The day was cold as the tank swept through the ruins of the city streets. Down by my right foreleg was a Terran soldier, sitting on a seat that had been ripped out of a bus and welded to the frame so he wasn't thrown around by the maneuvers involved in heavy combat.
I had had my doubts about the Terran soldier operating the loader manually, using a modified socket wrench to rotate the carriage to bring rounds up out of the ammunition bay to a position he could grab them with his hands. From there to the chamber and slamming it shut, he could do the entire thing in less than ten seconds, faster even then the standard autoloader in the tank.
He had operated it for two days, never seeming to slow down or become fatigued.
I had my face pressed against the gunner's sight, looking over the landscape as we moved through the ruins that had been a city housing millions.
"Anything?" I asked.
"No, Most High," my electronic warfare technician, a welkret that had previously worked in the air control tower down by the docks dealing with grav-lifters and hovercraft.
I wrung all four hands. "There has to be more. There has to be."
The Terran touched my shoulder. "Ha'almo'or, we have been sweeping for two hours. Before that, we only found three wounded trapped under wreckage. There are no more."
"Do another sweep, maximum sensitivity," I ordered.
Veltri, the welkret sensor tech, obediently ran another scan. She was scanning for datalinks showing life signs as well as thermal imaging and CO2 plumes.
Nothing.
Jurmek, a shavashan missing part of his tail and sporting a cybernetic eye, swept around a corner where collapsed rubble had completely choked off the intersection but a basement collapse had left enough of a surface for us to move deeper into the city.
Around us skyrakers moaned in pain and exhaled smoke.
"Ha'almo'or, we've swept the city three times, 11th ACR did flyovers, they've got Simbas, Goodbois, and Purrbois, even fishbois out there looking," the human told me. He touched my shoulder again, and strangely enough I could feel it through my armor. "There are no more. I'm sorry."
"There has to be!" I yelled, sweeping the cupola in a full three sixty, looking through my sight.
There was nothing but cold rain, black smoke, and rubble.
And the huddled dead.
"There were millions of beings in this city two weeks ago," I said. I closed my eyes and let my hands drop from the gunner controls. "There were millions."
I straightened up with a jerk. "Do another scan," I ordered. I put my face back against the sight. "Just one more. Please. Just let me save one more."
--adjusting scans-- the little Mantid, who's name involved particle movement deep in a stellar mass but went instead by the number 593, chirped over my comlink.
"Thank you," I told him.
The tank was silent except for the mechanical sounds for a long moment.
"No life signs, Most High," Veltri told me.
"What about the drones?" I asked.
"Nothing," Veltri said.
"We'll do another spiral once we reach the crater in the center of the city," I said. I licked my dry lips, ignoring the slight headache and blurriness even in my cybereyes. "There has to be more. There just has to be. They can't all be dead."
My crew was silent as we slowly moved to the four overlapping craters in the middle of the city, where the Precursor machines had blasted the city when they came in and then when they left as if to mock me.
The rain hissed and crackled against the battlescreens.
Twice I ordered the tank to stop and got out to check in vehicles, check the dead, look under some rubble.
I found nothing but debris and the dead.
As we left the city I pushed myself back from the sight, opening my faceplate so I could rub at my exhausted eyes. My crew stayed silent as I pulled the last stimshot from my satchel and injected it. I grabbed my seat and groaned as my heart started pounding, it felt like my head was going to both explode and collapse at the same time, and all four of my stomachs tried to rebel.
It passed quickly and I felt refreshed, even if there was the taste of zingy metal on my back teeth and my across my feeding tendrils.
I watched around us as we slowly moved out of the city, running a search pattern, looking for any survivor that might have managed to crawl free of their hiding place.
"Again. Head to the city center, we'll spiral out again," I ordered. I pushed my face against the sight. "Please. Please please please."
My crew was silent as we did it again.
When we reached the outside of the city there was the trill of a high priority transmission. Dalpat, a Telkan who used to handle truck dispatch, raised his head up from where he'd fallen asleep on the console. He blinked, touched his helmet, and looked at me.
"It's for you, Most High," he said gently.
"Gunnery Assistant Ha'almo'or here," I said.
"Return to base," the voice said. It was full of authority that hit me in the spinal reflexes.
The transmission cut off.
I moaned and wrung my hands.
Maybe if I just ran one more sweep...
Jurmek turned the tank, heading across the rubble, the smaller stones clattering against the fan blades and nacelle sides. I kept looking, kept searching, trying to spot even the smallest sign of any possible survivors.
I saw none.
I thought about ordering Jurmek to turn around, to do one more sweep.
I just wanted to find one more. Please. Just one more.
But we detected no more lifesigns as we slowly left the city and headed to the base that had grown up around my makeshift shelters. At one point several grav-lifters from the forward operating base joined us as well as the vehicle marked "EMERGENCY MEDICAL SERVICES" in hand written blue paintstick.
