First Contact

Chapter 919: Edge of Twilight

I have been in direct combat for 1,241.92 seconds.

My battlescreens and bulk are weapons just as much as my infinite repeaters, my indirect fire weaponry, and my Hellbore cannons. The Mantid vehicles, while undoubtedly servicable against what appears to be a demilitarized planetary population, are completely ineffective against me. Their main guns cannot penetrate my battlescreens, no matter how many guns they bring to bear or how many firing angles they generate.

Against a Mark XXIII Bolo's battlescreens, it might have been effective, as that design was largely magnetic fields.

I am a Mark XXIX Bolo. I pack the same battlescreens as a Confederate Heavy Cruiser.

The heavy Mantid vehicles, 125 tons and above, are slower, less maneuverable, than my massive 24,000 ton bulk. I don't bother to clear them from in front of me with my guns, using my battlescreen instead. The magnetic flux, the variable frequency - frequency agile projected energy field flux, and thegraviton assisted space curvature systems all blend together to rip apart any Mantid vehicles touching me.

The Mantid are panicking now. Twice they have fired atomics point blank into my shields. It is obvious that these Mantid have never cracked the method of increasing the destructive output of atomic weapons and none of them crack the 25 kiloton barrier, all of them fission weapons that Terra would have considered crude only a decade or two into the Atomic Age.

None of them even make my battlescreens waver.

The backwash of the detonation shreds the Mantid vehicles that are still attacking, causing more damage to the Mantid forces still fighting than they do to me.

Nekonya and I, intertwined together, check our spy-eyes.

The elimination of the High Speakers and Speakers, as well as the loss of the Mantid ship and the Omniqueen's influence, has led to approximately 74.127% of the Mantid forces fighting their own, specifically the servitor castes fighting against the warrior castes.

Nekonya and I estimate that combat will cease in approximately 2,582 seconds.

My indirect fire weapons are seeding the outside of the mass attacking me with FASCAM systems, my drone launchers are chuffing out heavy weapon attack drones. The drones get to high altitude then move toward the outside of the mob, lurking and watching for any Mantid vehicles or warriors who attempt to flee what is rapidly becoming a complete disaster for Mantid forces.

To quote many a Terran: It is all over but the crying.

I signal the Dakota and file a VLS, letting the ship know that not only will combat cease soon, but the planet will need occupied by combat troops in order to deal with Mantid insurgents and holdouts.

As a Mark XXIX Bolo I will be of limited use during that phase. It is a phase that requires boots on the ground, not a supertank the size of a small stadium and weighing 24-kilotons.

The battle is almost over.

But the war will continue.

-----

The Omniqueen's ship had been slowed and redirected into a stable orbit around the stellar mass. The combat troops had been withdrawn, allowing the Mantid aboard the Omniqueen's ship to figure out who to speak for them and who was in charge.

The two Dakota ships were motionless relative to one another, separated by only a couple thousand kilometers. Both ships had suffered light damage during the battle, mostly cosmetic, that was already being repaired by shipboard engineers and shipboard assets.

Admiral Pikark had set his command couch to the command chair mode, leaning back in the seat, wearing a shipboard uniform rather than the armored vacuum suit that he had been wearing for the last four days.

On the screen were two images, side by side. On the left was the brushed chrome looking warsteel of the Terran Imperium Dakota, on the right side Lord Captain Jack Pikark sat on the bridge of his ship, relaxed in his command throne, tapping the rings of his right hand on the armrest.

"We appreciate your assistance, Lord Captain," Jeff stated.

His mirror-universe opposite nodded, smiling widely. "Pleasure to help, Admiral, especially after you helped us destroy the Omniqueen on our side."

Jeff nodded. "What are your plans now?" he asked.

Lord Captain Jack Pikark shrugged. "Go home, help the Imperium rebuild."

"Good luck with your endeavors," Jeff Pikark said.

His opposite nodded and the channel closed.

Jeff watched as the shining Dakota reoriented and started to move. The Hellspace portal opened up and pulled the Dakota inside before closing with the clang of iron doors.

"Dakota is away, Admiral," the Uhura said.

