by Will Crudge
More enemies are behind him, but I couldn’t see them from my previous position. They raise their weapons out of reflex, but something causes them to hesitate. I don’t wait for an invitation, as I close the ten meter gap between me and the small horde of baddies. I take a few pulse hits, and a ballistic slug bounces off of my forehead, but I was unscathed. My wide arcs of sword slashes spatter blood all over the bulkheads, as I cut through the enemy.
By reflex I reach up to grab at something with my off-hand… Technically, my left hand is my dominant hand, but we’re trained to fight, as though we’re right handed… There are no left-handed Samurai…. A gravity hammer ss poised to end me. But I have the attacker’s forearm in my grip. I hold it there as I squeeze, and I begin to shriek with blind fury. I can hear her scream in pain… At least I think it’s a ‘she’. Men can howl in high pitches too, I suppose.
But my glorious display of raw power makes me vulnerable. I am essentially a stationary target in the middle of a hallway. Just as the enemy forms a make-shift skirmish line, and begins to take aim, a flurry of grey and gold flashes fly by me. Screams of terror and pain replace the sounds of the enemy’s energy weapons.
The woman, or whatever I was holding, had passed out from shock. So I drop her… or him to the deck, and then turn to watch four Zodiacs rip apart the enemy. One lion, one timber wolf, a jaguar, and a mastiff work in concert. The orgy of blood and ruined flesh lasts for only a few seconds, but my Rage is slowing time down enough for me to take-in every gory detail.
Fangs tare into sinew, and claws remove faces. Ordinarily, I would be vomiting at the horrific sight of it, but I have no emotions to speak of. I am a mindless creature of sublime primal energy. I have no fear. I am fear incarnate!
Then I feel hands on my shoulders once again. The War Masters have caught up to me, and are shunting my Rage once more. I feel my true self bounce back into reality. I can feel the pain from my injuries, emotions, and nausea flood into my awareness once again. All of the things I would have experienced without the Rage are hitting me all at once.
I opened my eyes and found myself on my hands and knees. I had thrown up, it would seem. I see my breakfast on display before my eyes. The Rage is still there, but it is buried deeper into my being. Good! I think to myself. Since I have my own mind to rationalize with once again, I feel a sense of profound respect for the monster within me. Respect and fear.
I can only hope to keep it subdued for a while longer, but it’s just a pipe dream, as long as my adrenal glands were fully engaged. All I can do is to stay focused on the fight, and try not to lose myself in the process. I sincerely doubt I will pull it off, but I have to try.
I didn’t know much about Primal Rage, but I do know that it can spin out of control, and then turn me into a ticking time bomb… both figuratively and literally. I can’t allow my people to fall victim to my own energies. I am putting everyone at risk.
I realize that I have to somehow flee for the main temple. I have to get into open space, and either let the Rage dissipate on its own, or let it detonate harmlessly. It’s the only way.
Then a few questions form in in my mind. Why didn’t the War Masters try to stop me? Why did they let me keep fighting? They must know how dangerous I was… am. But I have no time to find the answer. I have to focus, and find a ship. A small ship. Something that we can afford to lose, and won’t deny anybody else of a vacant seat off of this rock.
The LRF-90! It’s a long shot. I don’t even know if the ancient super fighter is even flight worthy… or if it has any fuel, for that matter. But I can’t afford to stick around, as my people fight to stay alive. I am the biggest threat to their safety, whether they know it, or not. I have to try.
I begin to run back across the courtyard. The dim blue hue doesn’t seem to be growing in intensity, so I can take solace in that much. But by the time I make it to the other side of the courtyard, I hear the whine of energy weapons come from somewhere off to my left. I have to make a judgement call. Do I continue on to get my unstable energy off of this rock, or do I stop to try and use my power to counter a flanking action that will likely surround my people?
