First Contact – Chapter 760 – The Inheritor’s War

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“*Yeah, once that human picked up that rock, it became the whole universe’s problem.*” – Wemterran politician

*”You think they’re all gone? I’ll bet you think that’s a pet licking your hand at night and not a serial killer too.*” – Pubvian diplomat, post Pubvian Revival.

“*Mistakes were made.*” – Intact writing on the wall of a cave. written below the crudely drawn picture of the Black Fleet, discovered by Mantid archeologists investigating ruins of previously unknown species at the edge of Terran Space.

The scarred naked Atrekna made a motion, slowly lowering Yrler onto the ground.

“Feel. It. Fucker,” the Atrekna said as Yrler was laid onto the mossy ground.

Yrler cried out from the pain in his hip, his arm, his thigh.

The Atrekna leaned down and used the knife to cut away Yrler’s armor and pilot suit from the wound around his leg. The Atrekna held out its hand and Yrler was aware of his pilot’s knife being pulled from the head of the dead Atrekna with a sucking sound before it smacked into the nude one’s hand. The Atrekna looked Yrler over then suddenly reached down and tore away the motherbox that ran the suit’s systems.

The Atrekna’s third eye opened and Yrler noted that it was burning a dark red as the Atrekna looked down at him, touching his broken arm with one finger, then his exposed chest, then his shardshot leg.

It held up the blade even as it looked at Yrler’s bleeding leg. The crystal had left an entry-wound the size of a finger width and almost an inch wide exit wound.

“Feel. It,” the Atrekna said in Confederate Standard. It held up the knife, its eyes narrowing, and Yrler saw the tip of the blade begin to glow red. Once it was red and smoking the Atrekna reached down with the other hand, grabbing Yrler’s thigh and lifting it.

“No, please, no,” Yrler gasped as the knife was lowered toward his wound, which was steadily pulsing pinkish blood.

“Feel. It,” was repeated.

The hot edge of the knife was pressed against his flesh and Yrler screamed as the agony cut through the meds his suit had shot him up with. Before he could react, the Atrekna reached underneath his thigh and pressed the red hot blade against the entry wound.

Yrler went limp and sobbing, his eyes squeezed shut with tears leaking from them and into the fur around his eye sockets.

*Pain will be one coin the enemy will try to pay you with to get you to break. Accept it, welcome it with open arms, and it will pass through you and leave you behind,* the voice of one of his SERE trainers.

His whole body shivered as he reached for the pain, pulling it close, looking at every tiny bit of it.

The Atrekna pressed the red hot blade against the still oozing wound on the front of his thigh. Yrler could smell burnt flesh and fur and screamed again.

*There is no shame in screaming. There is no shame in screaming*, he told himself.

“Feel. It,” the Atrekna said. It stood up, looking around, then bent down and picked up its spear. It looked around again, then knelt down and put the knife in Yrler’s hand.

“Free. Candy,” it said.

Off in the forest something screamed, full of terror and agony. It was so raw, so primal, that it cut through Yrler’s misery.

The Atrekna reached down, picked up Yrler’s chest plate, and turned it over and over in its hands, examining it. Finally, it popped open the box on the side, removing the breathing mask. It listened to the hiss of air, sniffed the mask, then looked at Yrler.

“Free. Candy,” it said.

It put the mask over Yrler’s face with its long fingered hands even as Yrler tried to shrink back.

There was another scream of horrified agony and the Atrekna looked up, the third eye opening again for a second. It closed its third eye and looked around at the forest.

It stood up, staring into the forest. It looked down at Yrler, then back the way Yrler had ran.

The naked Atrekna turned and ran away, vanishing into the ferns without even causing a ripple.

*What is it? Some kind of new Atrekna? A warrior subspecies we’ve never seen?* Yrler wondered.

He laid there, staring up at the rain forest canopy, his leg and arm throbbing agony, each breath painful past cracked and bruised chest rings.

The two Atrekna came back.

The one looked like some kind of bizarre angel, wrapped in loricated armor of shining chromium endosteel, the wings spread out behind it. The other, dressed in a Terran wedding gown, was slowly cleaning a sharp blade with a cloth.

They moved up to Yrler. The one in armor looked down, then at the one in the wedding dress.

The one with the wedding dress bent down over Yrler, putting its hand on his face.

Yrler tried to imagine thick spoiled nutrigel.

