I wish I knew the bunker was wired with explosives, but sometimes, ignorance is bliss. A saying I embodied as we freed Kerrigan. Turns out zergling teeth treat steel like a game of rock paper scissors, shredding Kerrigan’s chains like wet paper. Though there was no way to get the collar off her throat, but there were more pressing concerns. One look at my internal sensors told me radiation inside the bunker was about 50 rem, it was in alien units but they automatically converted to values my tiny Earthling brain could grasp or had a chance of being familiar with, one little perk of being brainwashed in a tube.
“C’mere, take my hand.” I say, helping Kerrigan out of the cage, she is covered in degusting ick, things I quickly wipe off her with the cleaning wipes in the ration kits.
Even in space, washing your hands is important. Moreso than on earth. Since alien microbes that you have zero biological defenses against could liquify your insides until you pissed brain jelly.
“Kerrigan’s hands come first, wet wipes clean them off and I hand her one of the C-bars.
“Whafths thith?” While I’m busy with a wet wipe bath, the zerglings are exploring.
“Food. A gift for my friend.” I say, trying to butter up the bioweapon.
She stares at it for a second, sniffs it, frowns. Then cocks her head to the side.
“It… doesn’th smell like meath.” She mutters.
Meat… She says the word like it’s nothing a common thing. But that little choice in diction confirms my worst fears. I refuse to dwell on it, forcing away the thought.
“Chocolate is a bean I think, and sugar comes from plants as well. If you don’t like it that’s fine, but give it a nibble.” I say pantomiming a wink at the girl. Kinda difficult considering I’m in full anti radiation gear and mask.
She cocks her head, not understanding the gesture. Probably grew up in a test tube of her own with no understanding of the world or other people. At best she’ll end up a sociopath.
No, at best she’ll enjoy chocolate! I mentally correct, wiping her down.
Kerrigan’s bones aren’t human, they’re thicker and more prominent than a child’s bones ought to be, with extra ribs and actual claws protruding from oversized hands. Fangs –her teeth cannot be called anything else– bite into the chocolate bar. They bake those things to be tough, kinda a thick taffy so it travels well and can survive reentry if supply ships get shot down. But it’s still full of everything a body craves. Kerrigan’s eyes light up at the taste going speechless as she looks at the bar then to me. I smile. Kids love candybars, hell, adults love candybars! And this is space candy, for extra goodness. I think… A flicker of memory runs through my mind, it’s Jim aboard the tax ship, ‘recycle the fatties’.
Note to self, never look at the ingredient list. It’ll be safer–
–a red river flows down Kerrigan’s cheek.
I freeze, ducking to see where the blood is coming from. But her face is all pinched together,
“Are you crying?” I ask, baffled.
Kids don’t cry when you give them chocolate! What did I do wrong? Sure she’s a bioweapon… I really hope she isn’t the kind of bioweapon that explodes when you feed it chocolate. That would be a bit too screwed up. Even for the Technomancy who view humans the way we view a computer’s ram chips. Not the stick, just the individual black squares that you’ve probably never thought about in your life.
“Kerrigan, say something, are you alright? Spit it out if it’s that awful!”
In way of response the ration bar disappears into her mouth.
“Sooo goooodth.” Mumbles Kerrigan, chomping her way through the entire bar.
It would be way cuter if her lower jaw didn’t split open, revealing a second row of teeth that sheer through the ‘chocolate’ brick like it’s jello. The juxtaposition of her bleeding eyes, rows of fangs, and smile makes my heart skip several beats. This is the most pant-shittingly terrifying and kinda cute thing i’ve ever beheld. A cacophony of chaos that shorts out my brain for a minute. When I finally come to Kerrigan has finished her bar.
“Oh, there are more, don’t eat them so fast though, otherwise you’ll make yourself sick. Uhm, try this one, its-” I glance at the package, reading -meat puree no 12-.
Don’t read the ingredients. I remind myself.
“Actually, not sure what it is. Give it a try.”
“Okay athph- aphthp- … Pfina!” Stutters Kerrigan, her lisp absolutely butchering my name.
It takes all of five minutes to wet wipe kerrigan clean, and feed her. Somehow three ration boxes disappear down her throat, something like ten thousand calories, or three thanksgiving dinners. Despite that, Kerrigan seems energized, as if she could keep going, but the zerglings have found something that we need.
I don’t exactly see through their eyes, but if they’re aware of something I can mentally picture it in my mind. The entire bunker is lined with explosives. All waiting for a signal to detonate. Bricks of a Technomancy C4 are all wired together in a sort of dead man’s firecracker. Defuse one and the others will be set off. A chain reaction of explosions guaranteed to turn the the juggernaut missiles into secondary and teriary detonations. Tens of thousands of pounds of fiery death.
