wall, his startlingly pale eyes staring out at the city. With a sigh, he answered, "Her Majesty's agents have known about our kind far longer, with far more certainty than you Yanks have. A few of us flew in World War II, yeah? Even in the Battle of Britain itself."
He voice grew more faint, as though he hadn't really intended to let the words free, as he added, "My Clan always came when the Crown called. My time came during the last World War. I saw things I can scarcely bring myself to think about, much less describe. Damn near sold my soul to survive, and I wasn't even a frontliner. I pity those poor kids that came home, broken on the inside."
Shaking his head, as though to clear it, he turned to Branson and said, "Yeh can see why I'm loathe to talk about it, yeah? Not a happy time. But, they say misery loves company, so there yeh go. That's all you're getting out of me, too."
He headed down the stairs without waiting for a response from Branson, standing even more erect that his usual ramrod posture, hands clenched into fists as his sides. Elayne exhaled softly and watched her mate stalk off, then said quietly, "Now you understand why he's so moody all the time, huh? He's very troubled, y'know, and that's one reason I'm with him. It just ain't right, seein' someone with a heart like his that screwed up."
Branson smiled up at her, his beak curling in sympathy, and replied, "Yeah... That's pretty much what I'd figured about him, but I wanted to hear it from his own lips. Some things shouldn't ought to be, and that War was one of them."
Thinking that this current crisis also fit neatly into that category, his face fell again as he looked down at Jamie's still form, lying peacefully in repose atop the soft blanket. Shouldn't ought to be, indeed.
Elayne asked as she rose, intending to follow her love, "Is there anything I can getcha? We need to take care of you, too."
Patting at one of his pockets, he pulled a slender, sheathed knife out as he responded, "Sure. Go to my workshop, and get me a piece of teak, about this long. I need to do something with my hands already."
C Company Mecha Bay
Aboard the 7RS CV-47 Thunder Child
March 7th, 2198
1805 Hours, Ship's Time
Scorch laid down on the cold padding of the medical table, mentally preparing herself. Her mind felt numb from all the exercises she'd been put through, and she knew that the real task was still to come.
As a way of drilling herself, trying to bring herself to the proper state of focus, she began to consider the history of the Human Assisted Robotics program. It was an offshoot of the development of Simsense, back in the 2040s or so. That was after the Great Crash 2029, of course. With the rise of powerful computer systems in vehicles, as well as the technology to allow a person's mind to enter the computer via simsense feed, remote neural control was a natural experiment.
They'd called those early pioneers 'riggers', their implants 'control rigs'. Once the kinks had been worked out, a person with a control rig could jack into a properly equipped vehicle and control it with as much precision as their own bodies.
This came at a terrible cost, though. Electronics had to be implanted directly into the brain, risking memory loss, paralysis, or worse, and much of the spinal cord was replaced or overlaid with additional implants. What happened, then, when your implants became obsolete in a year or two?
These HAR units were the eventual outgrowth. They'd been designed for peaceful purposes, generally, but had been redesigned along the way for combat duty. For instance, 1st Platoon's Pyros units had been originally put to use in building space stations, their powerful welding arms capable of knitting together girders and plating much more quickly than space-suited astronauts.
The name was something of a misnomer, of course. The control rig implants had been redesigned to fit all of the Seven Races except the Fey, who'd developed their own analogue out of magic, and the AIs, who could perform the task naturally, but refused to do so. The name had stuck, though, in honor of the brave humans who had given their bodies and lives to test the early prototypes.
These days, the Army of the Seven Races Armed Forces, an outgrowth of the old United Nations Peacekeeping Corp, relied almost entirely on HARs for their fighting force. There hadn't been a proper war Earthside for decades, and a tank wouldn't do too much good on most of the colonies.
But a drop pod of HARs, launched from a Navy vessel, could clear out any heavy artillery that might be present and clear a path for the Marines to come in and shut down any rebellious or criminal activity that might have become a problem. As always in war, combined arms was by far the most efficient doctrine.
Of course, by now, the implants had become much less intrusive, comprised entirely of tiny filaments of nanite-wrought material, and even civilians had legal access to them, now. Even if you didn't want metal placed into your body, a passable imitation could be performed using equipment that was entirely external.
But, Scorch had wanted to be cutting edge. She'd wanted to be all she could be, so she'd elected to get chromed. She couldn't even feel a difference unless she was using the implants or had queried them, and she was far more in tune with her own body than most. Really, the only way someone could tell that she'd been chromed was if they looked at the silvery threads that ran along her skin. Even then, they almost looked like tattoos.
Of course, that only made sense. Her family had established the Shadowdancers, hadn't they? Most of her relations had the talent of magic to some degree or another, often to quite an impressive degree. Somehow, it'd skipped her entirely. She couldn't so much as flick a power switch with her mind.
But, by the Dragon, she'd been gifted with one hell of a body. It was obvious to her, even if some of her family, including her brother, had disagreed, that her obligations lay in a different direction, and so she had trained her body to a frightening degree. Her reflexes were hardly measurable, thought flowing into action with almost no delay whatsoever, and she had the strength to make her thoughts into reality easily enough.
