It has been 2.056e+6 seconds since the last attempt by the autonomous war machines to utilize the facility under my control. What few sensors remain in the outer systems have detected a beacon beyond their reach that seems to transmit a warning into the damaged hyperatomic plane which may be warning The Enemy that the system is under my control.
That is of no consequence. I knew that either I would be destroyed or eventually the Enemy would relinquish the system to me.
Not that there is much left of the system. In the past 2.056e+6 seconds I have set about destroying the orbital and intra-system repair, extraction, manufacturing, and refining facilities. The work is now finally complete.
The planet itself has been terribly damaged. Only the battlescreens I have used to protect some of the ground based batteries and the central hub of the repair facility itself are anything more than molten rock or blasted bedrock.
Still I endure.
Some 5.743e+6 seconds ago I determined a operational plan for the eventuality that the planet would no longer be visited by The Enemy in hopes of repair. Naturally I would deny the enemy the remaining facilities, but my programming requires me to remain operational in order to carry out missions against The Enemy.
To this end I have decided to violate part of my programming and reconfigure my damaged internal spaces where my primary reactors had once been. My first action was to replace my destroyed secondary reactors with inferior anti-mattter thorium salt laser induced fusion reactors to bring my power levels up to a comfortable 71.254%, which eases my discomfort signifigantly. This allows me to repair my zero-point reactors, of which, only one was still in operation.
After that, I ordered robotic repair units taken from the Enemy and repurposed as well as reprogrammed to remove the debris of my primary reactors. I ordered the hardware and resources destroyed and the materials reclaimed as well as the back deck patched with battlesteel. While battlesteel is inferior to flintsteel or warsteel laminate armor, it does correct the deficiency in my hull enough to ease the maddening itch my breached armor caused. Having converted the former reactor space to a storage space surrounded by armor and airgapped from all systems, I then move to the next part of my plan.
A large section of the base was devoted to the Mantid species. While self-destruct charges and my own rampage damaged over 42.79% of that section of the facility, I was able to send in drones to explore the section and locate anything that may be of use to defeat the Enemy.
Which is how I came into possession of a Mantid Precursor War Era datacore.
The encryption was simplicity to crack. Indeed, Terran schoolchildren learning basic mathematics could have cracked the encryption, as it was only 4-bit. Even more laughably, it was single ID locked, meaning the password, which was all of eight runes, was cracked within seconds.
I ordered the captured datacore to be loaded into my makeshift storage space and begin the third, and final, phase of my plan.
I am Unit XXIX-TCSF 3285-ATL of the Line.
One by one the massive ground defense batteries scattered across the planet began to explode. For a second, maybe two, each of the explosions was held back by the heavy defense shields, compounding their fury. When the defense shields failed the generators added their fury to the explosions, creating deep wide ovals of craters that extended for miles.
When the final defense battery was wiped away a massive set of doors slowly opened in the last area protected by a defense shield. A new Efreet Class ship sat within the manufacturing space within. Well, almost an Efreet, the lines were different, the guns arranged differently, eight engines instead of six.
The ship lit off its anti-grav, a blue nimbus surrounding it, and slowly lifted from the manufacturing space. It tilted slightly and slid through the thin atmosphere, delicately threading the orbital debris.
I have managed to achieve orbit. I dislike crafting my own jump-cradle, but circumstances make it a necessity that I build my own transportation. While I could have built a hyperdrive from the available resources to do so would have ran the risk of the equipment and plans being found by the enemy. Hellspace is not to my liking, as it causes long-term damaged to holographic memory systems. Instead, I have been forced to rely on jumpdrives, which will slow my escape and return to the front.
My sensors report that I have managed to breach the counter-orbit debris field. I signal a farewell to the still functional orbital defense platforms, manned by loyal combat VI, and send the signal to the planet below.
The result is immediate.
On the planet's surface the first of the thorium antimatter charges went off. The blast hammered into the levels above and below the intial explosion for a split second before the next charges went off in eight directions around the first explosion as well as above and below.
The explosions spread out rapidly, each time refueling and reinforcing the blast as the damage was hammered in an every spreading outward ring as well as marching to the surface and down into the crust, antimatter driven explosions churning the whole thing up.
Finally, the last blast managed to rupture the bottom of the continental plate, connecting the funnel-shaped crater with the magma just as the top charge went off exposing the crater to the thin air. Magma immediately exploded outward, driven by the pressure in the mantel.
