Date Point: 15y6m1d AV
High Mountain Fortress, Northern Plains, Gao
Regaari
“My Father, it will be impossible to hide a schedule change this severe.”
“I know, Cousin. I know you an’ the staff can manage. An’ just ‘tween us, I’m really glad ‘yer at my side again.”
Daar had decided he would take the field for what was coming. There was both wisdom and foolishness in a decision like that, but doing anything but would run against the very fiber of his being.
Fiin had done his duty as the new Stoneback Champion and tried to talk the Great Father out of it. He’d been… ‘reminded’ of Daar’s authority, meaning that there’d been a brief and mighty scrap and both were now sporting some new wounds that were scarring up nicely even with the Gaoian Cruezzir formula. Fiin had definitely fared “better” for it…and re-affirmed Daar’s undying love as a result. Stoneback was a rough Clan.
“I’m glad to be back. I admit I’m glad you don’t grant me affection as vigorously as you do with your own Clan…” Regaari could afford a little ear-waggle with Daar. They were old cousins after all. But even so, he had to be careful. There was a line between the fraternal teasing of oldest and bestest friends, and disrespect.
“Naw!” The Great Father boomed, clearly in an boisterous mood. “We brownies hafta be careful with you wee little silverfurs!”
Regaari just flicked an ear. There was nothing ‘wee’ or ‘little’ about him these days, certainly not by the lithe standards Whitecrest had traditionally set. But then again Daar was performing for an audience, too; there were Champions tailing along, messengers from First Fang, the most senior generals from the Grand Army…really, he was a king of old and they were his court. The only thing missing was a coronation, which he kept putting off, and off…
“How’re the HEAT, doin’?” Daar asked.
“They’re nearly suited up. You know how those suits of theirs are.”
“Don’t disrespect the MASS, Cousin,” Daar warned. Like any HEAT member, he referred to it almost as though it was a religious icon: There was just something about an EV-MASS that demanded reverence. Possibly the way it could literally crush a man to death if he wasn’t conditioned for it.
“I do no such thing,” Regaari promised. “You and I will be suiting up as soon as we arrive.”
He turned to Champion Fiin, who was also coming in the first strike; he’d at the very least earned that honor during his bout with the Great Father. “How about you, Champion? Are you used to your suit yet?”
First Fang had been trialling their own version of an EV-MASS, built for Gaoian anatomy and a Stoneback’s strength as a derivative of the Whitecrest suit. It didn’t crush its wearer’s ribs as hard as the Human design, nor was it quite as impenetrable, but it far outstripped its Whitecrest cousin for protective value and could do some things the Human suits couldn’t.
A ‘Back could move like the wind in it. And a ‘Back that could move, could kill.
Fiin shrugged at the load on his back with a thoughtful expression. “…It’s surprisingly tight. But I can handle it,” he said stoically. His was an officer’s variant, a mobile sensor and communications suite that sacrificed a few of the outright aggressive features for survivability and tactical control. Not by much, though: A Gaoian leader still had to get his claws bloody if he wanted his Fang to respect him.
Daar’s own suit wasn’t quite like that. It was unique in that it was deliberately simpler to operate and extremely well-armored, so much so it was mechanically on par with the Grade II EV-MASS suits favored by HEAT Defenders and experienced Aggressors. Aside from the active camouflage, Daar’s suit was designed to stay out of his way and let him get up close and personal with his prey, much like a truck slamming into a wandering Naxas calf. No other Gaoian but the Great Father could have long wielded such demanding armor and few beings of any species could have survived the ordeal of wearing it, including most Humans. The Great Father’s suit was a Mass all its own.
The mission was coming together in all the best traditions of barely-controlled chaos. Everyone was scrambling to get stuff done and if there was anybody who knew absolutely everything about what was happening or being prepared then he was probably up to his ears in his work right now and had better things to do than speak with leadership.
In principle, it was simple. The stranded Father Garaaf and his new friends would build a receiving Jump Array. First Fang and the Heat would storm through, secure a beachhead and build a larger and more dependable Array to bring in reinforcements, plus the bomb. Finally, a retreat through the Array. Once the last man was through, the bomb would be remote detonated via a quantum-entangled detonator and unless Hunter engineering on the Ring far exceeded the standard set by their ships, the resulting explosion should tear the whole structure to pieces.
