“Are you sure we can trust him?”
Saccillia stood in a dark room, the projections of an older man stood in front of her, the blue light that made his body flickered every so often. He was wearing the navy-blue of the Migrant Defense Fleet, as well as a military beret in a dark red color. A dark-skinned man hailing from the Migration ship “Memory”, one of the oldest in the fleet. His face was gnarled with scars, like the bark of an old tree, a piece of his lip was missing, and he wore an eye patch over his left eye, forsaking bionics or genetic treatment in favor of staying to his “Natural” roots.
This was Admiral Franklin Yualaka, former Mechanoid pilot and current commander of the Migrant 2nd defense fleet, a war party of ten battleships and various escorts. He commanded from the Athena, a Gaian built warship, and one of the largest in the fleet.
“I can’t say we can trust him.” Saccillia answered. “But Admiral. You’ve seen the schematics I’ve sent you of this man’s Mechanoid. My mechanics couldn’t crack it, and it’s covered in technology not even on archival records. He marked Gibraltar as the meeting point between the three powers, and taking in reports from our outposts out in this part of the Sector. Admiral, there’s no way he could have known that…”
Yualaka’s eye looked away, the admiral was in deep thought.
“What do you think will happen if you give him access to his mechanoid?” He asked.
“I’m not sure. He seems sincere in helping us. Mapno already volunteered to keep an eye on him, and we need another pilot…”
“Your request for a new pilot and the necessary augmentations to the Purgatory is still pending—”
“And, with all due respect, we don’t have time to way, Admiral.” Saccillia countered.
Yualaka took in a deep breath, he pursed his lips and nodded.
“I’ll leave it to your wisdom, Captain.” Said Yualaka.
“Thank you, Admiral.”
The two officers saluted one another, and the projection turned off. Saccillia sighed and, once again, made her way through the dimly lit corridors of her ship. The doors to the hangar opened with a hiss, and she soon spotted this “Varindel” in a new uniform, looking himself over as Kojuen gave him a run down.
“I had to make some adjustments for those ports along your spine.” Kojuen explained. “But the suit is still vacuum sealed, you’ll be able to survive in space without a Mechanoid for a few hours, long enough for a rescue vessel to get to you. In case you get shot down, I mean.”
“Its a bit snug…” Varindel complained.
“Its either that or your guts fly out if the suit rips.” Kojuen countered.
“I guess…”
Kojuen spotted Saccillia and saluted the Captain. She returned the salute and eased him.
“Are you good to fly?” Saccillia turned to Varindel, who nodded with a smile.
“It’s been awhile.” He joked. “But I think I can manage.”
“Good, we’ll be in Gibraltar space in three hours. Once we assess the situation, we’ll need pilots in operation ASAP.”
Varindel stood to attention and saluted a strange, foreign saluted, but then stopped himself and mimicked the salute Kojuen did earlier, the back of the hand against the forehead and an arm behind the back. “I won’t let you down, Ma’am.”
--
Gibraltar, named after the home of it’s founder. It was once a vibrant trading world, set between a dozen inhabited world’s of various alignments, the trade that flowed through it’s star lane made it very rich. Now, with the collapse, Gibraltar is nothing more than a backwater, an industrial planet that produces a certain type of ammunition. The same type of ammunition that the Rurgar produce for their own weapons, and it seems like they require more foundries for said guns.
The Purgatory came out of jump, and even from this distance the crew manning the bridge could see the twinkling of ship guns around the planet. A blue and green jewel in the darkness of space marked with cancers of endless industry across the globe, nature was abundant, but vanishing quickly, struggling to survive under the need of production. The Purgatory vanished into the blackness, it’s stealth engines now primed.
“Approaching Gibraltar.” W announced as the ship almost hesitantly sped forward.
War ships did battle with one another in Gibraltar’s orbit. Saccillia bit the inside of her lip, recognizing one of the factions right away, their dark red and olive green colors familiar even without the scanners.
The Rurgar Collective had come to Gibraltar.
“Just what we need…” Saccillia. “Ensign, do a low-pulse scan of the area. See what we’re dealing with.”
“Right away, Captain.” W responded.