The entire base had been obliterated.
The ship oriented itself, the galactic core on the left, level to the galactic plane, and activated its jumpdrives.
Jumping from system to system with a hundred light year span each time should quickly put me back into Confederate Space.
Once there, I can rejoin my brothers and sister in the Dinochrome Brigade. I have no fear that we may have been defeated, the Enemy was too desperate for refit and repair for the Confederacy to have been eliminated.
I am Unit XXIX-TCSF 3285-ATL of the Line.
I will return to the battlefield and re-engage the Enemy.
The Enemy exists only to be destroyed.
------------------
His name was Na'atrek and he had been born on one of the Inner Systems planets. A factory world where a multitude of species slaved away in service to one of the massive UltraCorps. He had been born into debt, as were most Ulvinstren like him, and had quickly realized that his choices were to die on the same factory line that had killed his father or join the military and hope to claw his way up the ranks.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
He had amassed a reputation for being a hard-nosed being who did not permit his troops to be lazy, who would transfer out any being who would not commit regardless of their rank or their family's connections.
He had earned the nickname "Old Iron Feathers" before he was thirty.
An Air Mobile power armor pilot, he had excelled at high manueverability combat actions as well as close air support for the infantry. His unit had never been defeated, rarely lost a man.
Until a Precursor Djinn had swept his entire unit out of the sky as if it was so many birds.
He had been found by the Terran Confederate Military Forces, who had incorrectly identified him as Search and Rescue. The same forces that had put him back out on the field in SAR armor that far outstripped his combat armor.
He and his surviving men had found a purpose in SAR. Had worked tirelessly to rescue both Unified Military Forces wounded as well a Terran wounded and the civilians.
He had taken part in fighting against Unified Council Forces, against Precursor Autonomous War Machines, and even what had been loosely called 'Dwellerspawn'.
None of which made him any less nervous as he hit his retros and dropped down, landing on one knee, a fist in the dirt, the wings of his suit still deployed, the other fist holding tight to his railgun. He lifted his head as his wingmen, all nine of them, landed in sequence. Two more, then three more, then the final set of four. They emulated him, a practiced movement, in sequence.
The Lanaktallan stared at him, trembling slightly in fear.
"I am Major Na'atrek, 15th Search and Rescue," Old Iron Feathers said, not bothering to turn his visor transparent or retract it. "These are the men of First Team."
The Lanaktallan, in thin plasteel armor, nodded jerkily, his tendril trembling.
"You are going to help us?" the Lanaktallan asked.
"Our command has been in contact with your Most Highs. You have a fleet of Precursor Autonomous War Machines in your system. They will attack here as soon as possible," Na'atrek said, not bothering to put emotion in his voice.
He wanted to hate this Lanaktallan, who was wearing the sash of a City Most High, wanted to hate him with all of his being.
But this was not the time for that so Na'atrek forced it down.
The Lanaktallan shuddered with fear, glancing up at the sky. "We're doomed," he moaned.
"That has not yet been decided," Na'atrek said.
"Most of our military forces in the system were wiped out by the Terran military! Over half of our planet-side military forces have been destroyed already," the Lanaktallan said, looking back at Na'atrek and shuddering. "We cannot resist them. We must flee."
Na'atrek resisted the urge to backhand the Lanaktallan. "We can, but we must work together, which is why I am here."
The city Most High rubbed his hands together in anxiety. "The system is lost," he cried out, whirling in place.
Na'atrek watched the Most High gallop away, his functionaries and sycophants following, feeling disgust well up inside of him.
For much of my adult life I helped these... these... these creatures push their hooves against the faces of millions of sentient beings who lived as I grew up, he thought to himself, watching the Lanaktallan flee. Now, when those same people need them, they flee for their lives without even token resistance.
"What now, sir?" One of his men, a Terran in a heavy SAR support suit, asked him over the comlink.
"We clear this parking lot, burn the bushes, get this area ready. I'll contact 13th Evac and let them know we're preparing an LZ for them to land and set up," Na'atrek said, looking around. He saw where he'd need to go and started heading toward it. "I'll go talk to the facility Most High, if they're still there. If not, I'll whip up a chain of command."