“We gotta go.” I whisper, the sound amplified by my helmet’s speakers.
“Otay Pfina.”
I sweep her into my arms, barely managing to pick up the kid. Whatever lab cooked her up must have been on a heavy gravity world; bricks weigh less than Kerrigan does. She’s like some awful practical joke involving metal mario. We ain’t going nowhere fast. My ankle screams in protest. I doubt it’s broken, but certainly sprained. We need transportation.
“Crap…” I mutter aloud, heading for the back of the bunker.
There is a series of locked crates the zerglings can’t get into. Heavy enough that we know their full of gear, but no visible access hatches, and I don’t want them to start tearing into something that’s probably sabotaged and ready to blow.
>Terran Thena: Hey, can you hack into Technomancy lockers?
>Executrix Alaea: Uhm, I can. But if they find out I did it’ll be bad news.
>Terran Thena: My bunker is wired with bombs, I need a vehicle, or armor or hell, anything! Help?
The zerglings feel it before I do. Ground rumbling, and the high pressured pops of long range railguns. I swollow, knowing I’m screwed in a fight, if one of those Juggernauts comes in here looking for repairs i’ll be dead a thousand times over. My legs carry me to the nanofactory, it’s mostly a block of steel wrapped in composites to keep it protected–
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
-A faint tingle emanates from my chest, and in a blink the entire room glows with blue fairy light. Back to total darkness before my helmet can detect the change in light.
>Executrix Alaea: Done.
>Executrix Alaea: A NANOFACTORY! I’m taking that.
Nanofactory sounded promising, they were ubiquitous across Singularity and Technocracy armadas. A portable piece of equipment that could churn out any piece of hardware you could imagine, great for repairs or minor fabrication. Not so great at full system construction. It’s capture should have me ecstatic. If I could feed it equipment or material or had any chance of protecting this bunker…
>Terran Thena: I can barely walk, can I get a carry?
>Executrix Alaea: uh…
>Executrix Alaea: oh! I gotchu fam.
Lights filled the bunker illuminating the space with a thousand blinking LEDs. Zerglings howl, running to my side, positioning themselves between me and the factory. Internal movement tells us the factory is making something. Just as I see three Juggernauts roll over the trench outside. Treads gore the earth, leaving indents wider than I am tall, while a dozen missiletubes fire combining their exhausts to help the Technocracy Tank hop twenty feet. It’s like watching a ballerina fart nukes, if that ballerina was two semi trucks glued together with lab grown meat and had a baby with the Killdozer. Autocannons unleash hatred, spewing thousands of rounds towards human conscripts. I know they’re dying. This damn tank is killing other earthlings.
Chink
Work complete the nanofactory ejects its most recent project, a suit of powered armor, painted shitbrown with gray accents. The most beautiful turd I've ever seen. 10/10 would shit again.
>Terran Thena: I need two of those!
>Executrix Alaea: Okay… I’m making five. Factory is too heavy to beam up right now.
>Terran Thena: Can you make one half sized? There’s a girl down here, child.
>Executrix Alaea: A child? What- NO! Don’t explain. Uhm. No, remote control won’t let me alter designs. I’ll have to get it on board.
>Terran Thena: YOU HAVE A SHIP?!?!?!
>Executrix Alaea: It’s not my ship. I’ll be hiding the nanofactory under my bed. Also, no human life support. You’ll die. Sorry.
I don’t have time to scream and swear at this ship shaped wrench, I’m too busy jamming empty artillery shells and spare rations into the suit. At eight feet tall it’s highly reminiscent of Terran Marine armor, big shoulderpads, dual reactors on the back in a sort of backpack with sensors, lights, and a ton –literally– of armor on the front to counterbalance.
“Alright Kerrigan, hop in the armor, it’ll keep you safe!” I say, lowering her into the suit through the neck hole.
Her hips and shoulders slide right in, head disappearing for a second before it pops back up. A sharkish grin across her face.
“I know. Red guy showed me how to uthe this. Before he lefth me behind.” She says, moving the arms and legs easily.
Visor hisses shut, how her lil arms reach any controls is a miracle, but she is mobile and protected from the ever present radiation.
Another Juggernaught rocket jumps the trench, closer, smoke fogs the trench and bunker, drowning us in black rocket ejaculate. My mask filters it out, air tasting canned like it always does, but the zerglings hunker down ducking beneath the smoke.
A second suit appears in front of me, chest open. Inviting me into the warm bosom of safety. I scramble up the suit, using its hands as footholds to get above it. From here I can shimmy into the suit. It’s not built for a woman, let alone one with tits, the Technomancy probably considers those unnecessary. Damn cyborgs probably feed babies motor oil or something. I have to undo my mask, to fit into the armor, which is A-okay by my standards. But for a second I can taste the steaming fumes of this world. Its rancid stench of cooked bodies. If ten thousand men cut their throats and bled into one parking lot, then were left there for a week it wouldn’t smell half as vile.