The ship vibrated, sending out a long-range pulse that gently rippled through space. Hopefully, no one was listening. The Gibraltar Defense Fleet was, expectantly, not doing so good against the massive, numerous ships of the clones of Rurgar. But something else caught the eye of the bridge.
“Ensign, whats that?” Saccillia asked, pointing at the unaligned vessel off to the side of the battle.
“Lets take a look…” W pressed a few buttons on his tab. “The ship is registered as the...”Shitkicker” Ma’am. Battlecruiser size, it’s an Apollyon-Class, Captain.”
“An Apollyon!?” She was shocked, a ship of that old of a design out here? “Who does it belong to?”
“A mercenary group by the looks of it. The War-Bastards, under one Captain...Dirk.”
“Dirk?”
“Just Dirk, Ma’am.” W Confirmed. “It looks like both the Natives and the Rurgar are sending messages back and forth with the Shitkicker. I guess they’re waiting to see who can outbid the other.”
“Really now…” It gave Saccillia and idea. “Send a request to the...Shitkicker… Tell them we’re willing to negotiate.”
The extra hands, and extra eyes, would be a big help, especially on a planet of Gibraltar. Many things could be said about registered mercenaries, but you can’t accuse them of being dishonest. If the pay is right.
“Link is made, Captain, you’re clear.” W nodded.
“Attention Mercenary Vessel: Shitkicker.” Saccilia tried to sound as professional as she could, despite the ship’s name. “This is the Gaian Migrant patrol ship: Purgatory. Please respond.”
The comm came to life with an automated voice. “One moment please!”
The voice went blank and was replaced by very tacky elevator music. Everyone on the bridge looked at one another awkwardly before the comm came back, and what sounded like a telephone being picked up could be heard. There was no visual on the person speaking, and the screen ahead of them merely said “Voice only.”
“What do you want, Void-born?” A man’s voice asked.
“Are you Dirk?” Saccillia asked.
“You asked for me, didn’t you?”
“I assume the reason that you aren’t currently engaged is that you haven’t come to an agreement with either side in this conflict?” She asked him.
“I have an old-tech Battleship and some of the best ATAC pilots in the Seraph Sector, and these assholes are offering me fucking chump change in return.” Dirk explained. “But the garbage their offering me in scrap far exceeds what the Gaians can offer us.”
ATAC: All Terrain Armored Combatant, a post Long War type of mech. They’ve become more popular and widely available as of late, a perfect in-between from Armored Troopers and Mechanoids. Unable to fight in space without heavy modifications, but they do well enough in atmosphere.
If he’s vouching for his pilots, Saccillia assumed that Mechanoids were off the table for these Mercs.
But you can’t say no to skilled pilots…
“What are they offering?” Saccillia asked. “Maybe we can come to an agreement.”
“The Gibs are offering local currency and a year worth of ammo and ATAC parts. And the Rurgar are offering a warehouse of weapons and not to kill us.”
“Tough choice.” Saccillia remarked jokingly.
She rubbed her chin, her artificial eyes glowing as she considered. Then, she came to a conclusion.
“What do you have planetside?” She asked.
“Why, are you selling info to the Gibs or the Vats?” Dirk asked in return.
“We have to stake in either. We’re here for our own reasons, and rather neither side got in our way…”
“Alright then.” Dirk said. “Make an offer.”
Saccillia paused, looked around, and then came to a solution.
“How does 100% of the scrap sound?” Saccillia offered. “Not a percentage, everything you and your men kill is yours to keep and salvage.”
There was some murmurring on the other side, Saccillia sweetened the deal.
“And food.”
There was a pause in the murmuring.
“Food?” Dirk asked.
“Real food. No artificials, not cloned or tube-bred. Real meat and vegetables. The Migrant Fleet has several agricultural ships. We’d be more than happy to give you your share...If you accept our arrangement.”
There was a long pause, followed by more murmuring. Saccillia distinctly heard the sentence--
“When was the last time we had bacon…?”
“Alright, Gaian.” Dirk spoke up again. “You drive a hard bargain.”
The communications cut, and was followed by an open communication to all sides in this conflict.
“Attention, everyone idiot that can hear this. We here at War-Bastards have decided that our allegiance will go to the nice and welcoming people of the Purgatory of the Gaian Migrant Fleet. We apologize to anyone that couldn’t come to an agreement with us, we hope you have a nice day.”
