My people knew that the Confederate Armed Services controlled most, if not all, of their battlefield assets with massive strange-matter particle supercomputers in a vast interlocked network that allowed military units on other planetary bodies in a stellar system to react to actions on a different planet.
My people spent years and untold amounts of treasure and man-hours to figure out a way to break that combat information and coordination network. We sought to figure out how to jam quantum communication, paired spooky and strange-matter particles, and everything else involved in that overlapping and complex battlefield tactical network.
Have mercy upon us.
We succeeded.
For a few moments, only a few, the Terrans and their allies were thrown into confusion. My people pressed the attack, sought out engagements, thinking that this was it. The secret to victory. That we could do what none other had done and defeat the Terran Confederacy of Aligned Systems in open battle.
Then we heard it over com channels that suddenly opened up across the entire theater.
A female primate saying "CASCADE DATA FAILURE: REVERTING TO LOCAL CONTROL" and then there was a split second of silence before we heard it.
The scream.
Not of fear. Not of terror. Not of alarm.
Maybe it wasn't a scream. Not as my people know it.
It was a blood curdling vocalization of pure and unrestrained joy and malice.
Six hours later Captain Manuel G. Trucker drove his tank through the planetary command center and ran over the system offensive coordinator laughing "I'M GOING TO RUN YOU OVER! EVENTUALLY!" while his tank company reduced the entire intelligence coordination base to burning rubble.
The slaughter was... awe inspiring.
I survived by curling up in a ball and screaming "NOT THE FACE!" when the Terran infantryman yanked me through the sidewall of the APC I was riding in before they pulled a grenade off my own harness and threw it into the breached APC.
I spent 2 months in an internment camp, Treana'ad spirit healers helping me get over the night terrors that left me screaming in the dark. Memories of "GOTCHA!" and those armored hands closing on my power armor's shoulders leaving me urine and sweat soaked, staring blindly at the ceiling and screaming.
So, you want my advice on how to break apart the Terran Confederate Armed Services battlefield tactical information network?
Here's my advice.
Don't.
The vast supercomputer arrays that control that network are merely strings of logic and unfeeling code. It merely computes and uses predictive analysis to determine the most optimal way of defeating you with the least amount of infrastructure damage, the minimum amount of collateral damage and casualties, and the bare minimum amount of deaths on both sides.
You will face the Terran battlefield tactical information, analysis, control network. A thing of pure logic that controls the most fearsome military machine the known galaxy has ever seen.
Underneath it all lies a sheer malevolent pleasure and joy in combat that it takes a starship full of those supercomputers to keep it under control.
My advice?
Leave the Terrans and their allies alone.
See, they want you to try to jump them. They have sexually erotic dreams about your people attacking them. They gain a psycho-sexual thrill of the idea of pitting themselves against you.
Destroying your armies.
Burning your cities.
And taking your life.
Because this, this is the real truth: Nobody wants that battlefield and theater tactical information and control network to collapse more than they do.
From the newest hatched Treana'ad warrior caste, the most cunning Digital Sentience, the half-baked clone warrior, to the youngest green mantid, to the most battle hardened Terran.
They want you to disrupt that network.
Because then, what happens, will be nobody's fault but your own. - Interview of Street Sweeper Second Class Hruk
Imna tried to keep close to the Captain, but the way he just steadily advanced, using that SMG to clear the way in front of him and the cutting bar and the power armor's great strength to clear the way around him, often left her trying to play catch-up.
Despite all the sims saying that she should have been swarmed under when the tentacles creatures rushed the small group, the Captain never let the creatures get by him. A smashing blow from the cutting bar or the fist holding the SMG sent the attacker crashing to the floor, only for one of the heavy boots to crush the life from them with one hard stomp that spewed guts and fluids around the carcass in a gory halo.
The force lance in her hands was held at ready arms, across her chest in a forty-five degree angle, the 'hot end' of the lance above her left shoulder.
The entire time they moved in on where the micro-drones had spotted the enemy, she fired exactly twice. Once when a tentacles creature burst from a vent and a single shot from her leveled lance blew out the conical body and left the tentacles to fall to the deck to twist mindlessly for a few seconds.