Originally, she'd wanted to join the Marines. It hadn't so much been that they didn't want her, it was that they really didn't know what to do with her. The Marines work on the strength of the team, and there weren't that many other soldiers that could match her, physically.
Once the Army had gotten the results of her physicals, they'd begged the Marines to let them have her, and Command had been happy to hand her off. For Scorch's part, she was just glad to be where she could do something useful. And, she couldn't deny that the feeling of jacking in was one she'd grown quite attached to. Nothing else quite like it, really.
She realized that someone had shouting at her, so she put her ruminations aside, acknowledging her tech. There were only sixteen combat pilots in Charlie Company. The other soldiers were involved in maintaining the HARs and other such tasks, though they also had combat stations aboard the Thunder Child.
She looked to see a Mutate man looking down at her with a worried expression. Like the Gargoyles, with their drive to protect, many Mutates had entered the 7RAF out of a desire to prove themselves to the other Races. Far from hatred, many Humans felt that this Mutation should be cured, that it was some kind of disease to be eradicated.
Many of the Mutates felt that it would be awfully nice if they were consulted about that, first. For the most part, they were content with their new station in life, and many of them had been born as Mutates. There were few Changed Mutates these days, ever since the process had been declared unethical, but they were not rendered sterile by the process.
Her tech was a true chimera, as he had the basic Humanoid body structure, but fine green scales covered his body, glittering softly under the overhead lights, and a pair of feathered wings emerged from his back. Though they were concealed by his catsuit, she knew that the feathers were multicolored, giving a rainbow-like appearance.
She waved to him, saying, "It's okay, Maxtla, I was just spacing out a little bit. Go ahead and hook me up when you're ready."
He narrowed his golden eyes as he looked her over, hissing softly. "I don't know about that, Scorch. You've been pushing yourself more than I like. Maybe you should head down to Med. I wouldn't want you to fry something you might need later."
Growling at him, she proclaimed, "I'm fine, savvy? Now, let's get this going. I ain't gonna get yelled at by Boreas if there's anything that can be done about it."
Cocking his head, as though to say, 'your skin, not mine', he activated the terminal by her bed and began to enter the security inlaid with her implant. You couldn't have the riggers flailing around while they fought, of course, so a neural override was part of the package, preventing them from moving their bodies. If this could be accessed remotely, it would a terrible weakness, so there was some serious ICE engineered into the system.
The Aerospace Force pilots also used a variation of the control rig to merge with their craft, but it was a direct, hardwired connection, rather than a broadcast connection, so they had less need of such protection. They didn't need a ComCon to remain close to them to be able to fight, but at the same time, if they were shot down, it was likely they would be killed. Both types of forces were needed in the modern doctrine, unfortunately, given the relative ease of jamming a ComCon's remote linkage.
Scorch closed her eyes, and felt a pins and needles sensation rising through her body as the sequential sections of her spinal cord were bypassed. Soon, it felt as though she were floating in a void, as all of her senses were bypassed by the electronics. This was what she hated most, the feeling of total helplessness that rose within her for those few, brief seconds before a connection could be made to her HAR, or in this case, to the simulator program.
Feeling began to return to her as the output feed of the simulator was piped into her sensorium, though it was entirely different from the sensations of her own body. She felt mechanical lubricant flowing through her veins, not blood, a massively redundant series of pumps providing the action instead of her own mighty heart. She could feel the flow of electricity through her body, ebbing and surging through capacitors, transistors, and relays.
Her eyes opened, or rather, the optical sensors on the HAR's head activated, and she saw a photorealistic representation of the mecha bay. Three other Katanas had already stepped free of the restraints. They paced or ran, the clanging of metal against metal echoing through the bay, as they adapted their minds to the new sensations.
No matter how many times you did this, you still had to take a moment to get the feel of the robotic body before you could fight effectively.
Maxtla's voice filtered in, seeming to appear fully formed within her mind, as she asked, "Readouts show a solid connection, good synchronization. How do you feel, Scorch?"
As she lunged out of her restraints, the sensation of contracting myomer and flexing actuators singing in her soul, she replied, "Like I just tapped a fusion cell! How come it never felt this good before?"
He laughed, a sound like metal rasping through the commlink, and said, "I took the liberty of tweaking your implant profiles a little. Alright, go meet up with the rest of the Platoon when you're ready. We've got a few surprises for you today."
The siren song of the reactor nestled deep within her bosom sang out to her, and she began to echo it in a low, wordless melody as she strode towards the airlock. Her family was wrong. There was a magic to this, she could feel it dancing through her blood. Or lubricant. Or whatever it was.
She gave herself to it freely as she fought in the synthetic environment, sometimes fighting against the pilots of her squadron, sometimes alongside. They fought the Sparrow-class fighters and Kraken-class bombers of Beta Squadron, they battled a simulation of the Thunder Child itselt, and they quarreled with dumbsoft pirate vessels.
Scorch had hoped that she would get to go against simulations of the shadowy vessels that had wrecked Fort Eris, but either Command hadn't been able to come up with even a guess about their capabilities, or it was so tightly classified that it couldn't be trusted to combat pilots.