The announcement suddenly ended and the comm between the Purgatory and the Shitkicker once again activated.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Where do you need to be?” Dirk asked.
“From what we can gather, Sector A-12.”
“Well Lucky you then, I have an FOB set up in Sector A-10. I’ll have my boys make a perimeter LZ for yours.”
“Roger. Just--...Try not to kill too many of the Natives. I feel like they have enough problems.”
“If the Gibs don’t shoot at us we won’t shoot at them.” Dirk reassured. “However, we’re on a KTF with the Rurgar. See you planetside.”
As the comms ended, the Purgatory rumbled and shook, Saccillia had to stop herself from almost falling over.
“Ensign, report!” She ordered.
“We just got hit with an interdiction field!” W responded. “Someone has us locked in! We can’t jump!”
“Who would…” There was a comm request on her screen, W patched it through.
The sight of the being glaring back at them made Saccillia wince. His body was covered in a large, carapace armor, the bulk giving him a hunched back. The creature’s face was bare and pale, his skin looked as though it was melting from his face. He bore his crooked, jagged teeth and looked into Saccillia’s augmented eyes with squishy, beady red ones.
“NATURAL SCUM!” The creature insulted with a guttural voice, as though speaking Saccillia’s language pained him greatly. “YOU DARE STAND AGAINST THE GREAT RURGAR COLLECTIVE!? YOU WILL FACE THE MIGHT OF WAR-GENERAL KREG!”
“His name is “Craig?” W whispered.
“We have no quarrel with you, War-General.” Said Saccillia, holding her ground. “Let us find what we are looking for and we’ll be on our way…”
Kreg let out a mix between a growl and a roar, shaking his head before smashing a close fist gauntlet against his command module.
“YOU WILL RUE THE DAY, NATURALS! WE HAVE YOUR GENERAL AREA LOCKED DOWN! PREPARE TO DIE! GLORY TO THE RURGAR! GLORY TO THE CREATOR GOD!”
The comm went dead.
“They’ll find us on scanners sooner or later.” Said W, looking at his Captain.
Saccillia took in a deep breath. “Tell the Mechanoid pilots to get ready. And Tell Lucian that he and his men are needed…”
--
A vessel launched from the Purgatory, a comparatively small one fired from a tube like a torpedo. It was cylinder in shape, piloted by an A.I. guidance system. Inside were twenty humanoids, and ahead of all of them was a man of olive complexion, his hair long and violet. Jagged, dagger-like horns protruded from his skull, another Abhuman of unknown origins. This was Lucian, the commander of the Marine contingent aboard the Purgatory. He was a built man, 185Ibs in weight, but in his chrome silver power armor, he was well over 800Ibs.
The other marines were of similar stature, sitting in their places and preparing their gear. Each one carried a battle rifle with a HUD system linked to their helmets, which itself was rounded with two red slits for eye-visors. The digital HUD in their helmets gave them all the information they need, from the status of the rest of their squads, to the ammo still in their weapons, to the status of their own suits, diagnostics, targeting systems, no one was in the dark during boarding operations.
Lucian inhaled the recycled air within the boarding tube one last time before putting on his own helmet, one that was modified to accommodate his horns. The helmet sealed with the rest of the suit, allowing the suit itself to turn on all of it’s systems. The servos in the joints as well as the synthetic muscles underneath the armor came to life, giving the marines an enormous advantage in strength and speed.
He turned around to the rest of the boarding party. One marine injected a combat stim into the injection port on his armor, his back arching as the man inside the suit inhaled sharply. Another sharpened a non-issued combat knife on his arm before slotting it into a scabbard he made himself.
“ETA: 5 minutes” The A.I piloting the torpedo announced.
“Listen up, Marines.” Lucian began. “Our objective is to disengage the enemy’s interdiction systems, once that is done, the Purgatory can move and vanish again into dark space before our jump out of this shithole. We’re dealing with Rurgar clones, so everyone is on a KTF basis. I don’t want you guys to get all mushy, if it looks like walking rotten meat, blast it.”
“Aye, sir.” The marines responded.
KTF: Kill Them First. A Seraph way of saying “With extreme prejudice.”
“ETA: 3 Minutes.” The A.I. announced.