It was going to spell a mass extinction event for the planet below, if not an outright planetary type change. Enough metal to form a small moon was going to rain down through that thing’s atmosphere for years to come. Billions of blameless hostages were going to die.
But Daar didn’t flinch from the ruthless calculus of war. The intelligence from Garaaf, corroborated by the Humans’ own sources, said that most of the Swarm-of-Swarms was currently moored or docked at that thing. The Hunters, arrogantly, had given themselves a single point of failure in the belief that it was unassailable.
Daar intended to prove them wrong, and AEC had his back.
Assuming, that was, they got the chance. It was all in somebody else’s hands as to whether they’d get to do this at all. The Ring was bound to be all but unassailable by conventional means, making this moment the best hope they had of really hurting the Hunters.
They looked up as an announcement echoed around their staging hall.
“Jump one to Cimbrean in three. Great Father on the platform, please.”
The Stonebacks made way for Daar to get onto the Array’s waiting platform. HMS Sharman had dedicated facilities for exactly this scenario: immediate-notice deployment via jump array on an uncertain timetable. The jump room was surrounded by short-stay dorms and ready facilities to keep a fighting force on rotation and ready to go on seconds’ notice. Just sitting around waiting was hard work, doubly so when wearing the Mass or any suit of its kind, and the HEAT’s home facility was well equipped for it.
That did mean, however, that the first step for the Gaoians was to deploy off-world. That meant the Great Father’s entourage had to come along. Even in a much reduced “fighting trim” that wasn’t a small thing. It included Regaari and Fiin at least, which was a relief. Regaari would have hated to be left waiting. Better to get there, then wait.
“Where’d ya learn that trick that got me in the neck, anyhow?” Daar growled quietly to Fiin as soon as they had some modest privacy. “That looked like one of Myun’s moves.”
“Not Myun herself. But one of her Guard-Sisters,” Fiin looked pleased with himself. “Fendra.”
“Yeah? A beauty?”
“Think she came from Whitecrest stock herself,” Fiin chittered and swatted Regaari on the arm. “Real intense. Very… deft.”
Even Regaari chittered, and was still chittering when the Array went thump beneath him and deposited him on another planet.
“It was a good move,” Daar grumbled. “Did the medic fix ‘yer foot up right?”
“…Yes, my Father. I’ll ask how in Keeda’s name you managed that later.”
Daar ducked under the Array’s safety cage to leave it. “Can’t give away all my secrets, Champion… Colonel Powell! Not seen you in too long!”
The Great Father flowed up to his feet but didn’t loom; he had a certain flexibility of spine that allowed him to be eager and solicitous with almost anyone, and it was immensely disarming.
Powell knew Daar’s ways well. They traded a hard handshake, forearm-to-forearm, and he gave no sign of being fazed by Daar’s size or general feral appearance.
Then again, every man in the HEAT had taken Daar on in combatives at some point, with wins and losses liberally scattered across their friends hips. Regaari was in a room full of formidable people—his peers he reminded himself, there was no sense in being falsely modest about his own merits—and the air smelled of anticipation.
Violence was coming, and as much as the Whitecrests pretended otherwise, something that united Gaoians and Humans was a love of violence.
Powell let go of Daar’s arm with the closest thing he ever produced to a grin; a certain upwards tic of one side of his mouth. “Aye, it has. Last time I saw you, you were still covered in dust from that road bridge you collapsed in Lavmuy. I see it all brushed out in the end.”
“Yeah! I’m shorn pretty short these days! Naydi likes it, so y’know…I’m a good boy.”
“Hmm!” Powell produced one of his stoic little laughs and stepped aside for him. “We pulled up the files on the surviving humans—”
“Surviving?”
“Aye, they lost one, that we know of. Poor bastard. An’ one of them’s wounded.”
“Oh…balls. We were expectin’ a rescue mission but this means a medical mission too, don’t it?”
“Aye. Casevac for one Doctor Holly Chase, a geologist. Fortunately, she’s a small lass. Bad news is, it’s a gut injury.”
“I take it ‘yer Protectors are on the job, includin’ Carebear? Father Garaaf is gonna need lookin’ after…”
“They’ve got everythin’ up to an’ includin’ stasis bags. Worst-case scenario we can shove the poor lass in one o’ those things and keep her there until she’s on an operating table.”