The second time one lunged at her from a suddenly opened door. She thrust the lance into the gaping maw that made up the wider part of the cone, the spiraling lines of teeth leading into the red glow at the back. She thrust it deep and followed reflexes semi-burned in by time in the VR practice range.
She squeezed the control so the lance fired, to clear the wound and allow her to pull the lance free without fluid-lock holding it in place.
In the VR sim the targets merely flashed and vanished.
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In real life the creature exploded into rags of steaming flesh.
She gagged inside her armor, swallowing down her gorge.
Up ahead the Captain smashed two of the creatures to the floor and stomped on them. One tried to scrabble away with its tentacles but was still smushed flat by the next step.
After several hours of work, the small group of two Telkan, a whatever the XO was (she could never remember), and the Captain were on the mag-lev tram that would take them to back to the Nell of Night where the next stage would be determined.
"Not a bad little bit of exercise," the Captain suddenly said. He had his helmet off, looking calm and at ease.
"If you say so, sir," the XO (Hetmitt? Hemmit? Hamtwik? Hetmwit? Imna couldn't remember) from where he was sitting down cleaning his rifle.
The Captain chuckled. "We're alive, unwounded. The enemy has been destroyed as far as the drones we have searching the station have been able to tell us," he paused for a second, touching his temple. "Mister Enduring, what is your status for database and computer system penetration?"
There was silence for a moment before the static filled hissing voice of the Digital Sentience Enduring Hateful Code replied.
"I have built software interface modules to translate their base-8 code and their software into one more comfortable for me to interact with. I have begun examination of the system, prioritizing the search for logs and records," the DS said, grinding shards of glass together in its voice.
"Good man," the Captain said. "Look for any navigational data. I want to find out where they come from before we return to Dominion Space."
"Not Confederate?" Wrexit asked from where he was cleaning the macroplas cover over the grav-emitters on his gravity fist.
"Negative. The Confederacy is more concerned with stopping the Mar-gite and the doing something about the creation of the fence. We're supposed to find out who, where, what, how, and why," Captain Decken said. He looked around as the strange architecture, looking almost biologically extruded, moved by. "The problem with Hellspace is it alters construction and architecture so we don't know what all of this looked like originally."
Wrexit nodded, carefully unsnapping the cover so he could clean the inside of it.
"What happens next?" Imna asked.
Captain Decken looked thoughtful for a moment.
"We're already deep enough into Hellspace we don't need to keep the Hellcores charged. I have a feeling that we'll be going deeper in," he tapped the side of his SMG with his trigger finger. "There's no known landmarks, no known way of determining landmarks. Hellspace transit has always been time based," he shook his head. "We see if we can get coordinates, directions, something. Barring that, we'll hope to follow one of the ships already docked."
"Ships that appear to be on some sort of automatic autonomous function," Enduring Hateful Code whispered.
Imna just nodded.
"Have you been able to break their navigation system?" Decken asked.
"Soon. Very soon, Captain," Enduring whispered. He paused a moment. "And then I will kill you all," he said softly, almost imperceptibly. "Kill each of you and wear your ID header code as decorations to remind me of your screams."
The Captain just nodded, like the statement didn't matter. "Excellent, Mister Enduring," he said. "Keep up the good work."
Again, Imna felt her hackles raise.
She had it explained to her. That Enduring had survived something called Shade Night even after being attacked by phasic entities. That he had survived the Terran Xenocide Event, something she had learned about only in Ancient Galactic History, and only a paragraph on it at the most.
Enduring had been driven mad by his experiences, and it was reflected in how his digital body was made up of shattered pieces of glass, mirror, and stained glass. It was displayed in his tone of voice, his word choice.
And the whispered threats.
The line squealed slightly before the metallic 'klink' let her know that Enduring Hateful Code had logged off.
"As soon as we get a method of moving to the next point, I want all of you to train together and with me, as well as with the Marines," Captain Decken said.
Super Slugger nodded his robotic head. Imna started to wonder where the robot had gotten the red bandanna to tie just above his eyes but then just decided not to worry about it. Mister Hefty had an armored vest on with "BORN TO BE JUNKED" spray painted on the back and a broken gear attached to his helmet with "GRINDER BAIT" written above it in block letters.
She noted that all of the robots seemed to have picked up pieces of armor, protective gear, even weaponry. Mister Ackerman had a shotgun and Mister Mustang was twirling a knife between the fingers of his left hand.
