by Will Crudge
“How many?” I ask.
“A full squad. Three light fire teams, and a squad leader.” He replies with no voice inflexion. I’m guessing he’s trying to reconcile something in his mind. He’s never seen any operational drones since he’s been sentient, so there’s no telling how he’ll respond. I don’t let it get me nervous, though. There’s no sense in being worried. One of the less official War Master mantras states, ‘worry is interest paid on trouble before it comes due.’
I look at the screen. I see the drones he’s troubled about. But now I see the real reason. He’s not so concerned with the potential of facing one of his own, but rather where they are heading. The three fire teams have broken off into a scouting screen. Without having to worry about getting out of breath, they begin to engage in a full trot towards the ridge. Our ridge.
The human troops remain in a kneeling position with their weapons raised and heads on a swivel. It doesn’t take seventy years of War Master training to tell me what’s happening.
The pocket frigate had to land on the relatively flat area below us and the wreckage. Before the human troops are willing to enter a potential kill-zone, they’re sending the drones in to clear the elevated terrain first. It’s what any military leader with half a brain would do. I know I would.
This changes things. The lid to our bunker would fool a human easily. Even a human using advanced visor filters, or augmented optics would still be fooled by the masterfully crafted bunker lid. Unfortunately, drones are not hampered by biological brains. They interoperate visual inputs with greater scrutiny, and at a higher spectrum. We’re as good as exposed once they include our position in their clearing procedure. Wonderful.
“I’m going out there.” Marbles says. It sends chills up my spine.
“No! There must be another way!” I beg desperately. It’s no use. I know he won’t listen, and I know he’s right. Only he can see things through their eyes, and only he’ll know how to draw them away from the bunker effectively. Even with all my genetic gifts, I still have a human brain, after all.
He doesn’t respond. He ignores my pleas, and slowly opens the bunker lid. He retracts his screen within himself. I only wish I still had means by which to see, but there’s no way around it. With a few more smooth motions, he’s out of the bunker, and the lid is sealed once more.
God’s speed, brother!
HELL HATH NO MARBLES
The biggest drawback of a sound-proof bunker is that it’s soundproof. Very few of our simulated scenarios had called for Marbles to go on a solo mission. Thus, we never dedicated any resources to a secondary sensor suite for me to track enemy movements from the bunker. Marbles was going to fulfill that role.
And now I’m blind, deaf, and have damp panties. Yay. Why couldn’t I have used my years of training to just keep subduing my libido? Oh, yeah. That’s because I was trying to channel my sexual energies to continue the curriculum on my own.
I don’t think Barnes or Onslaught would have approved of me trying to achieve battle-focus by use of fucking an infantry drone, though. Perhaps I rationalized that method to get my jollies. But I can’t let myself identify as a slut. I can’t let myself identify with anything in particular. That’s the secret to subduing your ego… Or so, I’m told.
Now I have to take this opportunity to contend with a bigger opponent. Not the Crimson troops, and not their robotic drones, but myself. More specifically, the primordial entity that is welling up in my core.
The Primal Rage beckons me. It’s almost telling me to unleash it. It’s begging me to give in to it, and let it be the instrument of my salvation.
I’m perplexed. Terrified, even!
It’s been so long since it’s made its presence known, that I can’t be sure if this is how it’s supposed to feel. Have my years of self-discipline changed the dynamic? Have I achieved a more mutually beneficial relationship with it? I can’t trust that. Even the biblical king Solomon used his ring of power to force demons to build God’s temple. Is that what primal Rage really is? A demon to be harnessed?
If that’s the case, then I am not the benevolent person that Solomon was. Not even close. I may be considered some level of ‘spiritual clergy,’ but I am far from flawless in that regard. Just ask my libido about my flaws, why don’t you?
Even still this feeling is different. From what I can remember from twenty years ago, the Rage was trying to use me as some kind of conduit of destruction. It reveled in violence. Death.
This sensation is entirely different. I feel some kind of kinship with it. I no longer have the natural urge to give resist, but I still have the resolve to do so. Perhaps I’ve earned its respect. Perhaps it’s just full of shit, and it’s trying a new approach to get me to give in.
I’m on a slippery slope, but I’m still holding on. Barely.
I hate it when my emotions try to betray me from pragmatic decisions! She’s right. I’m dying inside. Every emotion I’ve ever felt comes surging into me at once. I see every memory, every triumph, every failure… all at once. I feel the Rage move up to my core, but it goes no further. I didn’t give it any thought at the time, but later I’ll reflect back on it and realize what a milestone it was.
The Primal Rage has knocked on my door, and is politely waiting for me to invite it in for tea… or carnage… and I’m fresh out of tea!
“Alright, Rage. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if I’m just talking to myself due to madness, but if you’re listening then I need your help!” I declare with every shred of confidence and raw determination I could muster.
Then, I don’t so much as invite the Rage in for tea, as I step halfway out the door to shake its hand in a polite greeting. This is all alliterative, of course. Don’t start making this into something weird, ok?
