Inside the command nerve of NOAH, a modified conference hall with floating halo screens and dim lighting, Patriarchs and Wise Men alike watch as their former colleague, David Matchworth, fights one of humanity's most persistent threats, the Swarm, armed only with the very best of military science of their time. Which mostly amounts to putting a man inside a metal suit and giving him a sword.
That is the thought of every man and woman watching this embarrassment live. Politics be damned, a few would think, a punishment more befitting a criminal would be preferable to this display. But politics have become a chief concern in the decade of the war starting. Cold logic yielding to idealism, one unfortunate day at a time.
Chief amongst those who resent this change, was Warrant Officer Brigid. She stared at the screen with barely contained rage, and despite the presence of Wise Men she spoke her peace.
“Utilizing a Goliath in this way is stupid.”
None of the Wise Men turned to face her, but her superior officer General Matthew, drew himself up from a causal slouch, observing the actions recorded by monitoring drones with passive disinterest, to a back straight hard eyed glare. He wasn’t mad, even though from an outsider perspective his brown eyes were like sandstorm, but merely engaged.
He knew the Warrant Officer wasn’t alone in her complaints, “You rather we send the former Patriarch down there naked?”
Brigid turned her eyes from the screen, watching David kill more bugs with clumsy untrained flails were starting to bother her, “What is the goal here? Destroy a mound? Maybe two before he’s ripped out of that suit like a rations can? Did we even give him food in case he survives? Or are we just hoping to collect the Goliath after he starves to death? Or worse use the reclaim-”
“Enough.” The Wise Men speaks. Kimily Spencer is a woman of 500 years of service to the Patriarch System. Though young by Wise Men standards, she is a founding member and an exceptional mind within NOAH, so needless to say it's a rank she earned. The room, once consumed by minor chatter, goes silent, because NOAH, unlike other departments, has adopted a stricter sense of hierarchy as evolutionary response to a culture now faced with war. This is reflected by the simple fact that the Wise Men in other departments can never cow a room of equals into submission quite like the Wise Men from NOAH.
So her next words are followed with the utmost attention, “I will not be repeating the situation that we are in to you of all people Warrant Officer. Like it or not the political realities, as petty and ignorant as they may be to a mind such as yours, are real and deadlier than any gun, sword, and bomb we can produce. We have tried our best to keep the realities of war away from the Council, and after these last few days, I have come to realize that such niceties are a mistake. David Matchworth will not live long enough to be useful to the war effort, he has neither earned or deserved that honor to be of value. However his death will. Whether it's fast and brutal, or slow and agonizing, that footage will be provided to the Council and to any Patriarch ignorant enough to believe in compassion or compromise.”
Propaganda was such an old tactic, Brigid thought, and crude tactic. Effective for some, galvanizing for others. Brigid could only imagine the image of a man, no older or younger than any person you would meet down the hall, being torn apart, or starving in the open plains of North America. For a moment she wondered if she would be put in charge of editing the footage, to maximize shock value… and the idea made her shudder.
Barbaric, she thought.
********
A female swarmling ran ahead of the others to meet me. Her giant egg-sack didn’t slow her down, bouncing up and down as her legs moved like hydraulic pistons. Outside of armor she would have caught me, plowed into me, and turned me in half before I could gargle a scream.
However, in Goliath, the sensors tracked her and my own footsteps, while not incredibly fast, kept me in a bounding, nearly leaping pace, as the armor took the shock of every step to power the next, so that when we would meet, I had time to face her down and spray.
Screech and then pop. I doubt it felt the pain, I think it was merely attempting to start a challenge, one that I answered with napalm. For some reason stealth wasn’t really needed by such a predator creature, something I could take advantage of later if I get to the ridge.
Big fucking if there.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Behind me the swarm is the swarm in its near entirety, the black living monoliths that marked swarm space has been whittle down to tiny little bumps of young hatchlings still eating each other to even notice the mass migration of their parents. The ground is trembling under the stampede of armored chitinous bodies all converging on a single point of interest. Me. And worse their gaining ground. Mostly because I’m slowing down.
Superman serum is a drug that targets the body's fight or flight response, giving me supernatural levels of adrenaline production. An hour of fighting with a near toxic mix of chemicals can only lead to one thing. A crash. And normally that would be the case, but the body is also being instructed to keep me awake and alert at all cost, manipulating both my desire to fight and small prey animal levels of fear needed to keep running. The real downside, is that eventually the body, now being used to its maximum potential, is slowing down, and beginning to cramp up as muscles become overused and sore.