I don’t even think. I react to my instincts, duck behind one of the ornate support columns that surrounds the courtyard, and then I peek around to scope out the enemy advance. I don’t have time to think about it much, right now, but it’s as if the interdimensional energies within me are guiding my actions. I would later learn the truth of it, but I have other things on my mind, at the moment.
I see about three pirates, with their typical randomly assembled gear, and a single spec ops commando. They are moving in a make-shift tactical formation, but then they pause to make sure the courtyard is clear before they advance. I don’t have to come up with a plan. Even though I still have three decades left to complete my training, I’ve still spent more time learning to master warfare than the enemy had probably spent being alive. I slide my head out of view, and I listen for the enemy footfalls.
I hear them begin to move, and I instinctively count the sounds of their feet, as they strike the stone floor. Estimating speed, physical gates of their stride, and triangulating the sounds from the echoes of the circular courtyard, I can accurately guess their exact position. I determine that they are exposed in the open expanse of the courtyard, and they probably know it too. The spec ops armor has a distinctive sound as it shuffles along the stone surface, and I hear it begin to pick up the pace. The three pirates seem to follow suit, and that seems to confirm that the guy in bright red armor is in charge. The commando must have prompted his team to pick up the pace, in order to minimize their exposure in an open area with elevated positions that can be exploited. They are making a run for relative safety, I’m assuming. It’s a risky call to break out into a full sprint under combat conditions, because it requires any soldier to lower their weapon in order to pick up any significant measure of speed… But that’s the call they’ve made, and I’m perfectly happy to exploit their dice roll.
This iss my opening. While they ‘thud’ their boots louder and louder, as they run, they can’t hear me bound after them. I had to roll the dice, and hope that they don’t have anyone covering their six o’clock position.
I made the correct call.
Apparently, the untrained pirates, and their commando overlord, never thought to cover their rear, and are too busy focusing on the fight ahead of them. It’s a a fatal mistake, on their part.
I don’t even draw my sword. The massive blade, much longer than a traditional Katana, makes too much noise when it’s unsheathed. So I decide to rely on my superhuman strength… But I neglect to factor in the boost I’m receiving from the Primal Rage.
I grab the trailing pirate around the neck with the intent to snap it. Alas, I rip his head clean off... I wasn’t shocked at the time, but it was gruesome, in retrospect… The sound of the decapitation alerts the three remaining enemies, but they don’t have time to turn around. I grab the next pirate - a female - and I heave her over my head with both arms. I stare down the barrels of two plasma rifles, but they don’t have time to fire before their airborne colleague crashes into them. The last pirate is bowled over, but the commando manages to evade the impact.
The remaining pirate is too disoriented to be an immediate threat, so I focus on the commando. He dives to his right side, and tucks into a roll. But before he manages to plant his feet into a crouched firing position, I plunge my left fist into his helmet visor. My strike was intended to disorient him long enough for me to draw my sword, but in the end, I don’t need to bother.
My eyes flutter for a moment, and then everything comes into focus abruptly. The commando’s body is limp, and is dangling from my out-stretched arm. My fist had gone all the way through his visor, skull, and had exited through the back of his helmet. I jerk my fist back out, as I feel the weight of the man’s bulk disappear. The body collapses into a limp heap of metal, and flesh.
I don’t take my eyes, or my focus, off of
the carnage that my fist had wrought. That’s why I find myself slightly taken back at the realization that I’d just executed a downward side kick, and had already crushed the last pirate’s throat.
I am no longer Katherine. I was a living weapon!
But the time for self-reflection is short-lived. I hear a familiar voice coming from behind me. “Kat! What happened?”
I turn around to see Kyle. He is wearing tattered rags, and is holding a War Master’s sword. His hair is disheveled, and he has splotches of blood all over him. But his face is what startles me the most. He is looking at me with terror in his eyes.
“I stopped them from flanking our forward defenses.” I say plainly. But he doesn’t seem to be registering my words. He just stares at me with horror.
“Your eyes!” He says.
