“That’s it, advance!” Sergeant Stone shouted out.
The marines raised themselves from their hiding places and moved a step at a time. Jack pulled the level until it reach just one indicator and fired. The energy blast was much smaller, but he noted how the first bar had only just dropped below the marker and had already surpassed what must have been a ready marker.
I get it. The first one is the charge, like a generator. It takes time to refuel the gun. The second one is a capacitor for that shot. The first one holds energy for a long time, the second one is temporary.
He fired again, once more killing a handful of Thegns.
The lower the power setting, the less time it takes to recharge the gun.
He turned to the right and put a green blast of energy into the torso of a Decurion. The machine was busily ripping apart a Helion, and both vanished in the fireball.
“Hell, yes, I love this gun!”
He turned back around to fire, but Jana lifted her hand to block his target.
“Not there, Jack. That’s the bridge.”
He squinted and tried to look past the machines and their foot soldiers. The bridge was barely visible, but he could see large black shapes of transports coming down on the other side. He looked at her.
“So?”
She leaned in and struck him on the top of his helmet.
“Because if you miss, the energy from that thing will move over the bridge and toward the landing pads. Do you want to bring down our transports?”
Jack looked back to the bridges and quickly understood what she meant. Unfortunately, while he had been speaking, he’d completely forgotten about the weapon and its lever that he’d held down. Part of the stonework tore apart in front of him, and from the very ground beneath them came a trio of Decurions. They surged out behind what looked like an unlimited horde of Thegns. Three marines were cut down instantly before they could shoot back.
“Kill them all!” shouted an officer right behind the frontline.
Jack took aim and pulled the second trigger, not even noticing that it had reached seven flashing lights. The green energy blast was massive and hit the unit of Decurions and Thegns with more firepower than even an entire platoon of Vanguards could manage. Dozens were torn apart by the blast, and other marines hurled themselves into the fray. It was savage and brutal, but somehow the energy blast and the counterattack held back the machines. The Khreenk weapon simultaneously exploded as Jack fired, and it sent a plume of energy back toward his helmet and torso. Jack fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by the blast.
“Jack!” Jana screamed.
She ran to him and knelt beside his fallen shape. His PDS Alpha armor hissed as though it was a block of fat on a fire.
“I need help!”
CHAPTER SIX
The combat of the Great Biomech War proved to be a continuation of combat for many Alliance units. Some were involved in combat operations on Helios Prime against insurgents when the Biomechs arrived. Tech Sergeant Carsten became something of a legend after having been involved in fighting on Hades, Eos, Helios Prime, and then at the Black Rift. The fact that he survived made him the youngest man in the Marine Corps to have seen action on four worlds, as well as in two ship boarding actions.
Great Heroes of the Alliance
Taxxu, Uncharted Space
Spartan walked back and forth in front of the line of machines. So far, he’d counted over a hundred different models, and by his reckoning, there were probably ten times as many still waiting in the vast halls and barrack rooms of the ship. Each of the machines was about two-thirds the size of Z’Kanthu and his kin. Apart from the size, they had much in common, with all of them standing on two legs. None of these machines seemed to carry weapons, and their arms hung down with empty sockets where their human-sized hands should be. He stopped at one and looked directly at it.
“Who are you?”
Even as Spartan spoke, he realized his voice was different, as though he were speaking in some odd tongue. The accent and tone were new to him even though he understood exactly what he was saying.
“I am One-Zero-One of the Ghost Warriors. I have died seven times in the service of my people.”
Spartan looked at the machine and then to the left at the lines of other machines. Every single one of them was of a similar height and build, yet the subtle differences from shades of color to the changes in shoulder armor and torso shape, marked them out as individuals. There were a few that were marginally taller, but the one he spoke with appeared to be fairly average among them.
“One-zero-one. What will happen if you die?”
The machine’s torso twisted slightly and faced Spartan, as if looking at him. This machine, like many of the others, had no discernible face. The torso was in reality just a single large chest area, curved and well armored. The arms hung down from the corners like a great ape.
“Well?”
The machine continued to bend down and touched its handless arms to the floor. Motors whirred, and metal plates shifted to release six small, articulated grabbers. Metal components moved out from the floor and attached to the limbs. In a few seconds the machine was standing upright, with a small, four-barreled weapon on each arm. A high-pitched motor noise started up, and a light appeared at the tip of each barrel.
“This,” it said stoically.
Spartan took two steps back and braced himself, expecting the worse. Both of machine’s the arms twisted about at an impossible angle from the elbow and pointed the weapons at its own chest. The arm motors whirred almost silently until finally stopping. Spartan was unsure what was happening until the glow appeared to grow brighter and brighter at the muzzles of each arm.
“No!” Spartan shouted.