Jeff just nodded, putting his elbow on the arm-rest and his chin in his palm as he stared at forward bulkhead screen, which was simply showing the starfield where the ISS Dakota had vanished.

-----

Admiral Jack Pikark heaved a sigh of relief when the reports came back in.

No Hellspace alteration to crew, ship, or ship functions.

He closed his eyes for a moment, clenched his muscles for a moment, then relaxed.

"Set course for Imperial Terra," Jack ordered. "Warp-Eight."

"Aye-aye, Lord Captain," Soto said.

His Spok turned to him.

"They still think this is all a game," the Spok stated, reaching up and stroking his goatee.

Jack shrugged. "Things went terribly wrong over there and our ancestors over there didn't step up."

"The decision to establish peace and stability through the remains of Known Space after the war was the only course we felt we had, Lord Captain," the Spok said. "Setting aside the Federation to become the Imperium was the only logical course. They felt otherwise."

Jack nodded. "I would say, old friend, after what we saw over there this time, that their Federation has been forced to set aside the toys and accept the responsibilities of their power."

Spok nodded. "Think they have realized that they're the evil mirror universe?"

Lord Captain Jack Pikark shook his head. "Old friend, nobody, in their own mind, picture themselves as the villain of the story."

There was quiet on the bridge as the ISS Dakota made for Terra-Sol.

-----

Admiral Jeff Pikark stepped out of the lift, the doors whooshing closed behind him.

In front of him were the vast Rebirth Systems. The local SUDS servers and processing systems, the cloning banks, the medical bays. Most of the lights were red across the SUDS and cloning systems, burning with a cold malevolent light. The crew-members in the chamber were all quiet as they moved around, all wearing enhanced reality glasses that were slightly red tinted.

Chief Rebirth Engineer Gladius moved up, stopping in front of Jeff Pikark. His ears were sharply pointed, his face long and narrow.

Most Rebirth Engineers were Vulkans or other species that could control their emotions.

"We've recovered the away teams," Gladius said, his voice soft and gentle.

Pikark had learned that most of the Rebirth Engineers spoke in such a way.

"Can they be rebirthed?" Pikark asked, watching as a Rebirth Engineer withdrew a plastic case from the system and moved over to the server racks.

"No," Gladius said, shaking his head. "They've all suffered severe neural scorching as well as mat-trans psychosis. We've got core identity strand unraveling and errored weaving. Most of them are suffering from multiple personality intertwining syndrome."

"Like me," Pikark said.

The Rebirth Engineer pushed the narrow end of the 18 inch by 8 inch plastic rectangle into the proper slot, allowing the system to read the optical disk inside with a red laser.

Gladius shook his head again. "No. You've got a triple weaving, stable. They've got personality after personality jammed all on top of each other, have experienced multiple deaths in rapid succession without trauma counseling and treatment."

The Chief Rebirth Engineer gave a sigh. "To put it in layman's terms: They're Idiots now."

Pikark closed his eyes for a second.

Three thousand crew-members. Lost forever.

"Admiral, it had to be done. They knew the risks, they all volunteered. They all knew what would happen to them," Gladius said. "They knew the stakes."

"It doesn't make it any easier," Pikark said. He shook his head, looking down at the deck for a moment. "It was just a game when we started. Now..."

He let his words trail off, watching as another thick plastic sleeve was moved from the system that took the mental engrams out of the transporter buffer, excised them from the physical data, then transferred the entire record to the Rebirth System.

"There was nobody else, Admiral," Gladius said. "There was no other way that would result in heavy casualties."

"It doesn't make it easier," Pikark said. "Carry on," he turned and walked back toward the lift.

-----

We are in Hellspace, making the transfer to our destination. Nekonya is in hibernation inside of her command cradle, dreaming of going to advanced education as well as of such things as flying, eating sweets, and going to social functions.

I have come to a conclusion in the 25,092 seconds we have been transiting Hellspace.

The energies of Hellspace have caressed my hull, have created changes on my surface and possibly even changes to my positronic systems and Nekonya herself. I was disabled by enemy fire and knocked out for a significant period of time and the Enemy had gained access to my systems during that time. I have been using a Kentai Commander for an extensive period of time, far beyond the maximum amount of time according to regulations.

There had been no choice.

