The near silent whirr of Shade’s engines was drowned out by the sounds the Determinators made as they performed minor repairs on themselves and each other in the now highly upgraded craft’s hull. What had once been a personal vehicle of mine had now evolved into what could only be called a mobile base. The vessel was fifty meters from end to end, and twenty meters wide in the body. Six wings, two hard angled to face forward parallel to the cockpit and the other four mounted near the center of the ship, kept the vessel stable in flight, whereas a collection of twelve engines, most inactive at any given time, gave it ample power to increase speed and perform jaw-dropping maneuvers if required.
Truth be told, the design was heavily influenced by the eventuality that I would be transitioning Shade into a space-worthy vessel capable of leaving the atmosphere. The engines, however, were a major limiter, given that we were still working on ion thrusters and other analogues.
Even so, this was more than enough for my current needs. As I stalked the bridge, idly looking at the various Determinators plugged into consoles, I considered the information I had on hand. We’d been hunting after holdout pockets of biotics for weeks in North America, but thus far we’d experienced mixed results. The attacks themselves always reaped a huge toll in biotics, but as of late they were becoming harder and harder to pin down.
It was entirely possible that The King had survived this long - I would be surprised if it hadn’t - and that creature represented the biggest threat to the continent since the Angler nearly a year ago. Given how long it had survived, there was a distinct probability that we were looking at a Gen 4 biotic, perhaps even a Gen 5, and worse, that it was intelligent enough to avoid direct confrontation.
That suspicion didn’t do my Legion much good. This particular unique biotic had escaped from us once already and unless one of the other organizations in the area had destroyed it - which we would most certainly have heard about from some of our more vocal neighbors - it was safe to assume that any biotic of that level wouldn’t fall prey to another. Regrettably, I knew that this particular biotic was a non-combatant, and knew that it would avoid the frontlines at all costs. Even in South America, with the Zombie Factory Gen 4, the biotic in question was aggressive enough to bait into a confrontation. The King had actively fled and done everything in its power to ensure we couldn’t pursue it.
A beeping at the periphery of my senses brought my attention back to the present. With a gesture, I transferred the incoming call onto the holographic display in front of my command seat. The cool black steel shifted to expose crystal rails that refracted light upwards. A far cry from the initial technology we used, the colors quickly filled into the display, portraying the face of one of my premier team leaders in rich detail.
“Domino, hello,” I nodded to him, “Do you have a report?”
“Matt.” The man nodded warmly in greeting, “Yeah, we’ve just cleared the nest up in the northern range. We kept a lookout for anything strange, and turns out we’ve got tunnels just like what you had.”
I frowned, “Damn. I hoped it was isolated. Did the biotic get away?”
“No, it looks like the tunnel collapsed on top of it. We didn’t have much left to do after we dug it out. Looks like our big bad cuts ties fast.” He sighed, looking distracted.
“Well, for the moment we’ll have to point our satellites at the area, but I’m not holding out any hope of them detecting anything. We haven’t to this point.” I spoke, noting the crease in Domino’s brow. “Did the operation go smoothly?”
After a moment's hesitation, he shook his head, “Somewhat. Just a little bit of internal strife. We’ve got one of the new teams with us and… well, their personalities rubbed some of my vets the wrong way.”
I considered that carefully for a moment before speaking, “Hmm… The command of your team is ultimately with you, but if you need any advice…”
“I appreciate that,” he said, forcibly loosening his shoulders, “It’s nothing time and some… discipline won’t fix.”
I arched an eyebrow at that, but nodded nonetheless, “Well, keep me updated. I’ll be back at HQ within-” I mentally checked my GPS, “-thirty minutes or so. What’re you planning?”
“We’re going to head back south, hit up some local Basilisk outposts and see if we can bunk in the area for a while. Figure that I can kill two birds with one stone, scout the area, get my team straight. If we find any sign of our biotics, I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good,” I nodded, and then after remembering something added, “I’ve already updated Adira on the situation, but reach out to Strauss, I think he and his crew are nearby.”
Domino nodded, “Alright. Talk to you later, boss.”
I cut the feed even as I brought up more information that the Legion had come across. With no flesh and blood thing on board the ship, it was easy for me to get lost in the data, something that I’d grown progressively fond of doing. It was meditative in a way that speaking with others was not, even as I realized that I found myself needing less and less contact with others as the days wore on. Not that it was surprising considering that I’d had much less in common with most people now than I’d had before.
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I didn’t need to sleep much at all, nor did I require much food or water. Aside from my inhuman appearance, I also knew that my emotional state had become much more muted. In some ways, that had been a good thing. After the campaign in South America, another wave of retirements had occurred within the Legion. Not surprising, considering the husks of previously living things we’d had to fight through, all too many of which had once been human.