We wove between the battle screens and the dirt berms the Terrans and the people who had elected to stay and assist me had created. Tanks were lined up, many of them damaged, and I could see that many members of the Great Herd were waiting in lines as if they were waiting for my damaged and cobbled together tank. There were several Terran tanks present, including a couple of hover tanks.
My datalink clinked as Dalpat messaged me.
"Most High, I'm seeing Great Grand Most High A'armo'o's transponder as well as the transponders for the commanders of Third Armor Division and First Recon Division," the Telkan told me.
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"Order the crews to refit their tanks," I said, exhaustion making the order automatic.
"Yes, Most High," Dalpat said, although his voice carried something in it I could not identify.
Jurmek idled the tank into the queue for reloading and refit and bellied it down. After a moment the engines shut off and the back deck lowered down. My gunner's sight retracted into the hull as Veltri stood up from her sensor station.
"We should eat," she said softly.
"Come on, Ha'amo'or," the Terran said. He helped me get the gunner's cradle into position, two of the motors no longer worked right and had to be manually shifted.
"Thirty minutes," I said as I turned around and moved toward the exit.
"As you say, Most High," Jurmek said.
I exited the tank and blinked, the wan sunlight filtering through the clouds bright to my eyes after so long looking through the sight. I stumbled toward where the boxes of Goody Yum Yum bars were sitting, almost tripping twice.
I opened the bar and looked at the joke.
Why did the tree seem suspicious on sunny days? It was a little shady.
I chuckled, a smile breaking through my misery. I moved over and sat down, slowly eating the bar, relishing the taste and washing it down with the G8R8 that the Terran had put in my canteen. My chest hurt and I groaned, leaning forward and closing my eyes, feeling dizzy.
After a moment I straightened up.
And almost screamed in fear when I saw the Matron staring at me with accusing eyes.
"How long have you been awake, Most High?" she asked me.
"Uh," I answered. I stood up slowly, my legs trembling.
"Well?" She asked.
I suddenly remembered something I'd seen a Terran do.
"Look! I'm over there!" I shouted, pointing off to the side where my tank was.
"What?" Frowning in confusion the Matron turned at the waist to look and I galloped away, running behind one of the tents. I hid behind some empty equipment crates, sitting down, and took another bite of my bar, chuckling at my own cleverness.
I opened a second bar.
Why was the archeologist depressed? His life was ruins.
I snorted in laughter and started eating the bar.
"There you are," the Matron filly said. I turned and looked to see she was behind me with two big Terran warborgs. "Don't run away."
I stood up and clattered to the side to get clear of the empty crates, intending on running out the other side of the small passage between the tents.
The Matron stood there with more warborgs.
"Most High Ha'almo'or, what kind of example are you setting?" the Matron asked me.
I sighed and hung my head. She was right.
"Now, how long have you been awake?" she asked me, moving up to me. She tapped my helmet and I saw "MEDICAL OVERRIDE" pop up on the visor right before it retracted.
"Thirty-nine hours," I admitted, swallowing thickly. I had dry mouth again.
She touched the collar of my armor and it retraced. Her fingertips touched my neck as she ran a scanner over my lower abdomen.
"Pupils constricted, rapid breathing, sweaty, cardiac implant is reporting flutters, muscle tremors," she made a chiding noise. "How many stims have you taken?"
"I am unsure," I admitted.
"Please, follow me. You need a medical check," she told me.
"I must return to my duty," I told her.
She put her hand on the side of my face and locked eyes with me.
I suddenly realized how tired she looked.
"Ha'almo'or, there is no-one left in the city. You have gotten them all," she told me. She took one of my hands and slowly led me to the medical tent. "There is nothing left for you to do but allow yourself to undergo medical treatment. The fighting is almost over, so there is no need for you to return to your tank."
"But, there might be survivors under the rubble, too deep for the Terran sensors or the sensors of my tank's drones to see," I protested, following her.
The filly Matron and the warborgs followed me slowly.
She led me into a tent, carefully taking off my armor.
The stench of unwashed hide, scorched hair, and seared flesh as well as the unique smell of old quikheal gel filled my nostrils.
She was quiet as she helped me into the medical sling and turned on the beam.
"Goodnight, Ha'almo'or," she told me.
I struggled against the anesthetic beam.
It pulled me down anyway.
----------------------
"Can he hear us?" a voice asked.
I was floating in warm water, my eyes closed, my limbs slightly curled. I could faintly hear a thudding heartbeat and the rushing of blood through veins as the water gently rocked.
"Perhaps. He is close to wakefulness," the Matron said. "He is a stubborn male so we are using deep level womb simulation to keep his hindbrain relaxed."
"Do not let him leave," the voice said. "He needs to heal. It would be a terrible thing to lose him after all that he is done."
"We won't lose him," the filly Matron said.
"Have you ever seen this before?" the voice asked.