“I know... Primal Rage... It was triggered on the outset of the attack, but I can’t control it. I need to get out into open space, or I might kill us all.” I say, but in a tone that was far calmer than what the current situation is warranting.
“But how? We haven’t even learned how to harness it yet?” He asks, as he shakes his head.
“I don’t know. But we have no time to dissect the truth of it.” I reply. “There’s an old fighter in the artifact room. I need to get to it, and hope it’s still flight worthy.”
His eyebrows furrow in response, and his head begins to tilt. I’m sensing confusion in him. “Of course it’s flight worthy! Why would you, of all people, not know that?”
I’m at a loss for words, and so I just stare at him as if to spur him on to explain. But he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he looks around rapidly, as if to scan for threats. Seemingly satisfied, he then beckons me to follow him. At this point, I’m not sure if I should be relieved that he’s helping me, or if I should fear for his life.
I shrug off the thought, and just follow him across the courtyard. We break out into a run, and I keep having to back off of my current pace. The Rage has boosted my speed, and I don’t want to leave him behind.
“Where did you get that sword?” I ask, as we run down the winding hallways.
“It was Barnes’ sword.” He answers solemnly while keeping his eyes forward. I can sense the despair in his voice. Barnes was like a second father for some of us… And a first for others.
“Were you there when he fell?” I ask.
“Yes. A mech killed him.” He replies.
“Onslaught may have been killed by the same mech.” I say plainly.
He stops in mid-stride, so I stop as well. His face is pale, and his eyes wrinkle up as he frowns. He didn’t know that Onslaught is dead, already. Perhaps I should have used more tact.
“They’re both gone?” He asks sheepishly. I wipe a tear from his face.
“Yes.” I say, as a matter of fact. I don’t see the point in sugar coating anything. “But we have to honor them by keeping our people safe until the UAHC, and Unum reinforcements arrive, ok?”
He nods reluctantly, and then he takes a deep breath. A moment later, we begin to run again. But just as we approach the entrance of the artifact room, he stops to see the gaping hole that the mech had previously torn through the bulkhead. He stops, and looks in awe. His face is filled with fear, and disgust.
“C’mon! We’re almost there!” I call out, as I look at him over my shoulder, and then slow to a jog. He doesn’t move for a moment. He must have guessed that that was where Onslaught’s body was. But before I can say anything else, he seems to shake it off. He catches up to me, and then we make a right turn into the artifact room.
To my surprise, the corridor that leads to the hangar was even wider than it had been before I left... Much wider... I realize that the adjacent bulkhead must be retractable somehow. It finally donned on me that I had never thought to ask how they ever managed to get the old fighter in the room. Now I know.
The fighter is where I had left it. It had never been included within any of our drills to try and remove it. That’s when it hit me. Katherine! You’re an idiot! I think to myself. My plan was hinging on escaping in a vessel that I have no idea how to fly, and furthermore, how to even get it out of the artifact room! The problem was solved for me, in this instance, but I didn’t think to account for that when I came up with my ‘grand plan’. I just assumed it would all work out, and I had failed to factor in such a critical aspect of my plan. #DERP
All things considered, I can’t afford to delve into self-reprimand, at the moment, I see something has changed. The fighter, itself, is displaying two huge weapons cradles that are hanging in a downward arch, and they almost seem to form a second set of swept-down wings. I never knew it was fucking armed this whole time! Armed to the teeth, at that!
I see two Gatlin Guns, rocket pods, particle beam cannons, and an assortment of short-to-medium range missiles. But who - in the hell - opened these weapons bays? I ask myself a relevant question, for once! I’m still mad at myself for the logistical flaw in my plan, by the way…
I hear a voice boom out from somewhere close by. “Get out of the way!” I react instinctively, as I dive away from the front of the craft. Clearing the line of fire of the ships arsenal was the only rational decision I come up with. Thankfully, Kyle did the same.