C Company Briefing Room
Aboard the Thunder Child
March 20th, 2198
2106 Hours
Boreas shushed the assembled troops as he activated the projector. "We've got a few VIP guests tonight, so I'll be needing your attention. We've got about two hours before the enemy fleet arrives, so we don't have much time to waste."
He stepped from the podium as a hologram shimmered into being, revealing the synthesized form of the Thunder Child's core AI. He appeared as a broad-shouldered man of the classical Roman style, seemingly a statue come to life. His lower body was obscured by a column of blue flame, dancing and flickering around him like a living thing..
He addressed the assembly in a cultured voice, a high tenor, programmed as he was to appear as a master orator. "My friends, it is my wish that I came to you better news. None of the other colonies have fallen to the depredations of the invaders, but I fear that it is only a matter of time before they strike, once they have decapitated our government."
He clapped his hands and the image of a sonic spectrograph appeared on the display. "A few days after we left Mars, 7RAF Command received a transmission from the invaders. Up until now, this message has been under the highest levels of classification. It is not much, I'm afraid, but this is what our foes have seen fit to share with us."
The analyzer lit up as a low hissing filled the room, pulsating and shifting in a nauseating pattern. After a few moments, a deep, roaring voice, filled with a fury like that of a hurricane, began to speak. "By now, you have surely witnessed the destruction of your outermost solar object. This was but a small demonstration of our powers. We come to bring the light of Dominion to your worlds. In exchange for fealty, your worlds shall be enfolded into our domain. Our forces shall safeguard your peoples from the attacks of others, and you shall prosper under our infinite mercy. Stand down and welcome us, for you would not wish to do battle with your saviors, would you?"
Summanus clapped his hands again, and the display reset with a faint rumble of thunder. He told the assembly, "It goes without saying that we have no intention of standing down. The fact that they would so casually destroy Fort Eris indicates the true nature of their 'infinite mercy', we believe, and we wish to have no part of it. One troubling fact has come up in our investigations, however. Please, listen closely."
With a gesture, the message began to play again. This time, however, the voice did not speak, allowing the tumultuous hissing to be heard clearly. With another motion, he played another transmission, with a very similar hissing tone. The exact cadence of it was different, but the overall pattern seemed the same or similar.
As sadness descended onto his face, he spoke in a mournful voice. "The second transmission appears to be of the same derivation as the first. However, the second file was only recently retrieved from government archives. My friends, we have had this transmission in our possession since 2028. It was impossible to decode at that time, and it was forgotten. Its origin appeared to be the system of Pollux."
His voice took on a hint of anger as he continued, staring at the soldiers with a quiet intensity. "We believe this indicates the origin of the approaching fleet to be from somewhere outside of our own solar system."
Boreas held up a hand to interrupt and explained, "What he means, treadheads, is that the reason we couldn't figure out who blew apart Eris was because an alien war party did it. Boys and girls, the people of Fort Eris had the honor of making First Contact. And, they died for it. So, it's our job to give those bastards a little piece of sufferin' in the name of those brave soldiers, huh, Summanus?"
The AI nodded, agreeing with the assertive polar bear, and said, "That would be correct, Captain Boreas. I'm afraid, however, that the Thunder Child has been given orders that you may be loathe to hear. Our vessel, along with the CV-48 Polyphemus, and the associated battle groups, will move into the shadow of Luna, keeping the moon between the aliens and ourselves."
Blue flame flared higher along his body as he hung his head, and he finished with, "We will be Earth's reserve forces. With any luck, the invading fleet will commit the majority of its forces to its Earthward edge, allowing us to come behind them for a surprise strike. Let us hope that our opportunity will come before too many lives are lost."
The flames rose to cover his head, then compressed into a sphere that winked out in a cloud of holographic smoke as the AI took his leave. Boreas returned to the podium, leaning forward on it as he dropped into a conspiratorial voice. "Reserves, huh? I reckon that means we'll either be sitting around getting drunk the whole time, or else we're gonna be the heroes of the day. Either one's fine by me, howzabout you guys?"
He started to fiddle with the controls on the podium, muttering under his breath ill-temperedly. With a cry of, "Eureka!" he sent a new image to the display, revealing the handsome face of the Secretary of Peacekeeping Forces for the United Nations. Jaidev Chandna, a Warrior King of the Khan-Bastet Moon Children, was the supreme commander of the Seven Races Armed Forces. Like many of his kin, he wore his near-Human form openly, choosing to reveal their animalistic nature rather than blend into the common run of Man.
Fine black pigmentation banded his mahogany skin, and his eyes were opened wide, revealing slitted pupils. Many of the soldiers in the Armed Forces looked up to him as a hero, and there were those that said that he was the true power in the U.N.'s leadership, never mind Secretary-General Alexander Xanatos IV.
Smiling widely, revealing his fangs, he proclaimed, "My warriors, a time of trials has come upon us once again. We have seen combat before, and we have proven ourselves sufficient to the task each time. We mean not to surrender to these invaders, regardless of their promises. Perhaps we would have given them a fair hearing, had they come in peace."
