“A Jötnar?”
He took a step to his right and looked at it in surprise. There had been eight of them in the arena, but those on the other side had been hard to see. He didn’t recall seeing this monster of a warrior, but it was clearly not another Thegn. The shape moved closer and stopped to look at each of them. Now Spartan could see what it was. Although technically the same synthetic machine as his kin, this was actually one of the models used by the Helions.
“To me!” the thing growled.
Spartan had not actually faced one of these before, but he’d seen reports and videostreams of their capabilities. As far as he knew, the Helions had betrayed and killed most, if not all of them. He failed to see why this one would therefore turn on him. The pale female drew closer to Spartan, watching the other three and the Biomech monster with care.
“The machines created me and wiped out my race. I seek vengeance, or death!”
The Biomech roared once more and then ran at Spartan.
“Oh, great!”
The thing was big, perhaps two and a half meters tall and muscled. Like the rest of them, it was encased to the neck in the same kind of protective skin as the Thegns. Spartan automatically dropped into a fighting stance, his left leg forward and his hands out in front of his torso.
“Okay, let’s do this!”
Vilusk had found some kind of long tube, and the end flashed in Spartan’s direction. With a quick twist of the torso, he moved out of its path, and the missile whooshed past and struck something near the wall. Spartan was surprised to see a blue flicker and then it vanished.
An energy shield of some kind?
He’d almost forgotten about the charging Biomech. Looking back, it was barely ten meters away.
“Oh, no!”
Spartan lifted his arms to protect himself, and then it was on him. They were evenly matched in size, and although Spartan’s strength had been greatly augmented, it was still a fair matchup. As they wrestled with each other, the others rushed in to attack the female warrior. Sensing danger, she used her footwork and distance to keep away while striking at any opening.
“Destroy it!” she cried out while evading a blow.
Spartan tipped over and landed hard on his side while the Helion synthetic battered at him like a troll of ancient myth. Each impact struck like a hammer on an anvil, yet Spartan was still able to move. He pushed down and then rolled before coming back up on his feet. Still the thing was holding on tightly.
“I am getting tired…of this!”
In a classic self-defense move, he grabbed its right arm, twisted it around, and then locked it straight and behind the warrior. It yelled out in pain, but that wasn’t enough for Spartan. With a brutal snap, he cracked the limb right at the joint. With its arm useless, Spartan took a step back, panted, and lifted his hands ready to continue the fight. The creature roared and began to laugh. It pulled the arm with its left hand, and with a sickening crunch it locked back into place.
“What the hell?” he muttered in surprise.
The synthetic looked about the ground and leaned down to rip two of the unusual blades from the fallen Thegns. Spartan felt a knot in his chest when he saw the gleaming blades. He had no idea what kind of material they were made from, but they were clearly something very different to normal metals. The armor of the Thegns was proof against light firearms, and there was no chance he should have been able to strike with the punch dagger so effectively.
Some kind of monofilament edge, maybe?
He shook his head and laughed.
It doesn’t matter, just fight!
The Helion synthetic seemed preoccupied with selecting weapons, and Spartan saw that as an opportunity. He glanced to his left and spotted the female warrior moving back with all three of the others in pursuit. Spartan rolled his shoulders and called out to her.
“Keep back, I’m coming!”
With five long strides, he covered the distance and kicked the T’Kari in the side of the torso. The impact from the large metal leg sent him flying nearly two meters before he crashed to the ground. Spartan then delivered two savage uppercuts with each arm as he attempted to strike the remaining two. Both parried his blades, and the Helion even managed to strike against his left arm with one of the swords. To Spartan’s surprise, it tore open a gash the length of his forearm in the plating.
What are those things?
He swung his left arm out to cover the damage, but the Helion was still busily hacking away, desperate to fight his way inside the armor. Spartan parried repeatedly, but he became more and more frustrated at his foe. The Helion tried to cut again, but this time Spartan brought down the blade of his left arm so hard it beat through his defense and pushed down into his shoulder blade. Spartan didn’t stop and continued to push until making it down to the chest. Blood gushed like a fountain as he slumped down dead.
“This is over. There is no need to keep fighting.”
That reminded him of the synthetic. He looked over and watched as it stood upright, almost bored and resting the blades across its body with the back edges against his shoulders.
Strange.
Spartan turned his attention back to what remained of his previous allies. Only Vilusk was left. He was standing with just his maul and his cauterized stump. He looked pitiful. Blood covered his body and a dozen cuts on the armor where Thegns had managed to get through the thick hide. They faced off against each other, but Spartan felt nothing but irritation by him. After their betrayal, he had zero tolerance for any of them.
“Why?” Vilusk asked, “We could have fought back. We could have defeated them from inside. You are a traitor to your species, human!”
Spartan just looked at him and shook his head.
“They are the only way there can be peace. You’ve seen how we manage on our own, war, repression, and genocide. They will bring order and stability, but only once we have defeated their armies.”