His attempt was brushed aside as razor sharp scalpels sliced into his mind. Fingers rooted through his memories, sliced through his thoughts. He relived days, weeks, in moments as the alien fingers deftly sorted through his mind.

Then the images started.

Pouring into his mind, burning into his memories, searing into his brain.

He managed to scream.

—–

515 held still in the crack of the rocks, looking over the device he’d made. It was a tiny drone launcher, no bigger than a Terran credit piece joined to a tube of lib balm. It would fire the drone, which would make for high altitude to get above the jamming, then self-destruct putting out a message.

Compressed data of what 515 and Yrler had seen.

The green mantid saw the ferns part and close and tensed.

It appeared that nothing had come through, but his telemechanic senses weren’t his only psychic abilities.

He was a mantid, after all.

Something was out there. Something ugly, something predatory, something with a mind like a great predator beast. Simple, clear.

He tensed, readying his micro-rifle even as he jammed the launcher into the crack behind him, shifting it with one foot so that it would have a clear launch even if he was smashed into the gap. He activated the timer as he felt the presence come even closer.

In an hour, if he didn’t reset it, it would fire.

He held his breath, even though that didn’t really help, and tensed.

His psychic shielding suddenly peaked, jumping to 145% load, then 165%, then it went out in a shower of tiny purple sparks.

He felt himself ripped out of the crack, one of his legs twisting inside the armor and snapping. The microrifle was yanked from his hands and thrown away from him even as he was spun in place, the forest whirling around him.

He stopped, upside down, feeling the slick surface of a phasic construct under his back.

In front of him was a naked Atrekna with a spear and a bandoleer across its chest that had skulls hanging from it.

“Free. Candy,” it said.

515 scrabbled and struggled for a second, trying to get upright, but the little globe of phasic energy he was being held in was spun and bobbled until he was almost ready to throw up.

Before he could recover the Atrekna darted into the forest, into the ferns, the bubble containing 515 following it.

515 closed his eyes.

*Now comes the ‘resistance’ part,* he thought to himself.

—–

The armored troops of Alpha Company, 54th Infantry Battalion, 17th Infantry Brigade, 117th Infantry Division, XXXIV Corps, moved through the city carefully. Their dropship had been shredded by smilers and they’d come under immediate attack by shriekers and their big brother the thudders as soon as the dropship had pancaked into the ground and slid nearly a mile before coming to a rest.

That was two hours ago.

Now, they were all that was left of 3rd Platoon.

They were carrying one of the dropship crew, the co-pilot, whose head was lolling bonelessly as the pilot mumbled to himself. His armor was telling the platoon medic that the copilot had suffered a skull fracture when the front of the dropship had been shredded by ground fire.

They were less than a mile from the FOB. As soon as they cleared the last of the buildings they’d be able to see the hard-won base just on the other side of the low hill created by building rubble and discarded Dwellerspawn shells.

The Platoon Leader, one 2nd LT Hareshik, slowed and looked around. The city looked like it had been abandoned to the jungle for years, decades. Moss and grasses had ripped apart ferrocrete roads and parking lots, building had huge sheets of vines and moss hanging down with windows like empty eye-sockets that stared at the platoon. Roads had caved into the mass transit or utility tunnels in places, creating pits or ponds.

Two NCO’s held up a closed fist and made a quick motion, even as they followed their own orders, and the troops scattered to cover.

The LT moved behind an ancient decayed ground-car, getting down on one knee and looking around.

The wind moved through the ruins, carrying pollen and spores, some of which glowed and twinkled.

The LT started to stand up when a streak of light dropped from the sky, slamming into the ground.

Rifles came up as the dust and pollen cleared away.

A form armored in gleaming endosteel was on one knee, fist pressed to the ground, wings made of blades spread out from it.

“No fire, no fire,” the LT grated.

The form looked up and the troops realized with a shock that it was an Atrekna with glowing tattooing around its face.

In one arm it held a battered and injured Hakanian with a green mantid resting on the Hakanian’s chest. The green mantid was beating on the inside of an iridescent bubble with its fists and bladearms.

The Atrekna held out one hand and a phasic barrier appeared, as thick as a tank’s battlescreen.

“LT, what the hell?” the wounded Sergeant First Class asked.

“Hold your fire,” the LT grated from between clenched teeth.

He didn’t like that thing, Atrekna or not, it didn’t fit any briefings he ever had or anything he’d seen on his last three combat drops.

It was new.