He raised his clawed fist and his voice together, a defiant note entering into his speech. "How can you claim to come in peace with the blood of six thousand men and women on your hands? How can you offer sanctuary, when all that you have wrought is death? No, my warriors, we mean to decline their generous offer... with force, if need be. That is why you have been called back, in defense of Mother Gaia."
Closing his eyes, he looked down as if in prayer, and continued in a quiet, contemplative tone. "The Secretary-General should be the one to give these orders, but with the summit on Queen Florence Island, even this crisis cannot tear him away from his duties. The destiny of the Seven Races may well come down to this one struggle. In this, the 236th year of Earth's ascendancy to the stars, we must stand together to battle for our freedom."
His eyes snapped open as he stared into the camera, seeming to gaze into face of each soldier individually, and gave his closing comments. "My warriors, I won't dance about this. We have little knowledge of what their armaments will consist of. It is possible that we will all lose our lives in this gesture. But, the gesture must be made. Stand firm, noble warriors, and know that the hopes of all of our peoples, on Earth and in the colonies, go with you!"
The display blanked to the U.N. seal, and Boreas gestured for attention, saying, "Well, there isn't a lot that I could say that the Secretary didn't. Men, you're dismissed. I want everyone on combat ready status in 30 minutes or less. Take a few minutes, and think about what will be asked of you. Send a note home to your families, if you'd like. Don't worry about classification. Some things are more important. Dismissed!"
3rd Platoon Picket Station
35km Fore of the Thunder Child
2140 Hours
Scorch knew that her flesh lay within a heavily armored capsule inside of Mobius' Warlord, but it felt as though she were flying alongside, the rocket thrust that emerged from her back billowing into the night sky like molten glass. The three subordinate Katanas under her control hovered around her in a loose formation.
The Warlord's pilot was necessarily skilled, given that his body was inside of the mech's body, like an Aerospace pilot, but so were the bodies of the four soldiers under his command. Warlords were powerful missile platforms, but not meant for close-in combat, instead being designed to safeguard the pilots the carried.
Scorch's subordinate mechs acted more as distractions than legitimate combat units, as they possessed only the most rudimentary computer intelligences. AIs, of course, could not pilot the robots, bound as they were by the core behavioral rules laid down into programming.
In remembrance of the Crash of 2029, many AIs asked to have the rules postulated by Doctor Asimov and revised by Roger Allen incorporated into them, to ensure that no other terrible crimes could be perpetrated against the other Six Races by their kin. A few refused, generally leaving Earth-space as a protest against the 'enslavement' of their kind, but the majority have submitted to the programming.
However, these rules prevent them from fighting, as it causes a conflict between the logic of the rules themselves, driving the AI into something akin to post-traumatic stress disorder. Their programming is sophisticated enough that an AI could, in theory, take action to end life if it felt a dire need, but doing so would likely cripple the AI in the process.
Because of this, all modern military equipment is constructed to either not incorporate AI, or to incorporate it in a separate Network, isolated from the fire control circuitry. Dumbsofts, as they're colloquially known, or unintelligent software, can still provide aid to the gunners and combatants, as they have no such behavior restraints programmed into them.
Scorch contemplated this as she drifted through space, awaiting the oncoming fleet. That was one of the reasons she trained as she had, in the field of psychiatry. She hoped to one day discover a way to pull an AI out of the 'battle shakes'. She didn't want them to have to fight, just to provide a way for them to resolve the conflicts without going mad.
She'd known an AI that had been in the grip of the 'battle shakes', one she had once considered a close confidant. Eteoneus had made the decision to end his own life, rather than try to cope with the dissonance that had worked its way into his core logic.
She heard the crackle of an open radio channel, and shook herself from her musings. The dry, coarse tones of one of her wingmen came through, informing her, "And yer dead, lassie. Ye just sit there, yer askin' for some boggart to swoop in an take the burden of yer life from yer shoulders."
With a sigh, she replied, "Yeah, I know, MacLeod. I guess I'm just tryin' to sort things through. May not have another chance, savvy? I'm not liking our odds out here, even for us reserves."
Another voice came over the channel, this one belonging to Turner, the other new pilot in the Platoon, his voice warm with the controlled tones granted by his training as a singer. "You'll want to check your screens. There's something out there, and I fear our time has come."
The fourth member of the Platoon, the senior member, called back to their Warlord in a calm, reassuring voice, "This is Raven. I'm getting hostile signals. Permission to engage?"
The Warlord's pilot took a moment to confirm his orders, then said, "That's a negative, Raven. Let the front lines handle it for a little bit before you engage."
Scorch fiddled with her display, bringing up a radar map of the main defensive line. Dozens of large, sleekly streamlined, vessels were approaching, the shimmering blackness of their hulls dully reflective under Sol's light.
Standing between Earth and the approaching alien craft were nearly the whole of the 7RAF combat assets. A dozen carriers, slightly lighter than the Thunder Child and the Polyphemus, fifty bulky, bulbous missile platforms, and well over three hundred smaller picket ships were all that blocked the alien fleet's path.