The Marines stood up from their seats and made two lines, ten marines deep. They checked their weapons one more time before Lucian took his place ahead of them.
“ETA: 30 seconds.”
The Rurgar warship spotted them, the space around their torpedo coming alive with flak fire, the rounds popping soundlessly in space. One round met its mark but bounced off the torpedos hull, and now it was too late, bypassing the defenses and moving at just the speed to ignore the ship’s shields. The torpedo smashed into the side of the vessel with a thunderous roar. Several of the guards on the ship die instantly, the front of the torpedo crushing them or smearing them into the metal.
The torpedo came to a halt within a hallway leading from one section to the other. The left of the torpedo opened, it’s door smashing into the hull below as the Gaian Marines poured out.
The shouts and the war cries of the Rurgar in their guttural language was drown out by the roar of gun fire, the marine’s weapons tore into armor and flesh alike as the first responders were butchered en masse.
“Both squads, on me.” Lucian ordered with a motion of two fingers.
He led his marines through the ship, whatever anxiety he did feel was quickly compensated for by his suits internal systems. Another enemy came around the corner, but was rewarded with a slug to the skull, destroying his head in a shower of brain and bone. Lucian’s suit moved with the targeting system in his HUD, allowing him to fire the instant a target became visible.
“This is Lucian, we’re moving to objective now!” He announced over his comms.
--
Warrior-41451-90A-91B stood in the front of the dark hull of the drop ship he was assigned to. A cocktail of combat drugs and suppressants flowed through his veins like blood. Every breath was heavy, and he snarled with every exhale. This was his first battle, a newborn vat-whelp, he has not yet earned a true name.
“Calypso” would be his name if he were to survive this war, a target count of killing 50 of the inferiors would earn him a rank as well, and his second war would earn him the surname of “Rurgar” their true liege, his Gene-Father: The Creator God.
He stood in the box like drop ship with 199 other Vat-Whelps, having not earned the right to embark into war in the larger, more glorious army carrier, the 200 of them would have to earn glory away from the main army, vanguards in the battles ahead.
“Prepare to disembark, Vat-Whelps.” The voice announced over the Drop ship’s speakers. “Glory to the Creator God-- Glory to Rurgar!”
The 200 screamed their exaltations to their Gene-Father, raising their weapons into the air, it took great restraint not to fire them within the drop ship. All he had to do was live, and kill 50 of the inferiors, and he would be “Calypso” he would be a true Rurgar.
The drop ship smashed into the ground of the planet below, and the drop ships ramp began to lower. Rurgar saw the daylight of the planet that would soon be theirs.
And then he was dead.
Across the field stood a ATAC unit, armed with a large anti-material rifle.
“I’m a Barbie girl…” The pilot inside mumbled the words to the ancient Terran song that was playing in the old CD player within the cockpit of his ATAC. “...In a Barbie world…”
He controlled his ATAC to pull back on the bolt of it’s weapon, ejecting a spent cartridge from the ejection port. The metal cartridge crashed into the ground below, it’s weight would be destroyed any civilian vehicle it would land on.
Before him, over a mile away, was the remains of a Rurgar drop ship, now reduced to a pile of burning metal and meat. That would put Borb’s kill count today up to 217, technically.
“Drop ship down.” Borb announced, turning on his communications unit through his neural helmet. “But it looks like we got an army carrier coming this way.”
“Those clones like to die, huh?” A voice over the comm asked.
“Wouldn’t know, I’ve never been able to speak to one about it.” Said Borb. “I can’t understand their dog shit language.”
“Well alright. Regroup with Vice and the others, we’ll see you soon.”
“Roger.”
Borb closed the comms and span his unit around in an 180, with the use of his leg thrusters before speeding away, leaving the carnage behind.
“Come on Barbie, lets go party…” He mumbled.
--
Varindel watched with curiosity and two Mechanoids were loaded onto a large drop ship, the machine was built to accompany Mechanoids in groups of four, but this wasn’t something he had knowledge of.
“Its so they don’t burn up in atmosphere.” Kojuen explained. “Usually we drop pod them in, but the Captain doesn’t want to move the ship, unless we want to tip the Rurgar off to where we are.”
“We didn’t use these where I came from.” Varindel explained.