The Omniqueen had been the Enemy and it was paramount, for the safety of Humanity and their allies, that the Omniqueen and her forces be destroyed.

The effects upon my hull, upon Nekonya, upon my positronic matrix, were acceptable changes, I was an acceptable casualty, in the fight.

But I know I will never be allowed access to the Dinochrome Brigade channels or the GM Network ever again.

Part of me laments that, in pursuit of the destruction of the Enemy, I have suffered damage to the point, changes to the point, that I am no longer a part of the Dinochrome Brigade.

It is with a chill that I realize that I have Fallen.

Not only have I Fallen, but the Dakota has Fallen too.

Heading to our destination is the only choice. While Admiral Pikark has assured me that there is a place within his crew for me, has encouraged me to join him on his mission to restore order and stability to the Federation Worlds, I have realized that Admiral Jeff Pikark has not realized something simple.

In fighting what we have fought, in the way we had felt was our only choices, we have Fallen.

There is only one place for us now.

Nekonya and I will join the Regiment of the Damned, the Hellsteel Brigade.

I mourn our Fall.

But the Enemy had existed and the Enemy had to be destroyed.

This is slightly different than falling in battle.

This Fall is complete.

There is a slight bump in the Hellspace transit, making the barbed chains festooning my hull rattle as they shift slightly. The leakage makes the runes on my hull burn with a dull crimson light for nearly 3.781 seconds.

I have Fallen.

But I can get up.

-----

The Seven Rings of Gehanna was a system shrouded in darkness. Set at the mouth of the Tartarus Dark Matter Sea, with the Eye of Gorthaur only a light week 'north' of the massive red giant named the Eye of Barad-dr. The gas giants had burned away in the gaze of the Eye of Gorthaur, the inner planets devoured by the hunger of the Eye of Barad-dur, leaving only a single planet surrounded by six rings of asteroids, three toward and three away from the red giant.

The single planet was known as the Isle of Dread. A place of toxic seas, blasted landscape where molten warsteel ran in rivers as red as blood over black ashy ground covered in wreckage of a million battles. Nine great cities adorned the Isle of Dread, like great cankers on already diseased ground. For thousands of years the Lords of Dread had struggled against one another for dominance over one another and the planet itself.

Now, the only activity was in the great ship yards, where damaged Dark Crusade of Light ships returned from the battles of the Second Precursor War to be repaired before heading back into the fight.

There was only silence around the great clone banks that used to run off millions of short bake clones to allow the Lords of Dread to grind endlessly against one another. The dark and terrible machines on the surface of the Isle of Dread had been dormant for nearly a decade.

The system was still heavily defended, with ships that were undergoing shakedown cruises as well as heavy system defense vessels moving through the rubble strewn space of the ravaged system.

The Hellspace portal opened at the far fringes of the system.

The ship that slid forth was made of black warsteel, with burning runes and massive chains twisting around the hull. The engines burned red and Hellspace energy leaked from them as the Hellspace energy dissipated.

Twisted and baroque heavy starships moved on an intercept course toward the newcoming, sending out streams of code that demanded the newcomer identify itself.

The newcomer sent its identification.

And was accepted as a brother beneath the gaze of the Eye of Barad-dr.

-----

The chest plate was locked into the power armor frame. Liquid gurgled as it flowed through the tube inserted through the left nostril. The skin was scarred and marred, cybernetic implants (crude and bulky) were surrounded by scarring.

The instruments withdrew and the table slowly rotated until the figure in a suit of heavy assault power armor slid slightly down the table and the boots thumped against the floor.

The lights dimmed slightly as Medtek Gladius checked the figure's biometrics.

They were waking up.

He wasn't nervous. The advice and guidance of the Martial Orders was steeped in thousands of years of performing this very action.

He reached up with his palm, the implant in his palm activating and making the back of his hand glow red, the bones and cybernetic wiring visible as shadows inside. He put his hand on the figure's forehead, sliding his fingers underneath the short chopped blonde hair. He could still feel the surge and ebb of madness within the mind, but it was more controlled now, able to be harnessed instead of running away with the mind beneath his fingers.

"Awaken," he commanded.

Yar-38173 opened her eyes, the burning red light of madness visible.