The Byotai sighed with a single long breath.
“It didn’t have to be like this.”
He lifted his mace, let out a strange howl, and then charged at Spartan. There was no need for him to even prepare to fight. It would be the female warrior that finished off the wounded Byotai, not him. He stayed in the same position, much like a statue and watched her do her beautiful work before him. Where Spartan was powerful and brutal, she was fast and elegant. The warrior spun behind Vilusk and delivered a horizontal cut that arced on a perfectly flat plane. This was no heavy cut or hacking attack. No, the cut that struck him in the back of the neck was a work of artistic perfection, and the decapitation was flawless. Head and body struck the ground at the same time while she dropped to her knees and then looked up to him.
“Spartan, are you ready to lead?”
He looked at her and to the synthetic now approaching.
“I was always ready,” he said calmly.
The synthetic stopped, and dozens of machines moved out from the sidelines. As before, a red armored machine stepped forward and pulled out ahead of the others. It walked toward Spartan until reaching a distance of just a few meters. Finally, it stopped and twisted about to look at the other two. Spartan looked carefully at the armor.
“Who are you?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“I am One-Zero-One of the Ghost Warriors. I have died nine times in the service of my people.”
“Of course you are,” said Spartan quietly.
The two machines squared off, but apart from the fact the new arrival was unarmed, there was little to tell them apart. Spartan tapped his chest and then pointed to the machine.
“Is this you?”
The machine moved its torso a few degrees as though looking inquisitively.
“No, this armor is new. It was built for a new warrior.”
Spartan suspected he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from the machine.
“What new warrior?”
There was a pause, not a long one but enough to make even him doubt what the answer migh
t be. Finally, it spoke, the words flowing with a subtle echo that gave the impression of a dreamlike state.
“It is yours.”
Spartan sunk back a little into the armor. With the mount points on his outer skin, it clipped together and moved as though it were part of him. He rocked his shoulders a little, finally feeling a little cramp from staying still after such exertion. Even as he did this, the sound of another machine came from further away. This one was colorless, much like the Thegns, but taller than One-Zero-One. Its designed was lithe and scrawny, the exact opposite of the armored simian of his own suit. The aesthetic reminded Spartan of the T’Kari and their agile warriors and equipment. One-Zero-One gave a hand gesture to the synthetic. He then bowed and turned away to leave the area.
“Wait,” said Spartan.
The creature looked back over his shoulder. There was a cut on its cheek that ran right down to its neck. Congealed blood had already formed along the wound, and the bleeding had stopped after just a few seconds.
“Why are you leaving? We have unfinished business here.”
Spartan moved to face off against the creature properly. He lowered his arms and bent his legs ready to fight. The synthetic creature shook its head and spoke in a low, guttural voice.
“No, Spartan is warlord, not enemy.”
He then turned back and continued to walk away. Spartan glanced over to the female warrior who still knelt before him, her blades resting on the ground, both dripping the blood of the fallen Vilusk.
“What about you?”
She moved her eyes to stare at him but said nothing.
“The test is complete, and both of you have passed,” said the machine.
Spartan could feel sweat dripping from his brow and lifted his left arm before realizing he was still in the armor. With just a thought, the armor hissed and the shell sections around the torso opened up slowly. One by one, the petal shaped sections moved apart until he was completely exposed. He pulled his arm hard, and it detached from the armor.
“Why?” asked Spartan, “Because we survived?”
The machine didn’t move, but the voice continued.
“No, this was a test of leadership and commitment. Both of you are ready to serve. We take no risks with our servants. Each of you has been physically and mentally tested, and each of you has been prepared for us.”
Spartan found the idea of being prepared a fascinating one. He tried to remember when this might have been but came up short. His oldest memories were the hard times before he'd ended up as a pit fighter. That was hardly his most hated time, and he had enjoyed the victories and the glory, as well as the money that had been building in his personal account. There was no preparation by people or machines back then, not as far as he remembered. Since then, he'd met Teresa, been married, and had a long career in the military as well as running his own security outfit.
“I don't understand. You said I was prepared? When? How?”
The machine walked around him, looking at the armor as though it was the first ever time he’d seen it. Spartan felt he were on show, yet the machine continued on its course.
“You were rescued by our agents during your own crisis in the alien worlds. We examined your thoughts, your background, and memories. There are markers left by our people to show the work they have done."
It used one arm to point at Spartan’s arm. He looked down and recalled the missing body part.
"Do you remember how this happened?"
He thought back hard. Images of the red machine immediately appeared, and he felt anger. Those images vanished like dust and again he was confused.
"My memories, they are fading."
"No," said the machine, "The lies are being withdrawn from your mind by your own subconscious. Our kin found you and your friends in the wilderness. They helped repair you. Healed your own body, repaired your bones, and helped you escape that prison."
Spartan tightened his brow and did his best to remember, but the images were gone.