And new meant bad.

The armored Atrekna slowly lowered the wounded Hakanian and the bubble containing the mantid to the ground, laying them on the moss. It stood up slowly, the wings spreading out with the screech of stressed endo-steel and a crack of displaced air.

Before the LT could give any further orders the figure whipped up into the sky, leaving behind a silver streak.

“Check him,” the LT ordered.

Two men ran out, kneeling down next to the Hakanian.

He was badly injured. Breathing labored, a bad burn on his thigh, his arm broken and held in place with a slowly fading phasic construct. His eyes were open, his pupils fixed and dialted, his eyes unmoving. Blood had run from one nostril and his left ear.

He held a pilot’s combat knife tight in one hand, jungle vine wrapped around his fist to keep it closed and the knife in place.

The two troops dragged the Hakanian into cover, one scooping up the bubble with the obviously frustrated mantid inside.

The platoon medic ran up, kneeling down and hovering their palm over the Hakanian.

“He’s in shock,” the medic said. “Cracked chest rings, bruised internal organs, broken arm, bullet wound to the leg,” the medic looked up. “Someone did some really bad first aid.”

The Hakanian mumbled and the medic leaned down. “I got you, buddy, I got you,” the medic said, grabbing the Hakanian’s hand.

“What’s he saying?” the Platoon Leader asked.

“Can’t tell. Not anything me or the suit motherbox or VI’s recognize,” the medic said, looking up. “Sir, I think this guy’s been tortured.”

One of the troops, who had been poking the bubble, exclaimed in shock as it suddenly popped, showering out purple phasic sparks.

515 flashed icons, rushing over to Yrler and throwing himself on the Hakanian, holding onto his chest.

The LT looked down at where the little green battle buddy was holding tight to the wounded troop.

“Pick ’em up, let the FOB know we’re coming in with another pair of wounded,” he ordered.

—–

Colonel R’Prun clacked into the medical observation bay of the rapidly build treatment building, his bladearms behind his back, chewing on a piece of stimgum.

The FOB docs were gathered up, looking at their newest problem patient.

“You wanted to see me, Major?” the Colonel asked the russet mantid in charge of Treatment.

“Yes, sir,” the russet mantid said. She motioned at the Hakanian strapped to one table and the green mantid strapped to the other. “We need to get these two off planet and do it now. You need to tell the Navy they need to get these two to a fully staffed hospital with gold mantid psychic technicians.”

The Colonel frowned. “The planet is still under primary assault. The fleet is still engaged in the system. On what basis do you want to move these two?”

The russet mantid reached out and tapped the smartglass window, opening two data windows.

“Both are almost catatonic. The green mantid suffers almost physical pain being away from the Hakanian and has not stopped transmitting equations,” the russet mantid said. “We needed a peek to see what their brain was doing.”

She tapped the window and the smeared color picture of a dream scan popped up.

“That’s where we found this,” she said.

A huge Lanaktallan was standing on a stage, pointing at a complex schematic and speaking rapidly.

“The patient is repeating the Lanaktallan’s words, but according to the Lanaktallan troops, it isn’t anything they’ve ever heard,” the mantid said.

The dream shifted to a ship moving through a multi-colored space. Atrekna hovered through the hallway next to the viewport that showed outside the ship. The multicolored outside, almost a fluid, nearly a fog, suddenly brightened.

Then burst into flame.

“Is that?” Colonel R’Prun asked.

The ship had roaring flames tear through the hull, spectral fire that reached out and shredded the Atrekna, some of them warping for a moment with bony protrusions bursting from their skin, others dissolving away with shrieks of agony.

The ship suddenly dropped into realspace, floating in space. In the distance five almost dead red giants could be seen.

“That couldn’t have been, could it?” Colonel R’Prun said. He looked at the mantid. “Was that… Hellspace?”

The dream shifted again.

Jumbled, flashing images. Atrekna, Lanaktallan, Mantid. All jumbled together.

The dream shifted.

A red-eyed Atrekna was staring deep into the Hakanian’s eyes, filling his vision.

The dream started again.

The Colonel looked at the doctor and nodded. “I’ll contact fleet.”

He looked at the Hakanian, who was twisting against his restraints. The mantid suddenly fought the restraints and data streamed down the screen of the datapad next to it.

“Whatever those poor bastards got into, we need to know,” Colonel R’Prun said.

In the room, Ylrer screamed as the dream started again.

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