I woke up with a pleasant feeling permeating my body, the result of my suit’s medical systems pumping me full of drugs to help speed along my recovery. I checked my proc’s system clock. I’d been out for a full day and a half, coming up on forty hours.
A voice pulled at my awareness, despite the thick haze of drugs hanging over my mind which was rapidly beginning to disappear. I focused hard and soon deciphered the faint sounds as speech.
The first words I heard were strange. They were spoken in perfect English, oddly enough, but the woman’s words carried an accent I’d never heard before. Her voice was youthful, but her words, her accent sounded old. Very, very old. She sounded educated and sharp, but not exactly compassionate. Was I a lab experiment? Were they studying me? Was she some kind of scientist?
The woman’s first words were burned into my mind. “What of the object they descended in? Is it from the Mistpoint? I’ve never seen anything like it, not even in Torak or Mistagor. Do you think that-”
A low male voice cut her off, thick with reproach. “Do not mention that name! Not here! Remember, never aloud, where someone might hear you. We are fortunate I have shrouded his ears, but the walls have ears too.” A deep inhale and a pregnant pause. “I apologise. I spoke beyond my rank. That was improper of me.”
“Think nothing of it. You are right, after all, Eric. I should not have been so careless. Have we heard anything from our spies in the west?
My eyes widened at the realisation of how big of a fuck up this was on the part of my captors. Discussing information like this in front of a prisoner was monumentally moronic. I used to joke sometimes that OPSEC was part of my religion and from the looks of things these two clearly weren’t believers.
“Our shadows haven’t heard or seen anything, but the object does not appear to be dangerous on its own. I have had it brought here and we maintain a guard of a dozen mages. The weapons used by these strangers have already been confiscated and sent to your Sanctum, my lady.”
“Excellent. I would very much like to know what manner of weapon they used, I have never seen their likeness, nor have I ever encountered weapons with such strength. Toval was a fool, true, but he was not weak, not by any means. They are a mystery wrapped in an enigma and I desire to know more. ”
The man responded with a contemplative statement. “They have odd weapons, but as you know, they produce devastating results. I expect their armour is the same. I've never seen anyone rise after being thrown like that.” A pause, it seemed to stretch on for hours, but I knew that couldn’t be the case.
The woman spoke again, breaking the long silence. “Have you been able to remove their armour? Each of them appears to be nearly identical, down to almost the smallest detail, no small feat for even the most talented armourer. Perhaps they are the same underneath, too, identical men and women. That is assuming they are even human.”
“No, my lady, I have found no visible straps or clasps. It is as if they cannot be removed from the outside. I must admit, I am at a loss as to how to proceed without harming them.”
The voice fell silent, contemplative, he clearly reported to this woman. This ‘Lady’ and her subordinate were an interesting pair. Why would a Lady, a woman of some status clearly, be down in a dungeon or prison block asking for a report? Wouldn’t she have servants for that or something? Or was she in charge here and taking a personal hand in things? I wanted more information.
She spoke again. “I suppose for the answers I seek, I will have to ask them. Have them brought to my Sanctum in one hour. Once they are outside, you may leave them their senses, they will not be able to escape me.”
I suppose that confirmed my suspicions. ‘Leave them their senses’ she’d said. My odd sensory experience was the work of these two, or at least, if not directly, then by their orders.
“Yes, my Lady.”
“Eric, you have my sympathies for your lost warriors. I will make sure their families are seen to. You should send for your replacement tonight, some time away from the capital would do you good.”
“Thank you, my Lady. I’ll think about it.”
Footfalls, like soft-soled boots on stone, the slight crunching of grit. Then my vision cleared and my mind became sharp. I was greeted with a wall of charcoal-coloured blocks of stone and the dim flickering shadow of a light somewhere in front of me. I felt certain it was a flame.
Despite my curiosity, I didn’t move just yet, didn’t even open my eyes. I was laying flat on my back in a corner, so I attempted to minimise my movement, relaxing my body gradually. I had tools at my disposal to assess the situation and I wanted time to use them and acclimate to my new surroundings. I also absolutely did not want to give away the fact I was conscious. If they were watching me, I wanted them relaxed and complacent, not on their guard. Any scrap of information or a slip-up they revealed while I was supposedly still unconscious could be vital.