“…Good. Look, lemme cut to the serious bit. Walk an’ talk?”
“Aye. Dexter?”
Regaari duck-nodded and fell in alongside them. Daar and Fiin traded an unspoken conversation, and the Stoneback Champion turned away to handle the incoming load of his First Fang and the rest of Daar’s retinue.
Sharman was pulsing with activity. Personnel in the uniforms of all different branches from several different nations were rushing back and forth with serious expressions and assorted tablets, pieces of paper or toolboxes. Powell received, read, signed and gave orders on three quick matters while just striding down a thirty-meter corridor as personnel made room for them.
Daar spoke to him urgently and low. “Did you get briefed on what I’m gonna do?”
Powell looked grim. “…Aye.”
“Can you think of any way I can avoid doin’ this? ‘Cuz I’m awfully damned interested in not being the most worstest genocidal maniac t’ever live.”
Powell pulled a small face. “…To level with yer, Daar, every last bloody one of the Allied leaders has weighed in on this. They’re expectin’ a fookin’ explosion o’ negative press when it comes out we blew up billions of hostages… and not a blessed one of ‘em can come up with an alternative.”
“Yeah.” Daar sighed in a resigned tone redolent with finality. “I’mma need ‘ta talk with some o’ my peers over this. I’m hopin’ y’all got that arranged like we asked…”
Powell produced a folded square of paper. “Here. President Sartori sent you a personal note.”
Regaari didn’t get to read it. Daar opened the note, read it, then folded it back into a pocket. “…Right. Well…you’ll never hear me say the President’s a coward. Tell him the Gao deeply appreciate his friendship, an’ we’ll repay it someday, somehow. As for the rest?”
“The Prince of Wales is here. Came through the Array about twenty minutes ago, an’ he’ll take an audience with you if you’re willing. That’s private, not for the likes o’ me.”
“…I’d like that. I need…I’m not sure what I need. But I think that’ll help.”
“Genshi?” Regaari asked. His Champion had come ahead.
“Already caught a shuttle up to Myrmidon. He’ll be live when we brief in a few minutes… Here.”
Powell opened a door and they entered the suit workshop. If outside had been busy, the workshop was a hive, with the whole HEAT and their personal technicians going through suit prep.
The Defenders in particular were in a serious knot in the middle while their techs worked around them. The plan hinged in large part on their ability to assemble a field Jump Array rapidly and competently while under fire. Titan had stepped into Rebar’s gigantic steel-capped boots pretty well from what Regaari could see, but the fact remained that the Defenders were still the most under-strength third of the HEAT. Only Sikes and Akiyama remained from the original intake, and as good as the new guys undoubtedly were…
Regaari’s nose broke his train of thought and instinctively turned his attention toward a familiar musk. Warhorse gave him a massive grin from the middle of his own suit station.
“Hey, big guy, been a while! Did Genshi finally let you leave Whitecrest’s training center?”
“Only to release me into the Great Father’s clutches, yes.” Regaari flicked a cheeky ear at Daar, who grumbled smugly offside but didn’t interject further.
“Probably best if we get these meetings out the way,” Powell commented.
“Right. Regaari, I reckon you’d better stay here.”
“Gladly,” Regaari acknowledged the gloved command with a duck-nod, and stepped aside as Daar was led through the workshop and into a back room. There presumably to meet with figures of interstellar importance.
“…We really gonna blow this thing up, Dex?” Adam asked, the second he was gone.
Regaari flattened his ears and nodded that it was so. “Unless you have a better option.”
“With all them people on it?”
“Yes.”
Adam didn’t move so as to not spoil whatever it was Doyle and Hargreaves were working on around his shoulders, but he gave the impression that he really would have liked to sag. “…That don’t sit right.”
“…I know.”
He saw the look the three Humans gave him and tried his best to shrug for them. “…If it’s any consolation, it doesn’t sit right with Daar either.”
“Never thought it would, bruh.”
“But he’ll do it,” Doyle observed.
“‘Course he will,” a new voice interjected—Firth’s inimitable contrabass growl. He was at the next station over while Deacon put her back into getting the “shirt” of his EV-MASS’s new Grade III+ midsuit settled into place. “Daar ain’t the type to pussy outta hard choices, an’ he knows the most important rule: You fight for ‘yer tribe first and to hell with the rest if they ain’t helpin’.”