Here we are, hand in hand. Part Katherine, part primordial demon. All whoop-ass!
I don’t even notice how the molecules in my body respond to the influx of raw energy. The Primal Rage is not of our reality, so its effect on the physical universe is difficult to describe. All I can tell you is that it basically makes the usual law of physics go suck a fat dick, in terms of what an enemy can do to me.
Or that’s been my experience, at least.
I don’t remember exiting the bunker, or much of anything at this point, so I’m filling in the blanks based on a later forensic study. FYI, ‘forensic study’ is another term for ‘wild-ass guess.’
I don’t bother looking for Marbles. I know he’s going to be fine. It’s already been established that the squad of drones were lightly armed by drone standards, and his reinforced chassis should keep him safe. My objective is Trixie’s node.
In the attempt to avoid energy scan detection, she powered down the main reactor, so she couldn’t just retreat into her crystalline core. If she did, then there is always the possibility she’ll trap herself, and be unable to ever get the reactor initialized again. It was a miracle she ever pulled it off the first time.
This means she’s operating out of her portable node. It’s small enough to be held in one hand and is roughly the shape of a brick. It’s got two cylindrical prongs that jut out from the bottom of it, and those are intended to be inserted into an AI port. Most AI’s aren’t close to her grade and spec, so she can easily transfer herself from the portable node, and into a blank crystal core with ease.
This may be the only edge I’ll need. The Crimson Alliance isn’t very trusting of AI’s, and most of their frontline troops have any real experience with
them. They may not know that they can just steal her away with just her portable node. In fact, they’ll likely ignore it as being blank, and go for her core. That’s exactly what I hope they’ll do. Trixie has likely blanked out her core to make it useless, or she’s activated the explosive fail-safe. Probably both.
If they manage to take the core and it explodes, then they’ll likely think she’s gone and leave. If they do manage to retrieve her core, then it may take several days, or even weeks before they realize it’s blank. Either way, they’ll be long gone, and she’ll be safe.
I make for the cracks in the Nova’s ruined fore-section. I slip inside. Normally I would stop to let my eyes to adjust to the low light, or just pull out a flashlight. But neither is required. My glowing blue Rage-eyes are doing their part, and I keep moving.
I know every shredded or solid piece of this wreckage, and I maintain sure footing while avoiding anything that may creek or bend as I move. I’m as silent as a mouse.
It only takes me about a minute to navigate through fifty meters of twists and turns. It’s the corridor I cut into it myself when I recovered all of the dead crew members, so I have plenty of room to remain upright and have my hand on my sword’s handle. The rifle is strapped around my chest and is hanging barrel down behind my back.
At one point I considered activating the active camouflage on my sub armor, but I decided it was a moot point. My glowing eyes would make it a waste of battery power, and so I keep my foe-leather façade in full sexiness mode.
Why shouldn’t my enemy meet their deaths with a boner?
I stop when I hear movement up ahead. I’m guessing the soldiers are using internal helmet coms, so listening in to their conversations won’t work. All I can try to do is listen for their locations and activities. Trying to find a vantage to visually spy on them would only give me away.
Ok, Rage. If you have any tricks up your sleeve to help me sneak around, then now’s the time! I pass a mental note to it. Either it didn’t listen, or sneaking around isn’t exactly why it’s here, to begin with. But that’s fine. I’m comfortable with carnage.
I hear the footfalls of a few troops near what’s left of engineering. They’re closing in on her core. I hear banging and scraping sounds. They’re clearing a path through the debris. That tells me what direction they came from. Had the entered through the starboard side hull gash, then they wouldn’t have to clear much of anything.
That complicates things. I toyed with the idea of securing Trixie’s portable node and sneaking off undetected. That way they could do what they wanted with her core, and they’d leave eventually. But they came in through the port side. That means they’ve likely passed by where her portable node is plugged into the bulkhead adapter. They would have noticed it if the AI is something they’re after. It’s in a prominent location, and they would have to have been blind not to see it.
Which means if I take the node, then they’ll notice on their way out. The jig will be up. They’ll hunt me down.
Marbles, on the other hand, can keep his own identity under wraps. He’s likely scattering spoof energy signatures all about the ridgeline whereby keeping the moronic drones at bay. They won’t report what they’ve found unless something satisfies their reporting criteria. Marbles is intimately familiar with that criteria, as it were, and he’s keeping them oblivious to our presence.
I can hear a soldier getting too close for comfort. He or she is not a spec ops commando. I can tell by the sounds of cheaply manufactured space boot scraping the deck plates. This one has a curious bug, I suppose. He’s not focusing on the main task at hand. The others are methodically working their way into engineering, while this poor soul is letting his attention deficit disorder run rampant.
I ease back into my corridor and try not to make a sound. Killing him would be bad. Fun. But bad. Even the Rage isn’t protesting my assertion.
My go is to make them believe there’s nothing of value here, and let them leave without being any wiser. But then I remembered… Shit! There’s no way they would suspect this ship has been dormant. Even if they didn’t find our living spaces, they’d certainly notice the main reactor isn’t cold. Powering it down may hide the energy signature, but the thermal signature can’t be hidden. Not with a ship that is riddled with gaping holes in its hull.