“Oh? What did you use?” Kojuen asked.
“Our shields would resist re-entry.” Varindel said.
Kojuen watched him as Varindel approached his own Mechanoid. “That’s nuts…”
Varindel climbed into the seat of his similarly named Mechanoid, the cockpit opened as he touched the side. Sitting inside, the injectors in the back stabbed into his spin. Varindel exhaled in pain as the Mechanoid’s systems became one with his mind.
“Save them.” The voice ordered again.
“I don’t know how…” He whispered back.
As the Mechanoid came to life, the ship’s alarm system came out. Varindel looked up, the head of his machine doing the same. He saw what the machine saw as if they shared eyes.
“Heads up.” A voice came over his comm, he recognized it as that pilot named Mapno. “Rurgars are scrambling fighters.”
“Fighters?” Another voice spoke up. Raijin. “How…”
“Primitive…” Varindel mumbled.
“Well, I was going to say “rudimentary” but that works too.”
Varindel took in a breath. “Captain Saccillia. I’m going to intercept the fighters.”
“What, by yourself?” She asked.
“They know what direction we’re coming from. If they hit the drop ship, everyone is dead.” He explained. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch up.”
There was moment of silence before Saccillia spoke again.
“Permission granted.”
The hangar came alive as the port opened, the drop ship’s engine ignited and began its trek towards the planet. Varindel stood at the edge of the ship and space. He closed his eyes, taking in the silence of his cockpit.
“Lets go. Varindel.” He said.
Raising his arms to his sides, the machine tilted forward, and floated into the nothingness. The wings on it’s back spread and glowed a bright red, launching it forward past the drop ship.
Rurgar Vultures come in squadrons of 10 within an attack group of 100. it is seen as a dishonor within their culture, to be forever nameless. Those who are injured in battle are not worth the prosthetic required to make them combat effective once again, and a non-combative Vat-warrior cannot kill the inferiors.
As punishment for this insult, the injured Rurgar is welded into the cockpit of the Vulture, forever melded into their machines and expected to fight, and die, in said vessels.
“Something just appeared on sensors.” The leading captain of the attack group announced. “Single target, advancing on us. The fool comes to die.”
Suddenly, a silver Mechanoid blasts past the attack group captain, his vulture splits in half and explodes a second later.
“Group leader is dead! I will take char-” Another announced but then joins his captain a moment later.
One after another, the Vulture’s go up in flames, either split in half with some sort of weapon or crushed under an immense wait. Varindel looks back at his work, a thousand souls send screaming into the void.
He felt out of breath, inhaling sharply, he began to regret not grabbing a weapon from the hangar.
“The enemy attack group just went silent.” Saccillia’s voice came over the comm. “...That was you, wasn’t it?”
“The one and only.” Varindel replied with a smile.
“Well don’t worry.” A new voice started, Varindel recognized it as Ensign W. “There’s more.”
Varindel turned his machine back to the battle between the Gibraltar and the Rurgar, he then noticed the next, larger group of attack crafts coming his way.
“Fine…” He muttered. “I got it.”
--
Lucian and his attack team continued their advanced down the warship’s halls. More Rurgar joined the battle and quickly died under a hail of depleted uranium fired at near the speed of light from the Gaian Marine’s battle rifle. They were down five men, caught off guard during their attack through larger Rurgar corridors. The ship was smeared with gore on the inside, thousands of Vat-Warriors had paid the price for the five Gaian’s that had died.
Only one obstacle remained before they reached the bridge, a reinforced sliding door, scanners had revealed a large contingent of Vat-Warriors on the other side.
“SD. Breach and Kill.” Lucian ordered.
A single marine charged forward from the rest of the group. Belonging to a tribe residing in the colony ship known as Ulaanbataar. A small tribal society living on deck 41 of the colony ship, within his tribe of warriors, he is known as “Satirical Demon” although the meaning of the name is unknown. Lucian has come to call them “SD” for short.
Satirical Demon charged past his squad leader, and with the help of his suit’s thrusters, he charged into the door shoulder first. The door buckled and snapped from its reinforcements, smashing into the metal flooring and sliding across the hull. The Marines poured in under continuous fire from the Rurgar.