“…Right.” Hargreaves got back to work.
“Don’t make it right,” Adam observed, lifting his Grade IV+ shirt overhead while Hargreaves guided it into the leg armor’s coupling. Firth’s was heavy enough that few beings could heft it at all, and Adam’s was even worse. “Shit, man, I got into this to save lives, y’know?”
“You are, you idjit.” Firth shrugged to help Deacon seat the underplating, then gave Adam another, different shrug. “The Hunters are a sapient disease.”
Regaari duck-nodded. “Just think. After this, the Hunters will be a fraction of the danger they were. Their fleet will be smashed, their population decimated, their ability to raid the spacelanes all but destroyed. That’s… I don’t know. Uncountable lives saved, in the long run.”
“And billions gotta die to make that happen.”
“Billions are gonna die anyway. The Hunters have degraded ’em so much, most of them aren’t people any more. Look, bro,” Firth turned slightly and looked Adam dead in the eye. “I won’t pretend like I’ve got any kind o’ love for anyone in this but me and my own, right? I ain’t like you. But in the end, it’s a simple math problem. Which choice kills less people? Guys like Great Fathers an’ Presidents an’ Kings an’ shit, they don’t get to choose between right and wrong.”
“They choose between evils,” Regaari finished for him.
“…You better go get suited up, Dex,” ‘Horse said. He looked less troubled at least, though no happier.
“Right.” Regaari patted him on the arm and headed for the knot of Whitecrest brothers at the back of the room, glad to be back among Brothers for the first time in far too long.
He loved ‘Horse’s idealism, but in this case Adam had it wrong: the issue in front of them wasn’t difficult, it was simplicity itself. It was everything after that point that would be difficult. The explaining, the emotions, the second-guessing. Life was going to be much more complicated after this mission.
He resolved to enjoy the simplicity while it lasted, and went to get dressed.
It was time to be ruthless.
Date Point: 15y6m1d AV
The Ring, Hell System, Hunter Space
Rachel “Ray” Wheeler
“Jesus…fucking…Christ!”
‘Cold’ didn’t even begin to cover it. The cryo facility had to be forty degrees below or worse: the air was painful, and Ray’s patched, frayed, stained, much-worn and much-repaired sweater wouldn’t have been adequate for the conditions even when it had been brand new.
Spears clearly felt much the same as she did. “Garaaf, this is crazy! People die in temperatures like this!”
“But not immediately,” the Gaoian retorted. He seemed to be reasonably comfortable, actually, though Ray noted that he had wrapped some cloth around his paws and was walking upright again.
“Unless the Hunters are gonna freeze solid the second they set foot in here, I don’t see how this helps us,” Ray groused, slinging her rifle round her shoulder and sticking her hands in her armpits to keep them warm.
“Not quite, but trust me—This will slow them down. They aren’t mammals, they don’t regulate their body temperature like we do.”
“Let’s get this fucking thing built…” Jamie muttered, storming ahead. He had the basic elements of their jump array in a canvas sack on his back. “Here?”
Garaaf shook his head. “No. Deeper. We’re going to need the cold on our side, otherwise they’ll overwhelm us while it charges.” He raised a claw and pointed. “That way.”
“What’s out this way?” Cook asked. “Besides more cold, I mean.”
“Somewhere with cover.”
“Let’s fuckin’ do it, then.”
Ray glanced down at the litter with… well, Holly on it. She still couldn’t get used to the eye-twisting blackness of the stasis field they’d given her. She knew it made sense: Inside that field, Holly was absolutely invulnerable. No time was passing for her, her wound wouldn’t be getting worse. She wasn’t lying there slowly freezing to death while the rest of them moved around and kept at least a little warm.
She was… safe, insofar as that term meant anything on the Ring. She’d die last at least, if they failed. But still it was upsetting not to be able to see her and check on her. It felt less like carrying a wounded friend and more like dragging her coffin.
It did mean they could set a pace, though. With Spears and Cook dragging it, the litter skittered and bounced over the steel flooring in ways that would have had Holly really suffering if she was currently occupying the same timestream as them. As it was, it didn’t slow them at all.