"You are one of the few humans that have the ambition, skill, and ferocity to fight. You are more than that, Spartan. We have seen the Bright Horizon. You will do whatever it takes to survive. My people number less than one ship’s complement. We also need to survive.”
He continued his circuit and then stopped between the two of them.
“Humans have proven unique and shown us great tactical awareness and resilience. Information from our kin in your own star system shows you have managed to avoid our advances, even when given access to our cloning and warrior construction facilities.”
The machine then pointed at the female warrior. She still remained in the same place but did lift her head to look straight into the torso of the metal machine. Her eyes were piercing in their blackness, like obsidian marbles.
“The Anicinàbe show great skill in arms and cunning. Rise, Thayara.”
The female Anicinàbe rose to her feet, and Spartan found himself staring at her form. He’d seem relatively few of her species before, and never quite this close. The close-fitting gray outer skin they both wore proved perfect for the examination of others, and he was especially interested in how the Anicinàbe’s limbs appeared longer and thinner than should be normal for their bodies. Thayara saw him watching and looked at the machine for a short while before turning her attention back to One-Zero-One.”
“Your people are independent and unable to work together. Individually, you are greater pilots, engineers and, warriors than even the humans, but you squander this on war and tribal conflict. With us at your side, you will unite both the Anicinàbe and the humans into a force we can use to restore order. ”
The machine looked at them both and pointed at the newly arrived machine. It waited much like the earlier model, and its shell opened up to reveal an empty interior. Thayara swallowed, either in excitement or nerves at what she had just heard.
“This machine has been waiting for a warrior of speed and skill for many of your years. Together, you will lead the legions into your domain and bring our vengeance. Are you ready?”
Thayara was already halfway into the armor as the machine continued to speak. She pushed herself inside as she had seen Spartan do and clunked her shoulder into position. The armored shell pulled in around her, and then flesh and machine were as one.
“Yes, I am ready,” said Thayara.
She took a step and stumbled before righting herself. Then came a few muscle stretches, and she was moving about and swinging her arms. Finally, she stopped when noticing the other two were waiting. The three machines were in a triangular formation in the center of the arena. Spartan nodded even though there was no way for any of them to be able to see his head.
“Yeah, it’s time to fix this, once and for all.”
“Good,” said One-Zero-One, “Come with me. I will show you your forces. You will join the assault in ten hours.”
Spartan reached out to touch the machine and immediately found a metal arm from another blocking his path. He pulled back his hand and waited for the machine to give him its attention.
“What do you mean, join the assault? I thought we were leading it?”
The machine made an odd noise before the words became clear. One-Zero-One had been relatively calm, but that one question seemed to trouble it in a way Spartan couldn’t understand.
“Every one of our souls is worth an entire star system.”
Those words came out much louder than even the machine seemed to have intended. It stopped, made a venting sound, and then continued in a much lower tone.
“Your skills are in ground combat, something we have been less successful at. The sight of humanity’s greatest hero leading our forces will strike terror into their hearts.”
Spartan understood at least that part of the plan.
“Even so, we will not conduct this war with just our armies of machines and creatures at your command. Three of my kin will lead our forces through the Great Seal. Each will command an armada. One for the Helions
, one for humanity, and the third in reserve.”
It pointed to both Thayara and Spartan.
“Both of you will command our armies that will take the fight to the enemy. You will bathe in the blood of those that betrayed you, as they did us.”
“So we will not command the fleets?” Thayara asked.
Two of the machines made that odd noise, and it sounded suspiciously like complaining, perhaps even laughter.
“No, we will never relinquish the fleet. We retain control of the ships. You will control the soldiers that we give you and offer advice to them when requested.”
Spartan nodded.
“Very well.”
The three walked out through the mist. As they passed through, Spartan looked back. He wasn’t entirely sure but felt certain that as they made it halfway, every single body inside flickered and then vanished, leaving nothing but an empty hall or training arena.
That’s not weird, not weird at all.
He looked back and moved on after the machines.
So, they will give me soldiers but no ships. So I can fight and die for them, but I will be unable to choose where. How can I help them in this victory if they hold me back like this?
He sighed and recalled several of the great battles in his life. He'd often been able to control the smaller thing, but there was always somebody else above him, a superior that had overall control of a battle or campaign. He'd watched so many die because of somebody else's great idea.
Just like old times.
One-Zero-One spoke in almost hushed tones.
"Spartan. Every victory you achieve with us will bring you a step closer to your own enlightenment. The warrior that brings us final victory will be offered a place alongside our greatest people."
He carried on, but a voice continued to nag at him. It was distant and felt like an old memory. There was more to it though; it seemed to be speaking directly to him in a voice he'd almost forgotten.
"Every creature has a home, Spartan, a nest, a ship, or safe place. Remember the plan, Spartan."
He stopped and looked back; convinced the sound was coming from behind him. There were the other machines, but nothing from their body language suggested it was one of them.
Star Crusades Nexus: The Third Trilogy Page 70