Blame 200 years of living on a spaceship under artificial gravity and sunlight. Or the extended amount of that long lifespan in cryo-sleep. The problem is, real DAVIDS workout constantly to keep the physique necessary to overcome normal human limits and be real superhumans. I alternatively spent my life sitting on a desk, only kept fit by not over indulging in ration cans. Which becomes a slight issue because running in a Goliath suit still requires the muscles of the pilot, which helps conserve energy as the Goliath can borrow from superman strength of the user, instead of the battery like I am currently using. Which means I can move, but progressively slower as the Goliath starts to feel like how people commonly think of armor; heavy, claustrophobic.
Deep breathes, I force myself to take as I push for my only hope. But swarm has other plans-
The blare of alarm from the suit and the swarmlings changes fill my screen and my consciousness. I don’t turn around, eyes forward, eyes forward, as I stumble but right myself and keep the thought of being burrowed beneath million armored bodies behind me.
Run David RUN!
But the sweat and pounding heart and weakening knees tells me to sit and yield. Beg for mercy, ask for a quick death because the everything hurts and god this-
NO!
I push, hard, harder than I ever have before or ever will. Even thoughts of what will happen after I escape, the thought of a life spent being chased, hunted-
NO!
I feel my right leg get ready to give, and when I take my second step I end up crashing. Hard. Breath knocked from me, fear erupting as the expectation of getting swarmed, getting pressed into the dirt and the rock, feeling their mandibles and raptorial talons tap and tap until they find a sem, a wayward bolt and then its rip and rip, tear and tear. Agonying beyond words, panic beyond panic, I fight forward, up, air, gulp, up, knees clear the ground, the armor groans, the internal systems blare proximity warnings and the sound of death surrounds me.
But I am the reaperman!
I climb up, the bugs are within the shadow of the ridge, I hobble forward, my right leg is cramped so badly that my calf is but a knot of thumping pain! I limp forward and away, further into the shadow, further away from death.
Because this shadow hides glimpses of what's to come, they climb up and down the ridge, making the dual cliff faces look like they're moving. Like a mouth coming at me slowly, as the bugs are forced to near a single file. Hungry empty faces, and moving slobbing mandibles, wet with their own blood and fluids.
Yes, come closer.
Why would I think that? Oh, I know why. The plan. The real plan takes shape without me thinking about it. Three napalm cartridges left, now two because I’m pressing one between my metal hands made for grasping power tools in the vacuum of space. I hear the crack of the cartridges and though I don’t feel the ooze of the napalm liquid, the smell hits me all the same.
“Eat it!”
I throw the broken napalm cartridge into the spilling mass of swarmlings, I will the internal system to track its trajectory as it bounces between the giant bodies and lands on the ground, contents still seeping out slowly.
What I’m about to do shouldn’t work. But there is a madness inherent to war and even science. Not knowing if something will work until just the moment you need it. Gambling in its purest form, with the only thing that matters.
But most importantly having the confidence to do so.
“Say hello to the reaper-man.” I scream to creatures who can’t speak english. They only know the metal thing is making a noise and they screech a response. Their mouths are open when I shove napalm down it.
Now the absolute maximum range of the Industrial Incinerator is 125 meters, but for my purposes I needed it to reach the broken napalm cartridge I threw 60 meters away, through a huddle mass of swarmlings whose very bodies are blocking the fire from spreading further than 20 meters. A huddle mass that is pushing into the open flames with no regard to their own safety as the fire covers the narrow ridge, with me holding ground.
“DAMN YOU!”
I squeeze the trigger even harder, at risk of breaking the damn thing as the fire presses into the swarm. Pushing and pushing like a red river against a black rock of obsidian like chiton. Goliath unable to see my target through the fire, only able to guess where it should be. But it doesn’t matter. This is where I stand. Right here.
“RIGHT GOD DAMN HERE YOU GODLESS C-”
And then the world explodes. The miniature burst of exoskeletons becomes a cacophony of orange and yellows, as the ignited canister of napalm drowns out everything in an ocean of heat so intense I almost feel like I’m sitting next to the sun. Now the ridge is divided, between the light of man and the black death that feeds the flame. Eons of evolving without humanity hasn’t prepared for this catastrophe. They inherited the earth with no true predator. Now they have one.
“I win.”
For a few hours anyway.