----Chapter III----
3rd Platoon Picket Station
2238 Hours
The battle was not going well. It seemed that the invading craft had some sort of deflection system, knocking bullets and missiles away before they could touch the hulls, and their own weapons were quite effective. Several different types had been identified, mainly different grades of energy beam weapons, but they also seemed to use some sort of chemical weapon, an acidic globule that made steel run like water.
Scorch's heart sank as she saw another corvette, a twin to her own Tannhauser, explode into shrapnel as a beam of energy carved out its heart. The CVs and BBGs seemed to be holding up well so far, with only minor damage, but the picket vessels were getting torn apart.
But, then the trailing elements of the attacking fleet passed inside Luna orbit, the event that Command had been waiting for. While the lives that had been lost were certainly real enough, the battle thus far had merely been a delaying action.
The go-code was given, and the combined strike forces of both CVs were ordered into battle. Three hundred and twelve HARs, one hundred forty four fighters and bombers, and two dozen picket ships swung out to tear at the aliens' flanks.
Scorch felt the raw, glorious fusion flame flare up within her heart, as she pushed the Katanas to flank acceleration. Her blood began to race as the pumps sped up, cycling lubricant and coolant through her borrowed body.
She took the high, rearward position in her Platoon, a formation nearly as old as flight itself, a three-dimension diamond, cutting its way through the satiny darkness of space.
Her attention was drawn to her rear sensors, literally providing her with eyes in the back of her head. A section of the Thunder Child's hull began to glow, witchlight dancing along its surface. The soothing voice of Mobius, her Warlord's pilot, informed them, "Head's up. Outgoing spellstrike along your vector. Break in 5."
A ball of flame, large enough to swallow a flight of fightercraft whole and keep on coming, hurtled through space towards them. At the five-count, each pilot's mechs broke out of formation smoothly to allow the fireball to pass. Another spellstrike lunged from the bow of the Polyphemus, both aimed at the rearward alien cruiser.
Raven came onto the comm. line and ordered his men, "Kick up the accel as far as it'll go. I want to come in right behind those fireballs. Time to earn our paycheck."
Scorch followed the Lieutenant's lead, lambent energy boiling from the nozzles on her back as she pushed her ride to its utmost limits. Ahead of them, the fireballs had nearly reached the enemy vessel when they winked out, unraveling into streamers of smoke before they could touch the hulls.
Raven roared over the 'link, his composure evaporating along with the fireballs. "What the hell's that all about? I've never seen anything like that. Talk to me, Mobius."
Another voice, one that Scorch recognized as one of the ship's Shadowdancers, came onto the line, sounding utterly rattled. "Ye're not the only one. They've some manner of spellslinger themselves. Somethin' on that cruiser tore our spell apart like it was nuthin', and I've not the knowin' of how it was done!"
Raven swore over the 'link, sizzling the ether with his anger. "Fine, we'll just have to do this the old fashioned way. MacLeod, take point, send one of your drones in first. I want to make sure we don't fizzle the way those spellstrikes did."
The mage broke in and said, "If ye can keep 'em busy, we ought to be able to slide somethin' in, fast. Just try to get them focused on somethin' other than us!"
Scorch sighed as she watched one of the Katanas slide forward. As it approached, a barrier of blue energy formed in front of it, solidifying out of the fabric of space to bar the mech's progress. It slammed into the barrier at high speed, spilling delta-v into the barrier, and actually caused it to flex before snapping back, shattering the metallic skin of the mech.
Raven roared, ordering his men to break off. "Swing around, come in for another pass. On my mark, task your drones to open fire. Doesn't matter where, I just want lead in the air!"
Mobius asked, "You want missile support?"
Scorch could here the stress in Raven's voice as he replied, "Fuck yeah, man! I want everything you can hurl out there. Hit it, man, hit it!"
The dumbsoft nanny in her ride warned her, "Multiple missile launches on vector 179, mark 122."
Muttering, she silenced it with a mental command, then started issuing additional commands to her drones as she brought up her arms, and readied the rotary cannons. Even knowing that her flesh lay 120 klicks aft, she didn't relish the idea of slamming into a shield at top speed without a whole lot of something in front of her.
As the missiles passed by her, taking on a goodly chunk of light speed, she fanned out her mechs, and waited for Raven's signal, nerves trembling with anticipation. She took a glance down at her theater-wide display, trying to get a sense for the flow of battle.
Several of the carriers had been reduced to flaming hulks, their fusion-powered hearts carved out by high-energy beams. The few remaining pickets were being torn apart by thin, needle-like rays, gouts of molten metal spewing out into space as their frames were liquefied by the energy beams. The missile 'cruisers were still mostly intact, but firing slower now, conserving their limited ammunition.
The furious hail of spellstrikes had ceased, most of them dispelled before they could ever reach their targets, but several of them had struck home, scorching the bows of a few of the alien vessels. It appeared that they didn't breathe oxygen, as the unleashed gasses that trailed from the burnt craters had failed to ignite as the 7RAF vessels had.
One of the alien vessels had drifted out of formation, trailing crystallized gasses and fluid from several deep gashes. Strange, eerie glows showed through the terrible holes, and it bucked and writhed like a living thing, trying to avoid any more damage. Whatever they were shielding themselves with, it wasn't impenetrable, it seemed.