"A few times," another voice said. "Not in one of your people though. Old Iron Feathers is like that."
"It's not uncommon," a third voice said.
"Will he recover?" the Matron asked.
"No. They never do. He will never be the same," the third voice said softly. "He will always wonder if he could have done a little bit more."
I shuddered and relaxed, sinking deeper into the warm water.
The voices receded.
-----------------
I woke in the treatment tent, jerking slightly and crying out. I was trying to lift a beam that had fallen and blocked a civil defense shelter door in a collapsed building, ignoring the flames around my armor, as Dalpat sprayed a fire extinguisher around me. I could hear the Terran firing his rifle topside, keeping the Precursor light combat robots back.
My eyes opened and it took me a moment to realize where I was.
Mal-Kar sat in a bed opposite of me, slowly eating some type of pudding. When he saw that I was looking at him he smiled and set the bowl down. I noticed he had breathing tubes up his nose and monitors attached to him.
"Welcome back, Most High," he said.
"How are you, Mal-Kar?" I asked.
"Recovering quickly. They say I'll only be in here a day or two more to make sure I don't get fluid buildup in my lungs," he said. "I saw Feelmeenta, they gave her a cybernetic hand."
I nodded.
Mal-Kar looked over and gave a slight wince. "Oh boy, here comes someone mad at you."
The Matron clopped into sight and stared down at me.
"So, are you here or over there, Most High?" she asked, her tendrils curled in amusement.
"I am here," I told her.
"And where will you stay?" she asked me.
"Here," I said.
She put her hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently. "You did all you could do, Ha'almo'or. Do not let what you think should have been eclipse what actually was."
I let me head hang. "I just wanted to save a few more," I admitted softly.
"As did I. It was not to be. The Precursors, they also get a say, and their voice was loud," she said gently. She looked at me. "Rest now. There will be time enough for recriminations later."
----------------------
It was raining again, but the rain was clear, not longer a black sticky thing, as I limped out of the tent and looked around.
A Terran, possibly the largest I had ever seen, was standing next to a Hikken that was chewing on an empty ration tube. The Terran was talking to a Lanaktallan I recognized and as I trotted across the grass, heading toward my tank, I saw the Terran turn and spit some kind of brown juice.
I had almost made it to my tank when I heard the voice.
"Gunner Ha'almo'or," the voice said.
I recognized it instantly.
Great Grand Most High of Armor A'armo'o.
"Come here, brave one," my commander said.
I nervously trotted over to him, feeling the urge to flee.
"This the one?" the Terran asked, spitting on the ground.
"He is," A'armo'o said.
The Terran turned and looked at me and I noticed he had three stars on his lapel. He looked me up and down for a long moment, judging me, weighing me, perhaps seeing more than I thought was there.
"Damn fine job, son. Damn fine," he said. He spit on the ground again. "Took balls."
The Hikken nodded, taking the ration tube out of his mouth. "I am honored to have met you."
Great Grand Most High A'armo'o took my hands in his and stared into my eyes.
"There will be no reprisals against you, Ha'almo'or," he said. He looked around. "Things are changing, in ways you might not understand, but what you did here, nobody can ever take it from you."
"I thank you," I told him, unsure of why I was getting the attention.
"Don't bother with returning to your tank, Ha'almo'or," Most High A'armo'o said. "Emergency services has taken over, but it appears that you have rescued any and all who remained within the city."
"There has to be more," I said softly, staring to turn around to look at the burning city.
Most High A'armo'o touched my cheek, preventing me from turning.
"If there is, it is up to Emergency Services now," he said softly. "The Precursors have been forced from the system, destroyed here on the ground."
I just nodded.
"Now comes the hard part, loyal one," Most High A'armo'o said.
"What is that?" I asked.
He was silent for moment.
"Living with it," the Terran said.
His words echoed in my soul.
"There is still a war to fight, Ha'almo'or, and I wish you as part of my Herd," A'armo'o said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
"Of course, Most High," I said.
"We're loading onto ships, joining the Terrans. There are multiple worlds under threat. Join us," Most High A'armo'o said.
"I will follow you wherever you go," I swore.
"Gather your faithful crew, Ha'almo'or," Most High A'armo'o said. "We will head for the Terran's recovery point at dawn."
"My crew are neo-sapients," I said and tensed, waiting for their rejection.
Most High A'armo'o gave an odd motion I had learned was a Terran shrug.
"If they are your crew, they are your crew," he said.
"Welcome to the Atomic Hooves," the big Terran said. He spit again and looked me in the eyes. "See you onboard the ships."
I looked at Most High A'armo'o. "We are leaving the Great Herd?"
He nodded. "I am. Others are joining me. Will you?"
I turned and looked at the city.
There were other worlds, other cities.
Others who will need me.
"I will, Most High."
--Excerpt From: We Were the Lanaktallan of the Atomic Hooves, a Memoir.