He began to move forward, but it was too late. There was a flash along the upper portion of the machine, and it vanished in a fireball. Chunks of metal and burned flesh scattered about the floor, some even striking other machines. One large section flipped about toward Spartan, and he was forced to lift him arms to defend himself. To his surprise and relief, it bounced off and fell to the ground. Not one of the other machines moved even an inch as their comrade died pointlessly on the ground. Spartan lowered his arms and looked around for signs of guards, or at least somebody that might show some degree of interest.
“What? Why the hell did you do that?” he asked, walking about the ruins of the machine. There were scattered pieces of metal as well as chunks of unidentifiable organic matter.
“You said there were less than a thousand of you, and you do this.”
He bent down to touch the shattered metal, but a familiar voice spoke from behind.
“I would not touch that if I were you. The weapon capacitors retain charge for many hours.”
He turned about to find an identical machine to the one that had just been destroyed. Apart from the gleaming metal armor, this could easily have been the exact same machine. The most obvious and telling difference, apart from that fact that the other was destroyed was that this one had been polished and gleamed like it was fresh from a factory. Even so, Spartan was sure he could see marks and deep gouges under the layer of semi-translucent paint.
“Who are you?”
“I am One-Zero-One of the Ghost Warriors. I have died eight times in the service of my people.”
Spartan walked about the machine, shaking his head. The words were all but identical to the first time they had spoken, all apart from the number of times he said he had died.
Is it a he? Who knows?
He reached the halfway point and stopped, noting the lack of weapons just as in the previous model. The metalwork was impressive and much better finished than even the Alliance Vanguards. The seams between sections were barely visible, and there were no obvious external signs of gears or moving parts. It was to all intents and purposes a perfect machine and an example of a mechanical creature. He finished a complete circuit and then stopped in front of it.
“Okay, so you’r
e a copy of the same machine? So what? We have drones and combat robotics in the Alliance military. Are my new masters just copies of computer code? If they are, then we have a problem. I do not serve a machine.”
The machine lifted its left arm and shook it.
“No. Only this body is a copy, just as your clothing is something to be made and used. These bodies allow the last of us to participate in your reality.”
It tapped its torso with the arm.
“Inside I am One-Zero-One. If my mind dies, so will my name.”
Spartan scratched at an itch on his forehead, but he looked far from convinced.
“I don’t understand.”
The machine looked away and moved to its fallen kin. It pushed away the wreckage with its massive metal feet and then repositioned itself so that it was exactly where the previous version of it had been. Spartan blinked, realizing he could easily have gone back five minutes and would never have been any the wiser, save for the wreckage lying about them.
“Spartan, destroyer of men and machines. Are you ready for the tests?” asked another voice off into the distance.
Spartan looked around and then spotted it. This machine was colorless, its armor simple, plain steel. Though Spartan very much doubted that this machine was made of this. From everything he had seen, there was little chance they would be constructed from common metal. The machine and four others walked in the same direction as the one he had arrived from and formed up in a loose line. As they moved closer, he could see they were much bigger, with more complex armor, thicker legs, and multiple limbs. They kept going until reaching Spartan.
“You have seen our warriors; these represent the last of our people. They will continue the struggle to protect our existence, as they have done for more than ten thousands years. We were once millions, now less than a thousand.”
Spartan knew the stories from the T’Kari, and to a lesser extent from the Helions, but Z’Kanthu had told him the most. He thought back to the machine but again, the harder he thought about it, the more the memories began to fade from his mind.
Learn, and discover their weakness.
He couldn’t even remember who had said that.
“The others, the rebels. They were different to you.”
The machine moved as though nodding, but with its entire upper body.
“Yes, The Twelve were no different to any of us, to begin with. The great tragedy occurred when they intermixed with lesser species.”
It pointed with a single arm toward a single archway. It was massive, easily big enough to allow a small starship to enter through. Even so, the space was filled with a mist that made it impossible for him to see inside.
“The tests, we must ensure that you and the others are ready for the challenge.”
Spartan nodded in agreement and began walking to the vast entrance, flanked on either side by the great machines. There were much smaller windows looking out to the countless armada of ships waiting. He recognized some of the shapes from the encounters he’d already been involved in, but there were just as many new to him. The machine noticed he was looking at them.
“Since our exile behind the Great Seal, we have been busily working to create a new army. An army that the chosen Warlords will take through the Seal.”
Spartan could still see the ripples from the collapsed Rift.
“How can we go back through? Are the ships on the other side now gone?”
The machine showed no recognition of his question as they continued.
“The Rift, as you call it, has not collapsed. It is merely unstable. Our brothers opened it from the other side and kept the alien traitors busy, long enough for us to move in our machines. Soon, we will send in the next engine to reopen the Great Seal and beginning the process of a permanent bridge.”
That was the first mention of any kind of strategic goal, and even Spartan was surprised to hear it. Two of the machines trailed behind, and he was convinced they were watching him with suspicion.
“How are The Twelve different to you? Aren’t they Ghost Warriors as well?”