Ahead of the enemy was a larger Warrior, a Vat-Champion. He was armed with two rudimentary war axes, the blades of their heads hyper heated with the generators within the weapons. He snarled in his native tongue and aimed his weapon towards Satirical Demon.
The Marine didn’t accept the challenge, instead he activated the thrusters along the left side of his suit. In one swift motion, he drew his personal combat knife, an heirloom from his colony ship, and held it in a reverse grip. Sparks flew from the hull underneath him as he span past the Vat-Champion, dragging his blade across the clone’s neck in passing.
The steel cut through metal and flesh, slicing through the Champion’s neck flesh to the bone of it’s spine. His head peeled backwards with a sickening noise, the skull dangling at the bone while the Champion stumbled, gurgled, and then died.
Satirical Demon sheathed his knife and shouldered his rifle again, joining the rest of the fire team in the slaughter. Lucian flinched as Jeriah’s suit gave to enemy fire, the man inside falling over as his flesh popped and melted under the hyper heated ammunition of the Rurgar weapons. That was six now.
The marines spread along the corridor, entrapping the Rurgar within its darkness as they fired into them. Their armor gave way quickly, the meat inside shredding to pieces as metals tore them apart. Soon they were all dead, and the marines could continue their advance.
The bridge was lightly defended, at least compared to the entrance corridor. The Rurgar within roared a challenged but were quickly cut down. Ripped apart by gun fire or torn apart by the hands of the marine’s with their enhanced strength.
Lucian exhaled and drew the programming spike from his gauntlet, he stabbed it into the main module of the Rurgar’s warship.
“We’re in. Saccillia you should have control now.”
“That we do, Squad-leader.” Saccillia replied. “Interdiction field is down, good work. We’re sending someone to pick you up.”
“What about the ship?” Lucian asked.
“We’ll turn its guns on the rest of the fleet and then scuttle it.”
“Dirty.” Lucian laughed. “I like it.”
--
Borb’s ATAC came to a stop, a battleship Gray machine with the name “MATCHLOCK” printed across the leg. Ahead of him was another ATAC, a white machine with a purple colored head mount, the name “PRIMAL” printed across it’s leg.
“What’dya see?” Vice asked over the comms.
“Vat-babies up the ass, what else?” Borb responded. “Where’s Vausten?”
“I’m here.” A new voice replied. “Kind of fucked my thrusters, but nothing a field repair couldn’t unfuck.”
“And Squad 2?” Borb asked.
“Off flat-lining the clones south from here.” Said Vice. “They’ll be coming back this way when the Void-borns get their asses down here.”
“That looks like them now.” Borb said, turning his machine’s head upwards.
A dropship came down from the sky, dark metal colored, its hatches open and two Mechanoids dropped to the ground. One blue with the face of a demon, the other was red and white, larger, with more traditional military hardware.
“You guys the Gaians?” Vice asked over open comms.
“That’s us.” Mapno responded.
“Wow, TWO whole Mechanoids.” Borb commented. “What, you win them in a raffle or something?”
“Two more than you.” Raijin replied.
“True.” Borb’s ATAC shrugged.
“So what’s the plan?” Mapno asked.
“We’ve been body piling the Clones out here for the last two hours, so the way should be clear.” Vice explained. “But once we get to the sector over, we’re going to be in the shit.”
“Oh?”
“The Gibs and the Clones are going at it hard in Sector A-12.” Borb joined the conversation. “A real fucking shit show. If we’re going that way, we’re going to have to blast everything in sight.”
Something caught their eye as they spoke, a glint of silver in the sky. The Varindel approached, atmospheric re-entry burning around it’s shields before it landed softly on the ground, the grass underneath it’s feet burning at the touch.
Borb whistled. “Who’s this guy?”
“A new guy.” Said Raijin.
“Nice rig.” Vice complimented. “Where’d you get it?”
“It’s a long story.” Varindel answered. “So what’s the plan?”
“The plan is we strap up and KTF anything on the way to your objective.” Borb explained. “You know where it is, right?”
The comm unit began to garble on both the Mechanoid team and the Mercenary team, a new, unfamiliar voice joined the conversation.
“Attention, all Mercenary and Unknown forces in the area.” A voice began. “I am General Navarro of the Gibraltar Defense force. I have come to you with a request…”
----