1 / 6 Biomass
1 / 9 Mechanized
1 Nanofactory
Lingling2 has been busy gathering Tulverian weapons and now sits inside a nest dug into the trench wall. Happily munching iguanas atop a pile of sweet alien energy weapons. Instead of magazines with projectiles the plasma rifles -I have no idea what their Tulverian manufacturer or model numbers might be, maybe Iguana Plasma Industries model Clickity Clack 102- use square bricks with rounded edges, similar to a human magazine yet entirely sealed with metal sliders protecting silver hued prods. Contact points for integrated electronics like a round counter in the scope. Or they could be batteries, without a live iguana to translate I can’t even begin to guess.
“Feck, I can’t possibly take another helmet… Let alone an alien one.”
>Terran Thena: Hey, I’ve got information overload. Can you do something to link up my helmets?
>Executrix Alaea: Oh, yeah, sure. Let me just run a military intelligence operation by myself. Easy.
>Terran Thena: So… That’s a yes? It’s not like you have anything better to do.
>Executrix Alaea: Is it clever if all three of us think of it at the same time? AND STOP GETTING SHOT! WE CAN FEEL THAT!
>Matriarch Hygieia: ditto. ty for the hud. Perfect for creating a biopool.
>Terran Thena: Eat a bag of dicks. I’m NOT TRYING to get shot! I’ll trade places with either of you.
>Executrix Alaea: Point taken. Alright here is the deal. I can link the helmets all to your warp HUD, but this is cludge AF. Makes you wish for a science vessel like the Amerigo, fully automated with enough sensors to comsat a system. Eh, the Tulvarian helmet won’t link up. Not that it matters. Only a hundred odd iguanas are left. Singularity offensive killed all their outposts. Some kind of tunneling vehicle and a kickass yellow bioweapon. Fucking terrifying shit. I still can’t figure out how she pulled the life out of those lizards or healed you. It’s like all organs suddenly went into complete shutdown. As if all ATP was drained from their cells in a second. Something like that might actually be able to kill me. But then she healed you and did the inverse. I can’t track where the repaired flesh came from or how she added blood. That weapon could literally cure every ailment on earth.
‘Might be able to kill me.’ repeats in my mind. Strange way of thinking about a tragedy but I’m not sure how to respond to myself. Why would Alaea want to die? She don’t sound suicidal, but I know nothing about the alien they’ve become. Maybe it’s some kind of Zerg queen who gives birth every minute. Ick.
>Terran Thena: I can’t manage all these com channels. If she, hell, let’s give the yellow bioweapon a name. She heals, kills, and invigorates, so Trinity? If Trinity didn’t finish off the iguanas I assume they’ve got a fortress the drill tank can’t reach?
>Executrix Alaea: Yeah, their main landing pad and a forward outpost or two near the mountains. Without their mechs they can’t take ground from the Technocracy and they were never going to take territory from the Azhurai so, by process of elimination, -pun intended- that leaves their fort. It’s shielded above and below ground with some seriously impressive reactors. But… I think the -nameless- will consider them defeated and cycle another contender into the wargames. Can I take the factory yet?
>Terran Thena: Give me a few. Tychus worked. Jug has a very angry Greek up his trojan.
>Matriarch Hygieia: haha
The nanofactory brings my attention forward. I mute both human helmets so I can focus everything into the warp HUD. Unfortunately it still uses the power armor’s internal speakers for announcements. Brown Technocracy armor clunks against a crate, occupied by my most mysterious ally.
“Hey Kerrigan, you alright?”
“Pfina’s sneaky!” Says Kerrigan, somehow knowing to use the tight beam array instead of the radio.
A critically important distinction. Tight beam is sort of like morse code beamed through a laser at another suit. Our onboard sensors can pick it up and translate it into sound easily enough, and most importantly, it’s impossible to pick up unless someone targets you directly while within line of sight. Unlike radio which broadcasts in every direction and shouts “Hey, come drop a bomb on me” around every corner on the planet.
“Oh, thanks. Uhm, how did you learn to operate that suit?”
“Red.” She says, her tone losing all mirth. Becoming the programmed robot I fear she is. “He took me away and taught me loth of thingths. Thaid I couldn’t see mom and dad until I wearned evewything and chased the sthinky people away.”
I swallow, deciding to press my luck. “Who are the stinky people?”
“Don’t know. Red never told me.”
“Is Red your friend?” I pry, needing to know how much of a hold this 'Red' has over Kerrigan.
