by David Tucker
Craaaap, there was no Option B here … was there?
Time was slowed agonisingly as he watched and saw plans he calculated evade him. The machine somehow seemed to move even slower than it had been designed for, making his fate even more tormen—
Suddenly Genesis realised there was his out, there was his Option B; his AI had picked it when he first heard it but hadn’t realised it. The twin fifteen-millimetre barrels made their long turn towards him in their painfully slow rotation and gave him just a tiny window of opportunity and a sliver of hope. Come on Genesis, one of his personalities thought, bolstering him, only a few seconds before they activate … one chance, one option … charge you blind and stupid kid!
Genesis threw himself forward as fast as he could summon, blocking everything else as he ran, squarely focussing on his target.
Sheathing Katana while still sprinting, Genesis pooled all his internal strength through his Rieft ability and pushed the excess energy totally into his legs. Almost instantly he noticed his pace increasing as he hurtled forward in powerful lengthening bounds, not even registering that each time his foot struck the ground it did so with enough pounding force to crack the tiled floor beneath him. He had to outrun it, this was his only hope.
Genesis soon left the remnants of the showering quarter as he sent himself careening suicidally over the metal-plated corridor and brazenly towards his goal. In an instant he became a blur to human eyes, stealth was all but forgotten, he was now tearing through the corridor with no regard for anything other than closing the gap; the gap which meant life or death – he needed to clear the hallway … now! Come on Genesis you can do it, one of him encouraged.
The last few metres closed quickly, the hallway seeming to narrow as he sped to his maximum velocity, and yet still, Genesis realised as his eyes widened in realisation, he wasn’t fast enough – he simply had run out of time, despite the machine’s age and tardiness.
The turret finished its turn, training straight on him, the barrels clicking over as their internal mechanisms fell into place and readied to vaporise all in their path.
Milliseconds before the first shots blasted, his pre-cognition training kicked in and alerted him to his imminent danger. With a sudden jolt, and before he’d even thought of it, his body moved for him, almost unexpectedly, as his instinct training took over.
Genesis twisted impossibly and brutally moved in a different direction at breakneck speed, so fast that it looked as if he had somehow been in two places at once, succeeding in playing havoc with his attacker’s eyes and eluding him. With this, his last plausible chance of escape, the agile Immortal darted hard to his left and curved high along one side of the wall, way above the ground.
Utilising this strange new angle as his runway, and barely clinging to the new surface with his nano-infused body, Genesis bolted along the wall for the remaining few metres. The instant he left the floor, the air directly behind his head rippled as it became punctuated with fire and crackling energy. The noise was accompanied by an intense heat which was so close it sent his ion shields flaring crazily to life as he flinched from their severity.
As his Rieft talent – a strong part of the religion’s personality infused within him – had foreseen, the entire hallway where he’d previously been running erupted into laser fire, arcing wildly through the air leaving gouges in the steel, the shots trying desperately, but failing, to catch up with him.
Right before his deadly pursuer could catch up and with a last concerted effort, Genesis kicked hard off the wall, cart-wheeling through the air and across the passageway to avoid the fast-approaching carnage.
This final leap sent him well over the turret’s field of fire and impressively to his final destination, all accomplished beyond normal human limits and comprehension, still alive and unscathed. Accustomed to such inhuman capabilities, and in a recovering flash, Genesis took the turret’s overseer by complete surprise, landing nimbly in front of the shocked sentry. His surprise soon morphed to terror as the combined blast of his armoured ion-core and the crushing speed with which he’d reached him, sent the broken form flying like a pinwheel over the facility’s railing and into the hangar’s interior a good fifty metres below him. Genesis cringed and turned away as he saw the man’s head pop on the floor like an overripe melon.
Ignoring the cries of the other crew members within the hangar, Genesis wasted no time in the knowledge that his enemy now knew they were boarded and were well and truly under attack. The Immortal quickly gripped the sides of the turret now that he was safely behind it, and through his enhanced strength sent a torrent of coursing energy flowing through the defined muscles cut from his back and arms.