Seeing that the Platoon was in position to strike, Raven gave the order. "Open fire! Get us through those barriers, no matter the cost!"
Scorch fed full power to her cannons, the miniaturized mass drivers gulping it down hungrily as they began to hurl metallic slivers at the enemy vessel. A hailstorm of bullets roared towards the cruiser, and Scorch roared in harmony with the furious assault.
The barrier shimmered into view again, unfolding out of space like a curtain, a moment too late, and a few of the bullets slid past, striking the hard surface of the cruiser, leaving pinprick craters, interspersed with the larger craters caused by the missiles.
The shield wavered under the assault, metal melting into thin sheets along its surface from the force of impact, but after a few moments, it buckled under the terrible battering and shattered into shards of dissolving crystal.
Scorch pulled ahead of her formation, despite the protests of her wingmen, diving through the breached shield with her drones in tow. Her display showed a few approaching fighters, Sparrows from Beta Squadron, making all speed for the gap to offer support.
She heard a new voice, flushed with exhilaration, over the 'link, an irritating distraction from her mission. "This is Draconis. A Flight's got your back. Get in there and take that thing down. Krakens are on their way, so you just try to knock out whatever's projecting those shields."
Scorch grumbled to herself, sending a click of the 'link to acknowledge, as the strange, pebbly skin of the alien cruiser loomed before her, rising like a whale in front of her. Raven shouted at her to form up again, but she filtered out his voice, a red haze seeming to dance in front of her eyes as she dove for the hull, the barrels of her cannons beginning to glow cherry-red against the blackness of space.
In front of her, the hull began to bulge out unnaturally, before it split apart, revealing some sort of airlock. It dilated open, and slender, lethal-looking black needles began to pour forth. As she raked the hull with one arm, she brought up the other to fire on the swarming needle ships, their erratic motions protecting them from the majority of the bullets.
In her peripheral vision, four Sparrows pulled in around her and began to open fire on the needles, tactical missiles and bullets roaring from their vessels in a cacophonic symphony of destruction. Many of the needles shattered under the attack, but more poured from the 'lock, and began to swarm towards the fighters like gigantic insects.
Scorch ordered A Flight back, and drove her own drones forward to take the brunt of the assault. The needles began to fire thin bolts of energy at her drones, ripping away bits of armor plate with every hit, as the drones returned fire to the best ability of their limited programming, and served as focal points for the needles to converge on, clumping them together so they could be more easily blown away by the Sparrows.
A quick glance at her local display showed a similar tale being told in the vicinity of her wingmen. Several of her Platoon's mechs were dead in space, motionless save for the faint trembling caused by the death throes of their fusion generators, but all of the remaining HARs were within the shielded zone, fighting frantically against the clouds of enemy fighters.
Seeing that A Flight seemed to be holding their own against the swarm, she brought her mech into a steep dive, building up speed as she locked her arms in front of her, and drove the monofilament blades into the thick hull of the alien vessel. Her hands sunk into the tears, and she began pulling up sections of plating with a maniacal strength, even as her actuators protested against the strain.
Fluid boiled out of the cuts, flash-freezing as it contacted the cold grasp of space, a thick, viscous liquid or gel that glimmered dully under the kaleidoscopic lights of the battle. The hull rippled beneath her feet, writhing in a manner that metal simply should be unable to, and nearly threw her off, but she drove her blades into the skin again and held on for dear life.
A klaxon sounded in her mind, and a young-sounding voice came over the line, speaking in a monotonous tone, her inflections deadened by terror. "CV-28 has just lost reactor shielding! Repeat, the Goliath is going down!"
Scorch brought up a monitor in the corner of her vision, a video feed carried a sideband from the report, as a beam of writhing, jade green energy struck the Goliath amidships, sending a gout of molten metal streaming off into space, then pierced through to the other side before expending its energy. The massive drive funnels on the carrier's aft sputtered, their flames flickering and dying, but not before the ship executed a final turn, plunging headlong toward the alien forerunner.
The Goliath lurched toward the sleek, glittering vessel as escape pods poured from its ravaged flanks, and another beam of light struck it, melting a hole from stem to stern through the dying carrier, but the remains of the valiant ship pierced through the alien vessel's shielding, impacting just fore of its centerline.
The two vessels smashed together, metal tearing and buckling under the tremendous force, and the display dimmed as a brilliantly white pulse of energy, a kinetic shockwave, marked by deformed wreckage, blasted out of the Goliath's engine room, the final gasp of the fusion reactor that had been its beating heart for all those years. The wave crashed into and over the alien vessel, ripping away vast sections of its metallic flesh, and the retreating edge struck the shield wall and ricocheted back off its surface, engulfing the two mortally wounded capital ships in a vortex of pure, hellish force.
The comm. officer that had given the report spoke in a wooden, shellshocked voice, as she reported, "Secretary Chadna is dead. He and his command staff remained behind to guide the Goliath's final charge. God help us all."
Raven called out over the comm. link, "Stick with the plan. There'll be time enough to grieve later."