“Pfina my only fwiend! Red never gave me hith name. He didn’t give me tasty meaths or a name!”
A sigh of relief escapes through clenched teeth.
“Thanks Kerrigan, you look pretty great in that armor. Let's go. We need to find somewhere safe from those Juggernauts. If we head back to Singularity lines we can team up with them.”
“Otay.” She says.
The armor moves like a second skin, grasping the thirty pound flechette pistol with one hand. Suit tentacles emerge from between armored plates, forming a sling for the weapon. Even in the heat of combat it won’t be possible for me to lose it.
>Terran Thena: Moving out. Factory is all yours.
>Executrix Alaea: SWEET! Beaming up the nanofactory now. Oh, and the spare suits til Hygieia is ready. They’ll fit in my closet. I see you’re leaving, want me to blow that bunker after you reach a safe distance?
>Terran Thena: Would you be a dear? ;)
>Terran Thena: Actually, wait until an artillery barrage starts. So no one knows it was me.
>Executrix Alaea: Roger roger.
[+3 Technician powered armor][intact]
[+1 Engineer powered armor][dead occupant]
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
[+3 Technician powered armor][damaged][dead occupant]
>Matriarch Hygieia: wait 30 minutes and i can put bodies in those suits
>Matriarch Hygieia: ty for biomass
>Matriarch Hygieia: wish i could store it on planet
>Matriarch Hygieia: cant bank it up til i land
“Kerrigan, we need to run.” I order, giving both lings the command.
Lingling2 erupts from his iguana nest while Ling1 rips past me. They take to the trenches like pigs in shit, sprinting through mud and really stretching out their legs. My Technician suit blares, tracking them with the option for me to deploy missile countermeasures.
Cheetahs would be slower. Yet for all their impressive speed and violence Juggernauts are tougher than steel and thicker than buildings. The truth is simple albeit trite. Lings won’t cut it. Not the Juggernauts we’re facing today nor the Azhurai Conglomerate of tomorrow. I really should have made a missile launcher or something with the factory. Or have Hygieia cook up an Ultralisk.
Actually, ultras suck. You just can’t face tank a nuke in real life. What did the Zerg use for long range artillery? Broodlords and guardians, but fighters on Syrak just get shot down. Ground artillery was always worse, crap, what did I even use for ground- OH, lurkers or ravagers.
>Terran Thena: I need to kill a few Juggernauts, make me a few siege tanks or Yamato cannons?
>Executrix Alaea: Ha! I wish. Can only do steel and plastics without more resources. Reactors are a no go. No cloaking devices either. A siege tank would take me four weeks to make with this factory. IF I had the resources.
>Terran Thena: Cmon, I need something better than these pulse rifles! It would keep me from getting shot…
>Executrix Alaea: -_-
>Terran Thena: Anything? A marauder from wish.com? There are crates of nanofactory supplies down here; no one will know if you teleport them out and blow the bunker. .
>Executrix Alaea: Sure thing, right after I invent time travel and solve galactic scarcity.
>Executrix Alaea: Temporal anti-tampering locks. Can’t touch them or the -nameless- will know I’m helping you. So will the Technocracy who will snitch via a complaint. At best I’ll lose the teleporter...
>Executrix Alaea: Look. With what I have on hand we can make hand grenades.
>Terran Thena: How about some ravagers? Always kicked ass with those guys, especially Abathur’s coop variant with the extra corrosive bile. But any hard hitting artillery will work.
>Matriarch Hygieia: collective isnt zerg
>Matriarch Hygieia: with a few months i can recreate the zerg roster but right now im limited
>Matriarch Hygieia: they have a few artillery lifeforms take your pick 800 biomass or 500 biomass
>Matriarch Hygieia: ooooorrrr 16000 biomass for a one shot guarantee
>Terran Thena: Feck.
>Matriarch Hygieia: underground fungal farms and the biomass you send adds up
>Matriarch Hygieia: give me time and a place to work, only then can i move the world
>Terran Thena: … Alright Archimedes.
>Matriarch Hygieia: landing on a planet soon will have my own biopool
I feel like my girlfriend just told me her orthodox parents won’t be home for the weekend. Too bad it's Tuesday. Artillery shells begin to land, chasing the Juggernaut I just rearmed. He’s chosen to go above the trenches and run full throttle for a distant bunker. Brave.
We run, sticking to the trench for safety. Kerrigan waddling as zerglings rush ahead. Despite the distant thunder I’m at peace, savoring every second of my incoming victory. Missile exhaust clogs the trenches, black tendrils swirling at our passing like grasping ghosts. Jogging through the smoke my mind wanders, going to the only place that strategic decisions were a common occurrence.