No, I counted my current state of being to be a stroke of good fortune. Still, there were times…
A Determinator chimed into my thoughts, letting me know that we were on approach for the New Damond Spaceport. Mentally sending my thanks, I turned my gaze to the city.
It had grown considerably since it had first been conceived. What I’d initially intended to be a military complex had grown to become a juggernaut of a fortress-city. The first thing I noticed were the black buildings laced with shining red and obsidian complements, many of which now bore extreme feats of visual engineering. The New Damond Spaceport was one such construction, featuring eight runways and dozens of landing pads, some of which were our speciality hot-pads for catching orbital drops, albeit those were farther to the edge of the city in the event that something went wrong. Every runway and pad was outfitted to accommodate any kind of air or space craft, something that had become necessary as the Titherin Mercantile Group needed to make repeat visits as they sorted out local economic policy, or to visit their live-in president. The Artorian Company also frequently used our port, due to their own base of operations existing in parallel with the Legion in New Damond.
I turned my attention to the downtown region, the living area for the vast majority of the people who had come to reside in my city. Over eight million souls called New Damond home, a number that dwarfed pre-Fall numbers in the area. Housing wasn’t an issue, given that we utilized a blend between prefabricated structures and more custom constructions that could be repaired or replaced cheaply. Legion and their families, of course, were allowed to live within the city freely, and those that came for the safety and opportunity enjoyed many of the same benefits. We didn’t charge a great deal, either, as we really didn’t need to source our population for revenue. It was, however, helpful that our reputation had grown such that we’d never had any issue with too few applicants.
That, of course, came with its own growing pains. What had once been a few large structures had evolved into massive complexes that spanned several city blocks. The Tombstone, for instance, was jokingly referred to as The Graveyard at times now that it had expanded. Reaper Administration had also changed, becoming the tallest building in the city and hosting foreign dignitaries, including inter-galactic ones that were becoming more frequent as Earth became more stable. As a whole, the galactic community had responded well to Earth as a success story, and now that restrictions were steadily lifting, more and more parties showed interest in the people of Earth.
Such visitations were still under heavy restrictions, though there were talks underway to eventually open the Earth to additional diplomatic and commercial traffic. One of our major requirements was that the Terra-Union had to be fully established, and that New Damond would only facilitate political talks in the event that the Terra-Unitatus wasn’t available. I had no desire to become entangled politically, and - or so I was told by more politically savvy Legionnaires - our surrender of being a political hub to the Terra Unitatus was an excellent move to smooth over political tensions. It also gave a precedent that the Terra-Union was an overarching body that we would defer to outside of our area of expertise.
And such was what I intended to do; biotics were the business of the Legion, and anything to do with them was strictly my own domain. I had no interest in monitoring and upholding trade interests and the like. Granted, the Legion was positioned to benefit from any agreements that the Titherin Mercantile Group made, so the nuances of what went on didn’t concern me overtly.
“Shade, this is ground control, copy?” I heard the voice of one of the air traffic controllers over the comms.
“This is Shade. Requesting permission to land, over.” I spoke while sending transponder information. It was all formality at this point, but no one ever complained considering the process took less than thirty seconds in general.
“Roger that, we have your ticket. Hangar 12 is open for business. Welcome back, Sir.”
“Appreciate it, ground control, it’s good to be home.” I said as I directed Shade to the dock, something it could do entirely on its own.
The dock itself was a large building whose roof was currently open, exposing a large multi-platformed pad that rose to greet us. Shade slowed on the descent, and as usual I barely felt the landing as the shock-absorbers went to work. Quickly the engines wound down, putting the bulk of the weight on the pads beneath us. More than up to the task, hydraulic pistons regulated by several computers - and their backups - lowered the large craft into the building proper. Overhead I could hear the doors closing, as we settled into the hangar.
Wrapping up after that took very little time, especially given that most of the process was fully automated from therein. As I stepped off of the ship, I cast a backwards glance at the Determinators as they settled in. They would eventually power down their bodies and rejoin their joint consciousness in cyberspace, but for now they were content with their current venue.
Another blip appeared on my comms, a message this time. I pulled it up, reading it.
‘Matt, you back yet? I’m done with lessons today, need a ride?’ The message from Daniel read.
I shot one back, ‘Just got back, and sure. I’ll just leave my armor with the DT’s. I’ll be at Bay 3.’
After that, I didn’t bother waiting, instead willing my power armor to open so that I could step out from the back of it. I watched with some level of bemusement as the armor closed back up and turned around without me in it, marching back up the ramp into the ship.
I stretched, trying to get used to no longer wearing the armor, before turning and starting my walk through the facility, earning more than a few passing stares as I did so. A small part of me wanted to leave again as soon as possible, to continue doing what I did best. But, I was still the leader of the Legion, and it was good to be home.