Already I’d heard a veritable treasure trove of information. What surprised me most wasn’t even the content of their conversation, but that I could understand them at all. Weren’t aliens supposed to be freaky and speak in farts and ultrasonic vibrations or something? Laying on my back facing an unmoving stone ceiling, I sub-vocalised a command to my armour’s processor, mouthing the words aloud.
“Proc, non-verbal responses only. Display distance travelled since last shot fired and run a basic diagnostic.”
Familiar blocky font printed itself onto my vision.
27 klicks travelled since last shot fired. All systems optimal, power cells at 91 percent. Last known location of S-99 ‘Spear’ Battle Rifle, 2 klicks, bearing 114. Real-time positional lock failed.
I resisted the urge to swear at myself.
I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful for the information or annoyed. On the one hand, my armour was in more or less perfect condition. On the other, I had no weapons to speak of, besides the armour itself. My knife was presumably still attached to my rifle, which was two kilometres away, if it was still there. The good news was, that meant it was probably here, just in another area away from where I was being held. I expected I was in a cell inside some kind of secure facility.
“Proc, set new operational parameters, preset, ‘SERE’. Assume overwhelming opposition and no opportunity for resupply or reinforcement. Scan for nearby threats, maximum stealth.”
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I wanted to play things safe. I kept things discreet on the off chance my scans were noticed. That was unlikely in my opinion, but it was habit and protocol. The SERE protocols, or Survive, Evade, Resist and Escape, were my lifeline in my current situation. It was a great deal easier to resist with my armour’s integrity still intact. I wouldn’t have called it impossible if I was pried out of my armour, but it would’ve been a hell of a lot more difficult to withstand torture, or break out of my cell. Needless to say, I also didn’t like the idea of giving up my suit to a hostile force for study. I resolved to keep myself interesting, but not too interesting and to gather every scrap of information I could.
While I wasn’t fearing for my life just yet and my suit was still intact, there were plenty of ways to kill or wound me without dragging me out of it and a lot of ways to make me uncomfortable. A vat of molten metal would kill me, as would oxygen deprivation. I just hoped they didn’t figure any of that out too quickly. It sounded like they were content to interrogate me, rather than kill me. If they’d wanted that I doubt that I’d still be breathing, or in a cell. Still, they could always change their mind.
While I thought I wasn’t worried about my morale, there was such a thing as self-delusion and self-deception. It was perhaps more appropriate to say that I wasn’t worried about it in the short-term, but give it a few years and I’d crack. Everyone did, it was all just a matter of time. My thoughts were interrupted by the helpful chirp of my armour’s processor. Too much introspection wasn’t healthy, especially while inside of a cell.
New operational parameters set. Scan completed. One unarmed contact, six o’ clock, two metres. Permission to map the current structure using radar, sonar and LIDAR?
Resisting the urge to clear my throat, I started sub-vocalising more commands for my armour’s processor to chew through.
“Granted. Project a three-dimensional image on my HUD when mapping is complete. Analyse the structure’s layout to determine potential escape routes.”
Complying.
While my processor was busy working on a map and some escape routes for me, I wanted to find the rest of my team. The best way to do that was to find their armour.
“Proc, give me a positional lock on military hardware, helmets only, four-hundred metre range.”
I wanted to get a sense of my surroundings. It wasn’t a shock necessarily that we’d been engaged so soon after landing. What shocked me was how it happened. I hadn’t been expecting any kind of active camouflage, or that our bullets would simply disappear when they hit supposedly unarmed hostiles. I was expecting farmers and medieval knights as per the data, not whatever had knocked us all out. It was clear that these people, if they were the same ones that we’d seen in our little planning session, were no farmers or knights.
I knew hardshell armour that could turn back the standard rounds we used, but it wasn’t rated for more than a few rounds at best. It slowed them down, it didn’t stop them outright. Powered armour could take more and with better results, but the people here didn’t strike me as the type to have that kind of tech judging by our treatment or the tactics they’d used. They looked like medieval farmers and knights, or something out of a storybook. We had to have fired off at least a hundred rounds between us and in the end the only thing that did any damage was my launcher. Solving the mystery of how we got our asses kicked and I ended up in my cell was gnawing at me. It wasn’t my first priority, though. Getting out of my cell and finding the rest of my team was, though.