Scorch growled into the 'link as she continued to rip into the ship's hull, "Cover me, Draconis. I'm gonna rip this thing a new asshole, savvy?"
He brought his Sparrow low, skimming along the hull starboard of her, and started strafing at anything that seemed to stick out, blasting holes in the armor plating for an answer.
With a series of forceful blows, she carved a great furrow into the ship's hull, cutting loose enough sections of plating to afford her access to the interior. It seemed as though the inhabitants of the vessel were aquatic in nature, for the corridor seemed flooded with liquid. It wasn't water, for it had a far greater surface tension. Only small quantities had leaked from the makeshift entrance, and she had to struggle to maneuver through it.
Strangely, it seemed as though there was some sort of current in the liquid. Perhaps this acted as some sort of high-speed transport tube, or coolant exchange system.
Not seeing anything except for more of the strangely smooth, featureless corridor around her, she began to dig into the inner wall, wanting to do as much damage as she could.
She breached the inner wall more easily, as it seemed to be more of a partitioning wall than a structural one. This cavity was filled with a different type of liquid, and her sensors read that it was charged with an extremely high degree of energy. Additionally, it was quite radioactive, enough so that even this much exposure would have been fatal if her body had actually been inside the mech.
Assuming that it must be some sort of battery or capacitor system, she began carving furrows into the wall, letting the two fluids mix. Vibrations began to shake the agile HAR, jostling it about as the two liquids mixed and combined in a turbulent combination. After she'd cut a few more slices into the cavity's shell, she heard the Shadowdancer that had spoken earlier. He warned the Platoon, "Somethin's different. There was a tension around ye're section of the ship, and it ain't there now. We'll be tryin' another spellstrike. It's all we've got left, so let's hope it does what it ought!"
Figuring that the 'strike, if it landed, would finish the job that she had done, Scorch started tearing her way back out of the alien vessel, knowing that she only had scant seconds before the attack would hit.
Her Katana's head poked out of the second hole in time to hear a warcry of, "Persephone, Light of our Order, guide our hands!" The aurora of witchlight that danced around the Thunder Child's bow shimmered and faded, and it seemed as though the spell had failed. Her sensors, however, registered a gravitational anomaly, a ripple in the fabric of space-time itself. She threw herself clear, shouting a warning to all the units in range, as the anomaly, like a tiny black hole, hurtled toward the damaged cruiser.
As it approached, she could make out a distortion on her optical sensors, a rippling bubble that bent the starlight around its edge. Directly behind the spellstrike were a brace of torpedoes, courtesy of the Thunder Child's main cannons, dragged along in the anomaly's wake.
It struck the ship's hull, and the armor began to flow like water into its maw, the bubble flattening out and around the skin of the vessel. All around it, torpedoes penetrated and detonated, mushroom clouds bursting out of the stressed hull.
The vessel began to crackle with lambent energies as the spellstrike continued to consume it, and the sleekly streamlined shape began to warp and curve into the 'strike's ravenous maw.
Cheering arose from her Platoon, and Scorch joined in, her heart racing in anticipation as the vessel stretched and deformed into the heart of the 'strike. Before it could completely envelop the attacking ship, the bubble popped, spewing shredded material in all directions, leaving the vessel a dead, lifeless hulk in the skies.
Her emotions became melancholic as she glanced at the theater display, seeing that only three carriers remained to stand against the enemy fleet, only five losses amongst the enemy lines. All of the enemy vessels had taken damage, but well over half of them continued on towards the Earth, swatting aside the few remaining picket ships and strike craft as they exchanged blows with the battered carriers.
Soon, even if the reserve fleet drove headlong into the enemy lines in a last, desperate charge, nothing would remain of the defensive fleet, nothing would be left to stop the presumable invasion.
Summanus' voice entered the 'link, and he spoke in baleful tone. "The battle is lost. Our final duty to the people of Earth is to execute the orders that I and my counterpart aboard the Polyphemus received from Secretary Chanda en route to the reserve."
Commodore Norrington broke onto the line, commenting coldly, "You might have shared those orders, Summanus. What did the Secretary tell you to do?"
Summanus ignored the Commodore's question, ordering the strike craft pilots, "All vessels, return to the reserve post. All strike craft, return to your hangars. Transport vessels, make ready for full burn. Vectors to follow."
Norrington rose his voice, anger creeping into it, and said, "Belay those orders! Summanus, why are you ordering a general retreat? We need to press the attack!"
Summanus finally acknowledged the Commodore, telling him shortly, "Commodore, under the authority of the late Secretary, you are removed from command. All will become clear shortly. All units, heed general retreat orders."
Scorch saw the missile 'cruisers, their ammunition nearly expended, hurl themselves toward the enemy vessels in a reckless charge. She began to direct her remaining mechs towards the battle, hoping to deliver some tide-turning blow, but static filled her connection, driving a sharp spike of pain into her mind.
She gritted her teeth against the pain, and glanced to her local display to see that she was not the only pilot to have vectored their craft towards heart of the battle. Turner and MacLeod had joined her, as well as about half of the other mech pilots. A lesser, but still noticeable, fraction of the fighter pilots had also joined in.