My plan won’t work. I have to assume they know someone is here. I have to decide. If I kill this guy, then there’s no going back. I’ll be forced to kill every last one of them. My rationalizations and pragmatism rarely agree on much, but they’re singing in chorus now.
I step around the corner. The rogue soldier is closer than I thought. In fact he’s frozen in fear. Blue glowing Rage eyes will do that to you, I guess.
One vertical-fisted punch to the chest plate is all it took. My bare hand punched a hole in the metal armor and buried itself into his or her left breast. I retract my arm. Dead. Floppy dead heap.
I’m committed now. I take note of the sounds that are coming from engineering, and I head down an adjacent maintenance tunnel. They could have saved some time by using it, but it was obstructed by rendered deck plating. My advantage. Their demise.
I’m wondering why I don’t hear the signs of any spec ops guys. Perhaps they’re too smart to be caught by surprise in a hulking ruin, so they let the pawns do the dirty work. Just as well. By the time they realize their regular troops are all dead, then they’ll either have to expose themselves in my little house of horrors, or they’ll have to leave.
The only flaw to my plan is to let them leave, and then they just bombard the Nova. Shit! I need to factor that in and get Trixie after all.
I double back to where her node is. The soldiers are almost to engineering, and they’ll probably come back the way they came. I can stop them dead in their tracks after I get Trixie to safety!
Finally! A plan that I don’t have to second guess myself over!
But I think karma has it out for me. Let me offer you a piece of advice. When you’re in a tough spot, and you need the fortune to favor you, then don’t have sex with a robot.
Trixie’s node is gone. I feel my heart sink, and my head begins to spin. The last thing I need is a panic attack with Primal Rage hanging around. It’s like handing a four-year-old the trigger to a nuke!
I look around frantically as if it would do any good. It’s not like it just fell off. But it’s a gut reaction, so I have to let my crazy run its course for now. After a few moments I can come to grips with reality, and I have to acknowledge that she’s gone. Marbles could have snuck in and secured it, but I doubt it. He wouldn’t expose himself when he thinks he’s drawing the enemy off my scent.
“Looking for this?” An arrogant man’s voice comes from behind me. I don’t turn to look at him. There’s no point in playing his game and letting him see my face. Instead, I choose to play on psychology. By keeping my back turned, I’m sending a message that this guy isn’t worth my time. In reality, I don’t want him to see the panic in my eyes… My eyes!
I turn to meet his gaze, and let him see my Rage eyes in all their glory. His angular Viking-looking features go from cocky meat-head to being scared shitless. He steps back, levels his rifle, and fires.
He either missed due to jumpy nerves, or I managed to swat the blast away with my bare hands. I’d like to tell you it’s the latter for the sake of cool points, but all I do know is that my sub armor didn’t sustain any damage.
Before he could fire another shot, I slice his rifle in half with my sword. My blade arcs back up and stops at his throat. I’ll never know why I showed restraint. Even the Rage would have encouraged me to end him… but it didn’t.
“Hand it over.” I say with a sneer. At this point, the blood has drained from his face. But then I feel something. Something odd.
It’s like the Rage was trying to tell me something, but I wasn’t getting the memo. I felt something stir in the man’s mind. His fears. His intentions. His genetics!
“Who are you?” He asks. I wa
s about to ask him the same thing. I can see in his eyes that he feels something too.
“I am none of your concern!” I say as I jerk the blade closer to his neck. He doesn’t wince. He knew I wouldn’t kill him. I could feel him feeling me.
His energy was darker than it should have been if he was truly one of my kind. It was raw. Unfinished. He was seething with hatred and vengeance. He was broken inside and didn’t even know it.
“Who are you?” I ask with as much anger as I could muster.
“I am Agent Peterson. And this AI is mine.” He said calmly. The blood began to flow into his face, and I could feel his resolve strengthen. He knew I wouldn’t kill him. But I sure as hell didn’t know why I couldn’t. He had my Trixie, and he would die before he took her from me!
Then I felt another presence and a flash of shiny silver armor. I got hit by a pulse weapon. Painful. Non-lethal. But the concussive force distracted me just enough for Peterson to get a few strides on me. I scream and jump into the air. I close the distance and drive my blade downward at him.
I never make the follow through. I’m struck by something hard and energetic. Likely a gravity hammer, but I’ll never be too sure. I just know the world went black.
I was down for the count.
POKING THE BEAR
I open my eyes. I see soil passing in front of my face. I realize that I’m being dragged by two unknown persons who each have one of my arms. I stay limp for a while longer. I need to assess my ability to control my body before I try something foolish.
“Get her into the ship’s hold. Chain her to the bulkhead.” I hear a voice call out. I think it’s the same voice as before, but I can’t put much stock in my senses right now.
“Yes, sir.” I dull female voice replies. I’m assuming they are far enough from the Nova to where they aren’t using internal tactical comms. Their mistake.