Map complete. Primary and secondary exit routes marked. Four RFID tags found.
2. 1x - Marine Combat Helmet, Assigned, Victoria Larsen. Distance, 45 metres, bearing 176.
3. 1x - Marine Combat Helmet, Assigned, Daniel Carver. Distance, 24 metres, bearing 89.
4. 1x - Marine Combat Helmet, Assigned, Kwan Chen. Distance, 37 metres, bearing 320.
5. 1x - Marine Combat Helmet, Assigned, Edward Riley. Distance, 0 metres.
We were all being kept close together. That was good. I was separated from the rest of my team, that was… not so good. My eyes flicked over the information again, comparing it to the map that blinked into existence in front of me. Fortunately, I was the only one who could see the glowing wireframe projection, otherwise my captors would’ve had a fright and probably beat me half to death for witchcraft or something. There wasn’t any guarantee that my team still had their helmets on, but as they hadn’t found a way to get mine off of me, I considered it a safe bet that the others were still wearing them and were all together.
The next and final order of business before I revealed I was conscious was to figure out what the hell had knocked me out in the first place. All I really remembered was shooting and more shooting and then feeling like the world was dropped on me as I lay staring up at the sky. The rest was all gibberish to me.
“Proc, time since last shot fired?”
One hour, forty-eight minutes.
I frowned. I didn’t have time to go over everything.
“Display movement log for the past hour and fifty minutes.”
User transported 24.4 klicks from the site of incapacitation. Elevation change since loss of consciousness suggests current location is underground. Current location unknown. Details displayed.
I watched as a rough topographic map blinked into existence
“Proc, track and indicate direction of assigned weaponry or friendly units, half-klick range.”
Current location of assigned S-99 Battle Rifle or R-12 Rhinofire sidearm unknown. No friendly units found in range.
“Clarify. The helmets are not connected to armour, presently?”
Affirmative. Wireless connection unauthorised, unable to determine more with present parameters.
“Not good at all.” I murmured, before coughing a bit. Then I exaggerated and coughed some more, my desert dry throat helped with the deception. I fell silent for a moment and then groaned and continued my coughing some more, shifting my weight by pushing on the stone floor with my elbows so I could get on my hands and knees. Faking an impaired sense of balance, well, not entirely faking, I stumbled around, turning this way and that before coming to rest against a different wall. In reality my sense of balance was off only slightly and was more of a nuisance than something that would seriously affect me.
I was pleasantly surprised by two observations when I surreptitiously inspected my surroundings. Firstly, while I was in a cell, the bars to my cell looked relatively thin and weak, at least when you considered my augmented strength. Secondly, there was no thick metal wall or heavy-duty doors, just regular stone walls and steel bars, which was far from enough to hold an armoured Marine, even one lacking a weapon. It looked like it would take nothing but a casual kick to snap the bars and the walls themselves were slightly more durable if only because of their thickness. I was surprised for a moment that they thought a cell like this could hold me. Then again, they probably didn’t even understand that my armour wasn’t just for protection. I was just as much as of an unknown to them as they were to me. The feeling was foreign to me. Usually we had some intel on the people we fought. I didn’t even know who these people were yet, assuming they were actually people.
My eyes roved around my cell, examining every detail again. The sudden appearance of a man who had appeared behind the bars without a trace startled the hell out of me. One moment I was sweeping my eyes past them, the next I saw him behind the bars of my cell, just out of the corner of my eye.
The man on the other side of the bars watched me intently, examining me much like I was examining him. I was beginning to understand that despite first impressions, there was no way in hell these people were still living in the Middle Ages. For one thing, they weren’t as uneducated as someone from those times would be. For another, they had just kicked my ass all the way into a prison cell. Our earlier assessment that they were a primitive culture technologically similar to Earth’s Middle Ages wasn’t just wrong, it seemed. It was flat-out impossible. Then again, the man in front of me was wearing what looked like ceremonial robes. Honest-to-god lavender robes like you’d see out of a classic fantasy movie.
The man cocked his head as his eyes raked over me, unabashedly curious. His robes rippled as he took a step closer to the bars.
“You’re awake, splendid.”