The machine kept moving, but it was another of the tall, colorless machines that answered. This one’s voice was higher pitched, almost musical in tone.
“The traitors took their souls from…”
The first machine stopped and placed its arm in front of its comrade. Neither said a word, but Spartan had picked up on the body language, even though it was coming from machines.
“They transferred themselves into their final ghost bodies, permanently. By removing their souls from our domain, they left our sight. Leaving our society was a great betrayal; that is why we show them no mercy.”
One of the other machines spoke; its tone was much harsher.
“Spartan. The traitors turned their backs on all of us by doing this. They started a war that decimated our way of life. We were forced to send many of our kin into battle in the same way, by making them take their souls, flesh, and armor out into the darkness. It was the only way outside of our influence this far away.”
The first machine continued speaking.
“This tragedy almost destroyed us. We will never allow it to happen again.”
There was warmth, perhaps even a little sadness at what the machine was describing.
“Most of our kin never made it back, and those of us that did have been forced to live with the shame in the lands of the enemy and their allies. Our losses were almost total. We will never again cross the Great Seal until we are assured of our safety.”
Spartan listened, but he had no way of knowing how much truth there was in this story. The rebels of The Twelve were clearly of the same species, but for some reason they carried their own physical bodies inside their armor. At least that was how Spartan saw it. The stories from both sides were contradictory, but it was clear there were distinctive differences between the machines of both sides of the Great Seal. He assumed this referred to what was known as the Black Rift.
So these machines, they are like biomechanical husks, controlled from the actual body somewhere else.
“You are all drones?”
The first machine hissed. There were no words, but it still sounded angry to Spartan.
“We are the Ghost Warriors, the last and the greatest of our people. Come with us.”
The machine and its companions continued on, and Spartan walked with them. Next to him they looked like metal giants, even bigger than creatures like Khan and Gun. Images of his old friends fluttered about in his mind, but no matter how hard he tried, as the imagery formed, it then vanished again.
Khan?
Spartan found he had no tangible memory other than the fact that his friend was big, strong, and violent. He focused his attention on the large archway as they neared it. The mist was unlike anything he’d seen before. Instead of it lingering over an area, it formed a curtain no more than five or six meters in depth. As they passed through, he could feel the coolness of the cloud about him. It was both cool and hot to the touch and left him tingling all over.
“What is this?”
The machines did not stop and simply continued through the mist and into a vast circular hall. Great curved columns arced out from the ground and met at the ceiling where they merged into a form that looked very familiar.
“Echidna.”
The shape was not exactly the same as the imagery he’d seen before, bit it was a fusion of flesh and machine with limbs, bone, muscle, and tail all forming part of the strange shape. Spartan looked about the great hall and the many pedestals upon which stood machines of all configurations. One thing they had in common; they were ancient, perhaps nonfunctioning.
“Spartan, this is the hall of warriors. Our greatest commanders and heroes are placed here after their deaths, to remind us of what we have lost.”
Spartan turned about on the spot and looked at each of them in turn. The first and best preserved were little different to the machines talking to him. The more he walked about the gro
up, the more he could see a change. The larger machine moved alongside him with its faceless body pointing right at him.
“We have constructed many biomechanical creatures to fight for us, even created new minds to serve us inside bodies similar to our own. There has not been a new Ghost Warrior in millennia, though. We cannot trust even our own creations inside our realm. We were torn apart by our own kin, so how could we ever trust a single soul outside of those remaining?”
Spartan shrugged. He had no idea what to say.
“Those that were trapped outside of our realm were given the final plan; to sow destruction, doubt, and war in the half-century before our coming. They were to weaken and damage our foes in preparation for the coming of the comet. They have done well, Spartan, better than we could have imagined.”
The machine held out its arms, and a projected image of many stars appeared.
“When we opened the Great Seal, we received word from our remaining kin. The old enemys’ worlds lie in ruins, their fleets scattered, and the other races fight among themselves.”
The stars moved until a new cluster at the end of a long tunnel appeared.
“Your own worlds, Spartan. They have avoided our grasp, even through our best efforts to assist. But with your help, we will change that.”
Spartan nodded in agreement.
“You need me to help defeat the Alliance?”
The machine shook its body.
“No, you will help us craft this species as our servants. Your flesh is easily molded and repaired. Humanity will provide the resources we require for our rebirth throughout the stars.”
A clanking sound off into the distance caught his eye. He looked at the movement, and then spotted a number of chains lifting a vast metallic structure, much like a pierced gateway. As it lifted, a large number of Thegns approached. These were as different as they were similar to those he had seen before. Each was the size of a man and armored in the same fleshly outer layer as the others. Their faces were featureless, save for a single eye right in the middle of their foreheads. In their arms, they carried reflective blades. They seemed to catch and bend the light as they moved, almost making the blades invisible to the eye.
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