They jogged steadily for several minutes, down a tall but narrow hall lined with equipment whose function Ray couldn’t guess at. Somehow, she’d imagined that the cryo facility would be icy, foggy and lit by a pale blue light, but in reality it was just dark and close. The only fog she could see was coming out of their noses, there was no ice that she could detect… without those usual visual cues, the grinding cold, her own shivering flesh and the feeling of icy metal slowly chilling her boots all seemed out of place.
Cook chuckled suddenly. “Hey. Ray.”
“What?”
“Don’t lick anything.”
She should have been annoyed, or rolled her eyes, or something. Instead, Ray spluttered and laughed.
“Gee, and here I was about to freeze my tongue to the wall,” she snarked. “I’m glad you warned me off.”
Cook chuckled again. “My pleasure.”
“You’re a crazy asshole, Cook,” Spears told him, though he was smiling himself.
“Guess that makes five of us, huh?” Cook grinned sideways at him. “We were all crazy enough we left Earth, right?”
“Are you really gonna go climb all those mountains?” Ray asked him.
“…Might go to Tijuana instead, live the wild life. Or shit, maybe I’ll come to my senses an’ do something that won’t get my ass dead. What about you?”
“…I don’t know,” Ray said truthfully. “Except it’s gonna involve a bottle of wine.”
“An Old Fashioned,” Spears said, wistfully. “…I wonder if Josh and Scott are still mixing drinks at the Airship Gallery…?”
Cook grunted agreement and nodded. “Jamie?”
“I’m with Ray. I honestly don’t know…” Jamie admitted.
“You’re gonna have a drink though, right?” Spears asked.
“Oh, fuck yeah. A tall, ice-cold pilsner.”
“Ugh. I can’t think of cold things right now…” Ray grimaced. “How much further, Garaaf?”
“Not far.” Garaaf stopped and put a paw out to lean on the wall so he could pant. A second later he pulled it back and shook it off. “…Ow.”
“Is it me, or is it way colder here?” Spears asked. Ray honestly hadn’t noticed, but then again she’d never been so cold in her life anyway.
“Exactly,” Garaaf said. He huffed on his paw to warm it, and nodded toward a side passage. “There.”
The space he’d indicated opened out a ways to reveal… something. It was a device of some kind though Ray had no idea what it was or what it did. It was as big around as a city block at the base, and vanished up, up, up into the impenetrable darkness above.
“…Is that a forcefield generator?” Jamie asked, the moment he saw it. He leaned back and craned his neck to look up its towering height. “Jeez! Structural field?”
“I figured as much,” Garaaf agreed. “It’s the only way a structure like the Ring could stay intact.”
“So the whole superstructure is reinforced by forcefields…” Jamie’s low whistle created a jet of steam like an old-fashioned water kettle. “Wow. Guess that explains the cold.”
“How so?” Spears asked him.
“Superconductors. A field that huge has gotta go through… I dunno. A lot of power.”
He shook his head and a slow grin spread across his face. “Man. If we blow this thing up, this whole section of the Ring’s gonna peel apart, probably. And when one goes…”
“There are backups,” Garaaf said. “But that’s the plan. My Champion said they’re bringing over a gigaton-class warhead.”
“Badass!” Cook grinned. “So, like, I guess this is the other reason we’re here? Loadsa power ripe for the taking?”
Garaaaf duck-nodded. “Exactly. But I know how the Hunters work: The second we start tampering with the power to this thing, they’ll descend on us by the thousand. You’ll need to work fast, Mister Choi.”
“I did most of the fiddly work back in the Warren,” Jamie said, stalking to a spot at the base of the tower. “It should snap together pretty quick. The tricky part is going to be balancing how much power I steal versus what the components can handle. If I give it too much, the whole rig will fuse and… well…”
“And we’ll all get eaten,” Ray finished for him. “Great.”
“Or, y’know, maybe I fry myself poking at electrical systems built by a flesh-eating alien,” Jamie said. “Or maybe I fucked up the build or maybe—”
“Choi!” Spears snapped, snapping him out of his litany of worry. “…Just give it your best.”
Cook nodded. “Your best is fuckin’ good, man.”
“…Right.”