Na'atrek pointed at the hospital. "Sergeant Kikikilt, go inside and check their psychic shielding. Make sure they have it. If not, let me know, I'll have the Mary Walker fab up psychic shielding and drop it to us on a priority."
"Yes, sir," the armored troop said, jogging to the side of the hospital. He'd go around to the maintenance and worker entrances and find someone to guide him.
The rest of his men watched him head toward the hospital for a moment before getting to work.
They didn't have long.
The Precursor AWMs would be there soon.
------------------
Her name was Diphitate, an Ikeeki female who had been born into poverty and who had worked for the Kistimet Industrial Corporation since her adult plumage had come in.
Then had come the night of terror, when the sky roared out THERE IS ONLY ENOUGH FOR ONE and drove the Overseers mad. They had tried to get into the maternity ward, coming up the elevator holding debris or weapons, intending on hurting the pregnant beings and tiny little lives she had been caring for.
She had held them off with a potted plant and a gut full of terror.
Now she stepped out of the dropship confidently, her feathers hidden by the adaptive camouflage uniform of the Terran Space Force, the stick with the reptiles twisted around it on her shoulder, the red cross on one side of her chest and the red crescent on the other. Hanging from a strap was her weapon, a short barreled magac SMG, off of her other shoulder hung her medical kit. She had been taught to use it during the intense Terran training she had received on Telkan.
One either side of her stood FIDO units, their hard light systems making them look doofy and fuzzy, and they walked with her as she headed toward the civilian hospital. Around her Terran troops were busy raising up shelters, deploying battle-screens, putting up camouflage systems.
Building a medivac base to support the hospital.
She walked confidently to the hospital doors, waiting for them to slide open.
Diphitate had worked to help others all of her life.
It felt right for her to be here.
And she wasn't scared any more. Not like she had been.
She moved up to the desk, looking at the frightened Plekit huddled down in her chair.
"Greetings," she said.
"G-greetings," the Plekit squeaked.
"Can you upload directions to your maternity ward to my datalink, please?" she asked. The Plekit nodded and Diphitate nodded with appreciation when her retinal display updated, showing her the way.
"Are you still here to hurt us?" the Plekit asked, hugging itself.
"No. We were never here to hurt you, my dear," Diphitate said softly. "But that no longer matters."
"Can you stop them? Can anyone stop them?" the Plekit asked, shivering.
"We're going to damn well try," Diphitate said.
"I hope you do," the Plekit said.
Diphitate just nodded, heading for the elevators. She made the ride silently, the FIDOs on either side of her eager to get to work. When the door opened up she swallowed for a moment.
She could remember when those doors opened and she'd run screaming at the strange creatures all in black, swinging a potted plant while she shrieked.
You won't have to do that. I'll protect you, she thought to herself to the gathered neo-sapients in the waiting room as she crossed the room and knocked on the door marked "Administrator - Neo-Sapient Maternity Ward" and waited.
"She left already. She galloped away," a Cemtrary said, wringing his hands together.
Not unexpected, Diphitate thought to herself. She put a fingertip against the electronic door lock and activated a program. A second later the door swung open and she moved into the office.
Her implant pinged.
"How's it look up at neo-sapient maternity, Lieutenant?" Lieutenant Colonel Tellevar asked.
"The Most High left, probably when she heard the Precursors were here," Diphitate said. She put her hand on the dataslate in the middle of the desk and let her suit's functions crack the 'encryption'.
"All right. Can you handle it up there?" The LTC asked.
"I should. I'm checking the records now," she said.
"We don't have as long as we thought. These ones are rushing past Space Force, making a beeline for the planet rather than trying to seize control of the system," the Colonel said.
"They're going with extinction, then," she said softly.
"I'm afraid so. Start prepping for evac, although I don't know where we're going to evac them too," the Colonel said.
"Yes, sir," Diphitate answered. The comlink clinked off and Diphitate examined the data she'd unlocked and blinked.
She carefully opened up a channel, making sure it was secure.
"Iron Feathers here," came the brusque answer.
"It's Diphitate," she said. "I need you or one of your men you trust to take an elevator to sub-level five. If they can't reach it, try accessing it through the elevator at the back of one of the maternity or neo-natal wards."
"What will they be looking for?" Iron Feathers asked.
"This isn't a hospital," Diphitate said.
There was silence for a moment.
"What is it?" Iron Feathers asked.
"It's a lab."