Starcraft, in those terms our squad is two marines and two lings, but each Juggernaut is most analogous to a Dominion Thor. No chance.
If I had one or two more tools it would be workable. A cloaking module and I could be a ghost, walk up to the Juggernaut and shoot him in the spine or drop demo charges into access ports. Easy sabotage. But I can’t. We can barely burrow. The doglings can dig, but not enough for two suits of power armor to follow them. Wind sucks through my teeth. We are totally boned. A Thor wins that match up a hundred out of a hundred times. Always ending with squished Thena and Kerrigan creme brulee. Ah, it feels impossible, but that only excites me. There has to be a solution.
Trench walls loom in front of me, a T junction, left to Singularity forces, right to the Technomancy. I wait for Lingling2 to arrive from the right, already facing the safety of Earthling lines. Left we go-
-What will they do to Kerrigan? I think.
The answer is uncertain running the gambit between alteration into a greater bioweapon and summary execution. Salvation halts my step. We can’t go left. Not as we are. But going right means fighting a dozen Juggernauts. If we’re able to sneak up behind the juggernauts maybe we can hit them while they’re busy tearing through Earth conscripts… No, they can just reverse and crush us. Out of flash trained habit I activate the armor’s full systems, integrating it with the Technomancy’s friend or foe detection system. I appear on the HUD’s radar system, tagged as a technician. Specifically a logistical technician trained in reloading Juggernauts. Which is when a pleasant surprise fills the HUD, I have slug and missile counts for the ten nearest Juggernauts.
Ten of the supertanks are within twenty minutes of me. That's a relief, I thought there were twelve!
Holy shitballs Batman! Four are pushing into Singularity lines, facing no real resistance. Earth would employ fighter jets or tanks with depleted uranium rounds to solve the question they ask, neither of which the Singularity will use on this world.
Logistical technician... Moving things from home to the battlefield. Like an SCV. But this isn’t Starcraft. The objective isn’t to kill the enemy buildings, it’s to destroy the enemy—*
Another snap decision sends me back to the crossroad, sprinting towards the Technomancy’s next bunker. Lingling2 skids to a stop, caterwheeling legs as I hop ten feet over him.
“Oh holy shit! Power armor is AWESOME!” I gasp, landing without breaking stride.
We have to win or Earth dies. Mom dies. Piece of shit dad dies before I can cut off his balls. I need to win. Ling1 and Lingling2 blow past me, sprinting with such force that mud flies out of the trench. Thrown forty feet into the air by alien claws digging up traction. They aren’t shoehorned into guard duty anymore. A new purpose fills their minds, one they have been waiting their entire lives to hear.
*—Destroying buildings in Starcraft is an abstraction. The assumption is that without supplies your army will run out of bullets or starve then be hunted down and destroyed in the most boring way possible, no reason to play out a forgone conclusion. As a thought example, no amount of starving broodlords can make a single broodlings, nor can they beat a landed viking who happens to have unlimited fuel and missiles.
“Pfina, wrong way.” Says Kerrigan.
“Change of plans, we’re going to the next Technocracy bunker.”
[Nanofactory Integration complete] appears in the center of my vision, so surprising I nearly faceplant. But shit has been popping up in that HUD all day, what with all the chats from aliens and system notifications. This one –like all others– fades in a few seconds.
[Insufficient minerals for continued production]
[Acquire more minerals]
>Terran Thena: Alaea… You’re a cunt for adding that to our warp HUDs.
>Executrix Alaea: LOL
>Terran Thena: SC2 win condition vs Jugs. Our first build order.
A moment passes. Sixty seconds before I see his reply.
>Executrix Alaea: Makes sense, Death from Above?
>Terran Thena: yes
>Executrix Alaea: Need volatile compounds or organic gases
>Matriarch Hygieia: organic gases
>Matriarch Hygieia: hehehehehe
>Matriarch Hygieia: we can siphon those EZ
>Matriarch Hygieia: take what you need
Our chats work at the speed of thought. There is no need for us to aim our eyes at keyboards nor press individual keys, turning text into instantaneous communication of thoughts.
Looks like I’m not the only one running logistics. A smile creeps across my face. I know how to win. Or at least, tip the scales enough to flip the entire Technocracy. Distant rumbling heralds a return to form from my Singularity kin. Louder than I’ve heard before. As if every gun on Earth decided to fire at once.