Ray looked around. Garaaf had been generous when he described what they had as ‘cover’—it was more like there were some auxiliary systems, little nooks in the walls and a control console. None of which would do shit if one of those giant tank-Hunters with the nervejam launcher showed up again. She caught the Whitecrest’s eye as she made her assessment, and saw that he knew it.
“…It’s not ideal, I know,” he said. It was almost an apology.
“It’ll do,” Ray said. “Let’s get into place.”
“Spread out,” Spears said. “Cook… I dunno man. With no gun…”
“I’ll watch Holly and keep ‘em off you guys if they get closer,” Cook promised. He spun his knife around his thumb and grinned. “Hey, this’ll be a good warmup, right?”
Ray found a spot behind the control panel. It was built for Hunters, which meant it was exactly the right height for her to shelter behind and aim back toward the only entrance to their last stand.
“Well… at least we have a good crossfire and they can only come at us one way,” she said.
“And if we’re very, very lucky, that’ll be all we need,” Garaaf said. He took up a spot on the left flank, in a little nook in the wall that hopefully would shield him from any pulse gun fire that came his way. Those things had been strong enough to knock Pete Conley off his feet and fatally slow him down: Ray didn’t want to think what harm they’d do to a Gaoian.
“And if we’re unlucky?” she asked.
Garaaf charged his rifle. “Then we’ll need a miracle.”
He pulled the communicator from his pocket and clawed at a button on it. “Lost cub, playing with fire…” he intoned, then pocketed it again and gave Jamie a nod. “Whenever you’re ready, Mister Choi.”
“…Right.” Jamie took a deep breath, took his multimeter from his belt, and got to work. Ray charged her rifle too, and settled in for what promised to be a long and tense wait.
They were so close.
Date Point: 15y6m1d AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Air Engineering Technician Jack “Two-Seventy” Tisdale
‘Base and Moho had fetched The Couch, an item of furniture so revered that Jack could hear the capital letters in its name. He’d never seen it before, only heard of it, but reality lived up to the hype: Any couch that needed two of the bigger and stronger HEAT operators to move deserved that kind of respect.
The surprising thing was how reverential they were with it. Even though the damn thing looked and sounded like it was built from steel girders, they placed it and sat on it with respect. It was their biggest and most obvious connection to a fallen Brother, after all. Nobody wanted to be the guy who broke Rebar’s couch.
Never mind that in Jack’s estimation the thing could probably hold up a tank.
It needed to be that strong: An active team of operators in their suits were using it to chill out and watch Road Runner cartoons while they waited for the bell to ring. It might happen in two minutes, it might happen in two days, it might never happen. The only thing to do was stay on a four-hour rotation: A third of them ready to go, a third of them in PT to help relieve the suit-stress, a third of them resting. All three theoretically ready to scramble at a moment’s notice, but seconds made the difference.
And of course, the techs had to be there throughout the whole thing.
Moho was in the first group to take the couch, and like most of the Lads his relationship with his techs was somewhere between professional, fraternal, and cuddly toy. And like all the Lads who had a female tech, he reserved his more vigorous affections for Jack: Miller got off comparatively light.
Jack was more or less getting a full-body workout from the sheer crush of it all, being stuck right in the middle of a Gordian Knot of arms and legs: the Lads were basically treating the shape of the couch as a hint rather than gospel, and gleefully ignoring it. Blaczynski was actually upside-down, with his feet draped over the back and his head dangling as he watched Wile E. Coyote run smack into a painting of a road tunnel.
Jack was used to it by now. And it helped that he was parked next to Akiyama, a man with whom he could geek out literally all day.
He did not think highly of the Ring. “I mean, it’s the very fuckin’ definition of a Big Dumb Object! The engineering’s impressive, but what do they get outta it?”
Jack had been thinking about this one. “All the benefits of centralization.”
“And all the downsides! Okay, yeah, so shipping in all their shit from out-system is easy ‘cuz it all has the same address, but when we ship our birthday present there too then all their shit goes up! I mean, what kinda half-assed engineer builds a single point of failure like that?”
“One who’s doing what management says, maybe?” Jack suggested.
Moho rumbled a laugh. “I just got this mental image of a Hunter bean-counter,” he said.
“Cheap suit, crappy tie…” Miller agreed, picking it up and running with it.