“Pfina’s pretty!” Says Kerrigan, somehow knowing to use the tight beam communication over the radio.
A critically important distinction. Tight beam is morse code beamed through a laser at another suit. Impossible to pick up unless someone targets you directly. Unlike radio which will broadcast in every direction and shout “Hey, come drop a bomb on me.”
“Thanks. Lets go. We need to find somewhere safe from those Juggernauts. If we head back to singularity lines we can team up with them.”
“Otay.” She says.
The armor moves like a second skin, grasping the thirty pound flechette pistol with one hand. Before I make it to the bunker’s exit new texts appear in my vision.
>Executrix Alaea: I see you’re leaving, want me to blow that bunker after you go?
>Terran Thena: Would you be a dear? ;)
“Kerrigan run! The bunker is gonna blow.” I order, giving both lings the command.
They’re like pigs in shit, sprinting through the mud and stretching out their legs. Cheetahs would be slower. But I don’t see how melee units can win against Juggernauts. Jogging through the smoke my mind wanders, our squad is two marines and two lings, but each Juggernaut is close to a Thor. Wind sucks through my teeth. We’re totally boned. The Thor wins that match up a hundred out of a hundred times.
Trench walls loom in front of me, a T junction, left to Singularity forces, right to the Technomancy. If we’re able to sneak up behind the juggernauts maybe we can hit them while they’re busy tearing through Earth conscripts… No, they can just run us over. Out of flash trained habit I activate the armor’s full systems, integrating it with the Technomancy’s friend or foe detection system. Tagged as an engineer. A logistics engineer. I have slug and missile counts for the twelve nearest Juggernauts. Twelve! Logistics.
Another snap decision sends me right, sprinting towards the Technomancy’s next bunker. My orders pass to the zerglings who race ahead of us, sprinting with such force that mud flies out of the trench. Thrown forty feet into the air by alien claws digging up traction. They aren’t on guard duty anymore.
“Pfina, wrong way.”
“Change of plans, we’re going to the next Technocracy bunker.” I say.
[Nanofactory acquired] appears in the center of my vision, so surprising I nearly faceplant. But shit has been popping up in my vision all day, what with all the chats from aliens and system notifications. This one, like all others fades in a few seconds.
No sooner is it gone, than a truly spectacular shockwave flows through the world. Sending me and Kerrigan into the trench wall. I bounce off embedded logs, leaving a pauldron shaped dent in the walls. I spare a glance back at Kerrigan, who is somehow rising to her feet. Despite the clumsy waddle of stiff legs, she is piloting that armor like a champ.
“Good job Kerrigan. Keep moving.” I beam back to her.
“Are you gonna leath me behind?” She asks.
My heart breaks at the resignation in her voice. She isn’t asking, not really. Kerrigan is just confirming what she already knows is going to happen. I plant both feet, skidding to a stop.
“What? Leave my friend alone? No way. If I did that who would keep all our chocolates safe? I need you, Queen of Confectionary Delights.” I say. Hearing a laugh.
The joy in her voice makes my spine tighten. True happiness dances across our tight beams, something I haven’t felt in a week. Not since being abducted… Or even before. Baz could make me laugh, but he never made me happy. Neither did any of whorely’s snide remarks. Always commenting on my eyeliner or how I missed a hair and was growing a caterpillar across my forehead.
“Lets catch up to the–”
“UNIDENTIFIED ENGINEER! REPORT TO BUNKER 11645 IMMEDIATELY” Echoes through my armor’s speakers, and i’m tremendously grateful for my Singularity helmet.
I might have lost some hearing to the artillery shell, but that would have repopped both drums like a terrible mixtape not even your deaf grandma would love. My feet move, jogging back towards Kerrigan, she’s already up.
“NONCOMPLIANCE DETECTED.” Booms through my speakers, and four Juggernauts change their trajectories.
One is coming straight for me, with a second to back it up. While the other two adjust to cover the holes in their formation. They’re on an intercept course. Destination me. Or really, where I’ll be in five minutes. Napkin math tells of a hundred bunker busting missiles and ten thousand slugs bearing down on me. Chin taps the armor, disconnecting all external communications except for tight beams.
“Kerrigan, tanks are coming, run. I might have to split up don’t let the Juggernauts find you. They’ll put you back in the cage, or kill you.”
“Otay.”
The answer isn’t good enough for me. I sweep her into my arms and sprint down the trench, racing with all the speed I can muster. Power armor does the heavy lifting, but I need more speed. My wishes are granted, servos whining as limiters are exceeded, each step is a twenty foot powered leap. Still too slow.