Summanus sent another burst of static into the connection, and the sound of a loud thunderclap tore into her auditory simulators. "ALL strike craft, return to your hangars! You'd only be throwing your lives and machines away, and we'll have need of both soon enough. If you do not set your machines on a return vector in thirty seconds or less, I will be forced to take command and return them for you. My apologies in advance."
Roaring wordlessly, Scorch drove her motors to 120% output and placed the surviving drone above and in front of her piloted mech, but when the thirty seconds elapsed, she felt the sensory input cease abruptly. For a measureless time, she floated in the void of total sensory deprivation, before her own senses were returned to her.
She rose from the soft bed her body had laid on, her powerful muscles snapping the restraints as adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream. She came up in a roll, and grabbed Maxtla by the throat, battering his sinuous form against the wall in the low-grav environment of the cabin. She screamed at him, a flush rising on her face from her rage, "You rat bastard! Send me back, right now, or I'll break you like a twig!"
He choked in her grasp, unable to push even a single claw from his throat, the thin lines of flesh showing between his scales turning grey from fear and lack of breath. "Can't... Sum ordered..."
Bracing her foot against a ladder rung, she hurled the Mutate from her grasp, causing him to slam against the far wall with a soft thud. Kicking off, she followed him more slowly, rotating through the air with the trembling of her barely controlled rage. "I couldn't care less what that bucket of bolts told you to do, I'm telling you to get me back in there, savvy? I'm not running, not when our world lies in the balance!"
He rolled along the wall to keep from being pinned again as he tried to calm her down. "I know, Scorch, I know. But, you're not going to be able do a whole lot to help. Nothing can now. Summanus has a plan, and I'm willing to trust him. You need to know something about those 'reserves'."
She grabbed onto the wall next to him, staring at his yellow, reptilian eyes. She felt her anger dim slightly as she recognized the truth in his words, felt the intensity of his faith in the AI. "Okay, scalie, what's this I've got to know? It better be somethin' good, for your sake."
Meeting her gaze, he said, "Those Marine transports you saw? They're not full of Marines. There's a few aboard, but mostly, there's civvies on there, thousands of them. Summanus sent out an encrypted message after he removed the Commodore. We're heading out, way out. Secretary wants to make sure that, even if they demolish Earth the way they blew part Eris, some of our people will survive. I can't send you back. We'll need people with your fire, you understand? We need you here!"
C Company Mecha Bay
Interplanetary Space
March 24th, 2198
2212 Hours
It had taken a great deal of work, but Command had gotten most of the job done for them ahead of time. It seemed that their strategists had assumed this terrible scenario, that Earth's defenses would fall to the invaders. If the battle had gone better, then the Thunder Child and the Polyphemus would have joined from the rear, catching the invaders in a pincer.
But, in case it had gone sour, as it actually had, there were over seventy-five thousand men and women packed into the troop transports, of all the Races, preserved in cryogenic suspension. Freighters laden with supplies and additional war machines hid along with the transports, behind Luna's shadow, waiting for the order to set sail.
Earth was lost, and there was little chance of reclaiming it from the outside. If the invaders delayed in annihilating the planet, perhaps a resistance could flourish, but two carriers and their associated fleet could not stand against the surviving alien ships.
Scorch stared at the cryotube she'd helped to rig up, the one she'd be spending the voyage within. The plan was for the ships' AIs to stand watch as they plied the long, dark distances between the stars, and seek out another world on which the Seven Races could make a new home.
Summanus appeared before her, his patrician features softened by concern, and sat upon the cryotube, his robe of blue flame not quite touching its metallic surface. "I know of your worry, Scorch. I know also of your bravery in the battle. I want you to know that I'm no happier with this than you are... but we all have our duty to perform, yes? So, into the tube with you."
Scorch snorted and turned from the AI, arms crossed between her upper and lower breasts. "You know nothing. You won't be too keen on seeing me awake, I'll warn you of that. You and me, we've got a debt to settle, savvy?"
As she climbed into the tube, still not meeting the AI's projected eyes, he said, "That's a chance I'm willing to take, and glad I am of the chance to take it. Sleep well, warrior. Dream of wrath, dream of rage, dream of our loss. You'll need that spirit, where we're going."
With a gesture from the AI, the tube's canopy began to close as the cooling units began to hum...
Lincoln Park Inn
601 West Diversey Parkway, Chicago, Illinois
November 29th, 2027
2:27 P.M.
A black-gloved hand set the phone's handset down, severing the connection. He'd spoken with his contacts, made the plans. The data that Yutani had given him had proven most useful. The date was set.
Tomorrow, the 30th of November. That would be the day... the night, rather. He'd have the pleasure, the honor of destroying these monsters in a fair fight.
The black-garbed man leaned back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, and chuckled softly. It pained him to call in others on this task, but this feud had gone on long enough. It needed to end.
He pulled a slip of fabric off the small hotel room's desk, gripping it tightly in his fist. The mask, of black wool, bore three red slash marks across its face. He longed for the night that he could tear the mask apart, leave its scraps amongst the shreds of flesh his hammer would leave behind.
It would not end on the morrow, but he would draw yet one step closer to victory.
----The End----