Moho chortled. “Has a novel he keeps meanin’ to write…”
“Drives a gold Lexus to work…”
“…Listens to his son’s music in a desperate attempt to relate…”
“Nah, nah. He’s listening to the stuff that was on the radio when he was a kid and daydreaming about his high-school crush…”
Titan gave them a Look, then turned back to Jack. “…Tisdale, I think you maybe got saddled with the team weirdos.”
“Hey, I resemble that remark,” Moho chuckled, and shrugged so hard that even Firth got moved a little bit. The complicated tangle of relaxing Operators and Techs settled like an old building with a subsiding foundation.
Jack felt an urge to stand up and pace around a bit but Adam’s left calf, layered up in a full Grade IV+ EV-MASS, was lying across his lap which was therefore utterly and inescapably pinned to the couch. Jack hoped he didn’t have any bruises forming; both his legs were already tingling and asleep.
“I mean… we don’t know anything about what Hunters are like when they aren’t, uh, hunting,” he pointed out. “I mean, for all we know they have board games and movie nights too.”
“Are you kidding?!” That insinuation seemed to be too much for the fucking leader of the Gao to take. Watching cartoons with Daar was the most surreal part of an already awe-inspiringly weird day. “Have you seen what these motherfucks do? Their movies would be, like, America’s Most Bestest Devouring Orgies or somethin’.”
Titan shrugged. “More like… I dunno. Saw? Motel? What was that one last year, The Ranch?”
The massive bear-thing rolled over onto his back and dragged Regaari with him, who yipped in resigned objection. “I dunno. I ain’t had time to watch anything lately…what was the plot?”
“Usual mainstream gore-porn shite,” Murray muttered.
“Oh.” That seemed to be the end of it for Daar. “…Hey Highland? Can we get another Salad?”
“Aye.” Murray somehow slithered out of the pile without any visible effort.
“Been way too long since my last Salad,” Daar said appreciatively. “Fuck I’ve missed you Lads, even ‘Horse’s stinky feet! And my Whitecrest Brothers,” he added hastily. “Alla’ya.”
“We missed you too, but I’d sure appreciate it if you could stop waggin’ that thing in my face, bruh,” Blaczynski told him. Daar’s armored tail was knocking against the top of his helmet with enough force that Jack was pretty sure he’d be concussed right now if that was him, but Blaczynski sounded mildly annoyed at most.
Daar reeled the wayward appendage in. “…Sarry.”
Comfortable silence descended, punctuated by the rousing strains of ‘The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down.’
“I’m still hung up on Hunter board games,” Miller confessed, after a minute. “Like… seriously, Jack? You think those things are gonna play fuckin’ Monopoly or whatever?”
“Oh, for fuck’s–! It was just idle speculation! I dunno, maybe they play, uh… hunting… games.”
“Tisdale, you have the tamest imagination.”
“I just mean we don’t know shit about what Hunters are like outside of a fucking slaughterhouse!” Jack said. “I’m not trying to humanize them or anything, it’s just—”
“The slaughterhouse is enough,” Adam grunted. He rolled over slightly and caused a minor landslide, while also crushing Jack even deeper into the couch. “I don’t care what they get up to in their spare time. They eat people.”
“I guess that’s the thing. They’re genuinely, truly alien,” Akiyama said. “Like… most other ETs are just folks, y’know? Weird-shaped folks with funny ways but whatever. Hunters might as well be goddamn termites. Could be there’s no point trying to understand ‘em.”
“I’m with ‘Horse,” Daar said. “I don’t wanna unnerstand ‘em.”
“Not even in pursuit of knowing your enemy?” Regaari asked.
Jack silently thanked him. That had been the exact thought that had entered his head, but he wasn’t dumb enough to give voice to it, not to somebody like Daar. Somehow, he felt like that was one for the people he was closer with to ask.
Daar grumbled to himself for a second, then opened his mouth to reply… but never got the chance.
The bell rang. It was go time.
Date Point: 15y6m1d AV
The Ring, Hell System, Hunter Space
Rachel “Ray” Wheeler
Garaaf’s prediction that the Hunters would swarm them when Jamie started messing with the power turned out to be a gross understatement.
At first it was quiet. It took Jamie a minute or two to finish building the Array. There was no apparent reaction when he popped the first panels open and started digging through them with his multimeter in search of an appropriate source of electricity to charge it.