A ripple went through the nanos across his armour as the upper section of the turret gave some resistance for a brief moment, and then finally with a groan tore completely free. Sounds of wrenching metal was heard as the dying turret’s cries echoed down the hall, ringing out loudly towards his squad who were still a good twenty metres away and just entering the passage. Small explosions emitted from within the destroyed electronics as Genesis dropped the smouldering heap to the floor.
Letting his breath out slowly, he watched the squad finally break cover and move towards him. The men checked all their corners as they demonstrated their much rehearsed skill in the face of combat, Genesis wincing as their metallic armour-plated boots clunked heavily towards him, sounding excessively loud through his enhanced senses.
Genesis signalled that all was secure as the men looked at the smoking heap in front of them. In any normal combat situation, all knew a turret as powerful as the one just deactivated would have hampered their assault for precious minutes, leaving half the men, if lucky, to return to battle.
Genesis stiffened yet again as a siren whined from deep within the ship, with the sound of many, far-off boots following soon after. With alacrity he was back into the situation with unshakable focus, the last encounter making his second personality stand up and take full control. It knew their mission was far from over and this ship seemed well defended, highly guarded and indeed worthy of his presence considering it was just a regular Skink frigate. His mind recalled that Intel had suggested there would be eighty to ninety lightly armoured Seekers of Truth troops, however he knew better than to rely entirely on Intel’s Seek-Find-Report droids. They were helpful, yes, but entirely accurate, not always. And the fact that turrets had been set up in places such as the showering quarters meant this was no random Skink ship or deployment.
Rotas, the squad’s captain, leader of Delta’s 707th Company and Lieutenant Colonel of the SED military, finally caught up, puffing as she spoke.
“Sir!” exclaimed Rotas. Genesis cocked his head and blinked before dredging up his real self.
“Rotas, no need for such formality, we are old friends not new recruits,” Genesis said, raising his hands in a goodwill gesture.
“Sorry Genesis, just following protocol and after watching you do the things you just did it’s hard to not treat you as a superior, young fella; even after all our missions together. We don’t want the Elders getting pissed when reviewing your files now do we?”
Genesis smirked at his friend, even though his armour hid his features, “Rotas, you have my permission to anger our tormentors, you worry about me too much. You don’t see them risking their precious little necks out here do you?” Genesis didn’t wait for a response, “What took you so long anyway? I swear you’re getting slow in your old age old fella,” he joked.
As his visor opened, Rotas feigned offence, “Old, ha, that’s funny coming from the likes of you … trapped for all eternity looking like you just finished puberty.” Rotas laughed as Genesis frowned, “And I’m not slow it’s just this damn heavy-ass armour. It may take a pounding but in the names of the Sacred it’s heavy, well, heavy compared to your Apocalypse stuff anyway, which I suspect is why we wear our old buckets anyways; you know, to make you old geriatrics able to keep ahead of us an’ look good an’ all.”
> Genesis had to laugh, remembering the days, decades ago, when he too had lumbered around in the bulky SED’s, military-issued, environmental-grade, Terithian Power Armour, with even the name now sounding cumbersome. Genesis continued, “Well you never know Rotas, today just might be the day you’re able to click over three hundred and get your own finely tailored suit …” Genesis glanced up as the rest of the squad joined them. “So what say we not stand round wasting good oxygen and kill some Skink heretics’ young fella? Lead on Lieutenant Colonel!”
Rotas snapped to attention, “Sir, yes sir.”
“Rotas, what the hell did I just—” Genesis was cut short by a loud procession of orders.
“Delta 1 fallout, this is our camping ground now. Gauze rifles charged, armour to combat power, visors down, standard two by two talon formation, move, move, move ladies, secure your positions. You all know the drill, let’s hold these bastard Skinks and mow em down.”