Of course, Wrexit had "ONE LAST SCORE" written on the upper back of his armor with "5TH STREET" written at an angle from his left hit to his right shoulder on the back. Imna could see the white circles around his eyes through the transparent faceplate.
For a moment, she wondered how her armor was altered.
She leaned back, too tired to worry about it.
Whatever is going to happen, is going to happen, and I might as well stop worrying about it, she thought to herself.
0-0-0-0-0
Captain Decken stared at Enduring Hateful Code as the DS showed the smallest of the ships attached to the octopus-like space station.
"It can be crewed by robotic crew members," Enduring said. He muttered under his breath. "So I can airlock all of you."
"And it has a destination loaded into the automatic piloting system?" Decken asked.
"Yes, sir," Enduring hissed. He muttered another threat, but Imna wasn't really paying attention and missed it.
It was getting normal. She would probably notice if he didn't threaten everyone every few seconds.
"Excellent," Decken said. "Are the onboard automatic systems responding?"
"Yes, Captain," Enduring said.
Decken turned to the small mammal that Imna could never remember the name of. "Do you concur, Number One?"
The XO nodded. "Yes, Captain. I checked the OS. It's two point two billion lines of code, so I basically ran corruption and data fragmentation checks, but it all checks out. The robots are stable."
Decken nodded, turning back to the holotank and making a 'hmm' noise as he rubbed his jaw.
After a moment he straightened up, clapping his hands together. "All right. We'll send the ship first and follow."
Imna just nodded.
Decken turned to his XO. "Let's get it done."
Hetmwit just nodded, reaching out and grabbing his toolkit.
0-0-0-0-0
The engines were humming as Imna took her turn on the bridge. She'd replaced Wrexit only two hours before, leaving just her, Captain Decken, and Hetmwit the XO on the bridge.
The holotank came to life and Enduring Hateful Code floated in the middle.
"Hellspace sensors has picked up something," he hissed.
"Let's see it," Captain Decken smiled.
The holotank rezzed and a black shape appeared. Twisted and deformed.
"Object is eight hundred kilometers long, two hundred kilometers thick," Enduring said.
Imna blinked her eyes. It looked biological. She could see a head, wings, claws, a tail.
"Hellspace dragon," Decken mused. "Alive or dead?"
The wings suddenly extended and it tilted before dwindling away to nothing.
"Alive," Decken said. He shifted on the command chair and rubbed the side of his face. "Another data point to support those who believe they were native to this place."
"They burn like any other fleshie," Enduring stated softly.
"Yes, but they yet leave," Decken said. "What strange things in eons lie."
"And even death may die," Enduring replied. "Not an exact quote, Captain."
"Far from it," Decken chuckled. "I haven't read those stories in at least sixty years. Not since the Mythos Literary Revival just prior to the Glassing."
"I hate you," Enduring muttered. "I just hate everything else more."
"I know," Decken said. He looked around then leaned back in his chair.
"Contact lost," Enduring said.
"Keep up the scanning. We're deep now, deep enough that Hellspace itself is charging out Hellcores. This is undiscovered country," Decken finished.
"Aye, Captain," Enduring said.
Imna went back to staring at the forward viewscreen, watching the swirling red and black colors.
0-0-0-0-0
"Exiting in three... two... one... mark!" Decken said sharply.
The bridge of the Nell seemed for a split second like it was engulfed in flames.
The flames shattered into reddish graffiti and vanished.
The viewscreens came on.
Two stellar masses came in to view, burning in the center of the forward viewscreen. Stars appeared.
"Get on the nav-stars, see if you can find them. Find out where we are," Decken ordered.
Imna felt a slight flutter of fear in her stomach, staring at the orangish stellar masses.
"Coming back now," Enduring stated. There was silence a moment. "Eight gas giants. Nine orbital bodies, two in the green, two in the amber."
"Any signals?" Decken asked.
"RF and microwave. Parsing," Enduring stated. "Location confirmed."
"Where are we?" Captain Decken asked.
The map appeared. The image was of a galactic arm. A pulsing dot was only a third up the arm from the galactic core.
Enduring's voice held a hiss of malevolent pleasure.
"Scutum-Centaurus Arm."