The Gatling guns come to life, and I’m overwhelmed at what I see next. The guns are not ballistic, but plasma. The bolts of blue plasma stream out of the guns so quickly that from my perspective, there was only single line of blue energy. I didn’t key in on it, at the time, but later I would note that the distinct lack of radiant heat from the hail of plasma fire was odd.
The guns fall silent, as the whirling mechanism of the spinning barrels are winding down to a halt. Kyle and I pick our heads up from our fetal positions, and we look to see five lumps of burning flesh and metal sizzling at the entrance of the room. Whoever is in that fighter, had just taken out an enemy that I failed to sense was coming… But I hold off on any stern self-lecturing, for the time being.
A new sound emerges, and it’s coming from the fighter. A sudden hissing noise, as if a pressurized seal is being broken, pierces my eardrums. It’s followed by an orchestra of metallic sounds that, I identify as, servo motors. I see a ladder slide out from the hull of the ship, as a single hatch door opens outward from the starboard side of the hull’s aft section. One may expect to find a cockpit’s canopy would be the logical entrance point for a typical fighter frame, as opposed to, a side-mounted hatch positioned further aft. However, that logic doesn’t apply, in this case.
“Get in!” The same voice from before bellows out. It was a new voice. New to me, anyway. The total student body and cadre in the temple was relatively small, and I’ve spent so many decades here, that it was rare to hear an unfamiliar voice.
I see Kyle grab the handrails of the steep ladder, as he begins to climb up. “Not you, moron!” The voice calls out. “I need you to disconnect the service line!”
Kyle freezes for a moment, looks at me, and then complies. He walks beneath the hull, carefully negotiates around the landing struts, and then begins to unfasten a large cable affixed to an auxiliary port beneath the fuselage.
“I haven’t got all day, Kat!” The voice scolds me. The noticeably male voice seems to have an artificial quality that I can’t quite figure out. But I snap out of it, as I climb the ladder. “Change of plan! Kackle- Kid, or whatever your dumbass name is, come on board, now!” The voice seems to be directed at Kyle, once again.
I pause, as I am almost at the top of the ladder, and then I let my big fat mouth go to work. “Who the fuck are you?” I ask with a hint of resentment.
“No time to get acquainted! Get in!” The grouchy voice replies.
“You’ve just addressed a cousin of the Mighty Kaylen, as ‘Kid’? Have you no respect?” I scold.
“Second cousin… On his mother’s side.” He fires back in a matter of fact way. “I know who the fuck he is! Now shut up, and get aboard before the enemy gets here!” He replies. I don’t argue. I see no
point in useless banter. This is life and death stuff, after all.
I step into the circularly-shaped bulkhead door, as I feel the invisible tingling sensation of an invisible energy shield. There’s also a slight tinge of ozone hitting my nostrils. Makes sense, though. Ships this small don’t have enough space for a proper airlock. Even still, energy shield tech isn’t usually integrated into ancient fighters. Is it?
But the anomalies aboard the LRF don’t end there. I expected to come inside the ship’s hull, only to find a cramped space full of electronics, and machinery. But this space has none of that. It’s a living space! Small, but cozy.
Aside from the deck plating, the room is generally rounded off in appearance. The bulkheads are painted beige, and the light fixtures seem to be embedded within them somehow. The halo-like lighting wraps around the space, and gives off a warm glow. Directly across for the entrance hatch, is a small kitchenette. It comes complete with a small range top, a compact oven, a sink, and some sort of other appliance. If I had to guess, I would say coffee maker.
Directly to the right of the kitchenette, are two vertical stalls with doors. I can only assume that they are a shower, and a toilet.
I turn to the fore section of the rounded berthing area, and I’m looking at the back of a pilot’s seat. The cockpit is connected directly to the berthing area, and there are two small steps that lead into it. I can only assume that the pilot’s seat has to spin around in order to get in, or out of it. So, whomever this disrespectful shit is, he’s sitting in that chair right now!