Delta 1 squad, led by Rotas, fell into position, their standard metal plating of dull grey steel and the blue decorative pieces of Terithian armour looking excessively bulky as they moved in formation down the corridor. Their planet of origin, Seara, stood out clearly, sprayed across their shoulder guards, with the glyphs of the varying tours and battles reminding Genesis that this was no squad of rookies escorting him.
Their chest pieces also gave each marine’s official rank, name and call sign, for which Genesis, like their enemies and many aspiring SED marines, knew well of these men.
Genesis took it all in, observing with a hint of nostalgia as the often normally gleaming plates of nano-steel now showed the amount of action each of these soldiers had seen. His favoured squad, the Delta 1 boys, were riddled with gauze and plasma scars, and their armour was aged to its now dull, grey colours; these men knew the religious war almost as well as he did.
He watched, trying hard to remember a time when he was so vulnerable. The squad was by the book, and they fell into easily defendable positions, with their ionised shields drawn into extended and forward formation above their shield arms. He also noted their blade-arm blades were retracted so their rifles could do the initial hard work of holding back the enemy, which soon would be trying to overrun this position. They knew, as he did, they weren’t even in the beginning of this battle, but each man had a resolve Genesis had long since forgotten since becoming Immortal.
Genesis, lingering on the thoughts of mortality and always desperate to remember these portions of his most distant self, briefly checked in with Rotas, who confirmed that so far their infiltration had been on time and was in its designated location. They all knew Delta 1’s job was to hold this loading area above the hangar so as to give the squad a good vantage point and a few options if things got too hot and they needed to pull out.
They were digging in hard, all so he could play his part in this less than ideal situation. Which he guessed, if was ideal wouldn’t be needing an Immortal such as himself to tag along. Genesis muttered a sentiment towards the squad, hoping they would be okay without him, and before anyone had time to take a double look, Genesis slipped away silently, becoming once again the ghost in a hostile land. His only solace was in the foreign sounds of his enemy – a place Genesis unfortunately remembered better than his own mortality.
Chapter 2 Delta 1 Squad
Her rifle was capable of firing over six hundred compressed ionised rounds per minute into the conflict of any battle, which, even after all these years and being slightly outdated, made for good support when downing large groups of her enemy.
If this failed, and she needed more of a punch for closer calls, she had her five-kilogram ion pistols, which when wanting to get really personal, delivered in measure.
She stopped in the hallway; she wasn’t sure why, but she did this every mission. She always went through the long inventory of munitions that would protect her from her cunning enemy, checking them for battle fatigue and readiness – she wasn’t going to stop today. She was a woman of routine and this routine had kept her alive till now. She knew others in Delta 1 thought she was slightly obsessed with the various weapons and models that were available, but in truth this knowledge gave her and her men an advantage on the battlefield; simple, often overlooked, but the effective edge they needed.
Rotas, as most in the SED had come to call her, allowed herself the indulgence as she absently ran her fingers over the pistol’s grip, thumbing the safety to give her, her required sense of security as she checked it for the third time that mission. As a Lieutenant Colonel of special-ops in the SED, she knew this current situation well. The sound of enemy boots ringing down the hallways, greatly outnumbering her squad, yet her enemies unknowingly and unwittingly bearing themselves towards their hour of judgment. A religious war was always the worst, and when beliefs got muddled with honouring this or that divinity, or taking the true word into a campaign, men simply got fanatic, and this she knew brought violence and primal instincts to a level well beyond survival. Rotas had forgotten how many years this war had been going, but the religion’s records certainly would not.
“Ha, the witless will of the unbeknownst. These heretics are just as stupid as we are, it never seems to disappoint if one meets these heretics prepared and ready for violence,” Rotas snorted to herself half-heartedly.
Still, she did feel more than a little unnerved this mission, more so than most, as she clicked a new mag into her ion-gauze rifle; had she detected concern in the Immortal’s voice, or was it pity? She wasn’t sure. But she knew one thing – the Immortal was sloppy to miss the extra guard and turret … considering what he was.