It was the moment he exclaimed “A-ha!” and actually hooked their Array into the power system that had an instant effect. Bright, harsh yellow lighting flooded the area, and some kind of a high, shrill alarm made Ray flinch and Garaaf clamp his remaining ear tightly flat against his skull.
“How long?!” Spears called over it.
“Not long!” Jamie promised. He finished splicing cables across and a protective shield he’d built into the Array sprung up to stop it from being smashed flat by pulse fire in whatever firefight came next. Happy that it was ready and charged, he heaved Holly’s stasis litter into the middle. “A few minutes!”
“That slow?!” Cook called.
“I told you, I can’t just throw a lightning bolt at this thing or it’ll blow out!” Jamie knelt by Holly’s litter and watched what his tools were telling him. “This is fast as I dare!”
“He knows what he’s doing!” Ray shouted, and sighted down her rifle. “Just be ready!”
For one long minute, and then a second, she dared to hope that they might just get away before the Hunters got to them.
That hope was dashed sometime during the third minute when some kind of vehicle pulled up and a team of Hunter workers vaulted off it. They stared in confusion and shock at the deathworlders around their shield emitter, and then dropped dead as Ray, Spears and Garaaf took them down with a disciplined volley.
“Jamie?!” Spears called.
“About a third!”
“Shit,” Ray swore under her breath. She swapped magazines just to give her hands something to do, wished that they’d stop shaking from fear, anticipation and the cold. The metal was making her fingers go numb.
Another minute passed. Then a second. Then a third, but Ray knew better than to let herself hope at this point, not even when Jamie called out “Three-quarters!”
His shout was still echoing around the chamber when the real Hunters arrived, and calling it a ‘swarm’ turned out to be an understatement.
It was a wave, a flood. Ray’s trigger finger fired without her conscious input and missing wasn’t a problem: the Hunt was so numerous that she couldn’t fail to hit. She fired, fired, fired again as fast as she could pull the trigger.
Garaaf had been right about the cold, though. These Hunters were staggering and slow even before they rounded the corner, as though the chill of the air alone was enough to badly impair them. The line of corpses their three rifles left further slowed the ones behind.
Heavy pulse fire slapped the control console, damaged it, made Jamie’s forcefield ripple. Garaaf ducked into cover to reload, the press of Hunters gained a little ground. Ray did the same, and they lost a little more. The Hunters paid for each step forward with lives, and the ground had to be slick and treacherous from freezing blood, but the sheer numbers-!
They only had a few spare magazines, too. Not a lot of ammo, despite the time they’d spent loading them. Building a wall of dead and dying Hunters helped, but by the time Jamie finally yelled “Ninety!” Ray was halfway through her penultimate mag, despite Cook’s best efforts to keep her fed.
Spears ran dry first, Garaaf a moment behind him, and with only the one rifle to hold them at bay the Hunters gleefully broke through and charged.
“Back! Back!”
Ray didn’t need telling twice. She broke cover, retreated up the stairs, firing, firing—
A pulse round punched her right in the head. The world went away for a black second, came back wrong. She couldn’t tell which way was up any longer, her legs just wouldn’t get under her. Cook was at her side, tearing into a Hunter with his knife. He sawed right through its neck, shoved another one aside, turned, stabbed, fought. Ray struggled to find her feet—
The one Cook had pushed aside saw her move and rounded on her, pounced.
Something happened to the sound. It was… gone, now. All the shouting, the alarms, the desperation, it all went silent. Everything came down to the twelve-inch razor-sharp steel claw it had just shoved into her heart.
Time stopped just long enough for Ray to realize that she was dead.
Something the size and general shape of a bear slammed into the Hunter, tore it apart. Another one saved Cook’s hide by inches. Bullets were ripping through the hall, clearing a space, but Ray fell backwards into armored hands. She looked up and saw her own face reflected in some kind of visor: There were dark brown eyes behind it, alert and intense. Human eyes that alighted on the blade in her chest and knew just as well as she did that she wasn’t going to make it.
Jamie, Spears, Garaaf and Holly were gone. They’d jumped out safely. In their place were armored men and Gaoians who brushed the Hunters aside like autumn leaves. She’d been so close…
…But she was still there.
It wasn’t fair.