Rotas knew she was being too harsh, but she was on edge and simply looking out for her squad. She also hated the ability the Immortals had to simply disappear, like Genesis just had, and likely was a little jealous, Here one second and gone the next, that’d be right, leave the grunts to do all the hard work old fella, she thought sarcastically.
Rotas didn’t take much mind of her jealousy though. She knew being in touch with her humanity was something Genesis had once said he craved, and was why the Immortal was often aloof. This absence was why Rotas never quite knew how to take Genesis; she liked him, but he was hard to read. Far too much going on in that infused mind of his, she thought, genuinely concerned.
The Immortal class always had their double side, one was a cold-blooded assassin, the other a remnant of a concerned human like herself. Rotas made sure she always stayed on the right side – she couldn’t imagine how the Immortals could manage such a burden, and for this reason she forgave the few mistakes she ever saw in the one she was assigned to. Also, she’d grown as fond of Genesis as she had of all her long-standing troops.
Rotas felt her pistol again, dragging herself back into reality and continuing to check that she was at peak capacity.
Ignoring the fact of how goddamn heavy her armour felt and her disposition towards the damned suicidal missions of late, she looked at the armour she knew down to the last weld and scar and was as much her home now as any other place she’d resided. The distinguished marine nodded at the thick-plated nano-steel strapped all around her, satisfied with its placement.
The standard military-grade Terithian Power Armour, or TPA for short, stood at two hundred centimetres, and weighed in at over three hundred kilograms. The armour, powered by an ion battery, relied on only two fuel cells to keep it functioning efficiently, which if undamaged can stay charged for over fifteen Earth years before needing a re-charge, the manual played back in her mind. The assisted engineering of the suit increased a marine’s strengths and mobility, enough to make the armour fairly mobile at all times.
Yet, the armour – often used primarily in the first line of defence for SED operations – was still a rather heavy unit, as Rotas often complained, largely due to the excessive amounts of thick, nano-forged, Grade 2, sheet-armoured plating, which was exactly what made the shit so hard to lug around, she thought with a feigned snort of laughter.
Nevertheless
, with her retrospection almost over, she finished her inspection, checking over her men as well.
With a full centimetre of nano-steel covering each marine’s entire body, Rotas knew the TPA could withstand a variety of small arms’ fire. This made it good for heavy combat situations, and a highly durable defence against a numerous style of attacks. Of course, there were a few weak spots, such as where the armour was sparse for the function of mobility, like the knees and elbows. But regardless, if treated right and looked after well, the TPA did a proficient job and was responsible for saving hers and countless thousands of marine lives.
Rotas ordered her last squad member into position, taking note how much of the armour was sticking out of cover. She was still hoping to one day finally take this armour off for good, and maybe become a resident of the Eden Colonies as a civi, or better still, replace it with the Apocalypse amour’s advanced engineering and join the Immortals like Genesis; That is if only I could get to my three hundredth kill. Only seventy-two to go to be eligible for the Immortal program and a Mk 6 Apocalypse suit like Genesis’. If I’m even compatible and my Rieft abilities can be tapped into enou—
The first of the Skinks rounded the corner. With her eye snapping down her gun’s sight, and before the Skink could even get the slightest fix on what he was looking at, Rotas took a well-aimed shot. With a loud crack the gauze round tore into flesh and bone, and ion particles melted in between the unlucky trooper’s knockoff, strap on breast plate and shoulder guard. Sprays of red accompanied a high-pitched scream as the body and arm disappeared back down the corridor on different trajectories.
“A good start,” Rotas murmured calmly to herself. She opened up her comm, speaking steadily and fast, “Delta squad stay frosty; let’s smoke these sons-of-bitches.”
Her command was confirmed by her HUD, the four winking blue lights on her heads up display signifying an affirmative response from her men. The handpicked squad dug in as the next two targets rounded the corridor, this time with shields in place. Shots began ringing out of Delta’s rifles, barraging the two enemies in a maelstrom of gauze rounds. Rotas cursed as she saw they’d find no way through the protective coverings.
