First Contact

Chapter 921: Edge of Twilight

Never underestimate an enlistedbeing's ability to find trouble if they're looking for it. - General NoDra'ak

Vuxten walked through the chow hall, holding his tray in one hand and a cup of hot caff in the other. He tried to ignore the way people went quiet and stared, then started talking quietly, glancing at him as he moved over to an open seat and sat down.

Before he could even finish his prayers a tray thumped down, followed by another one, and two other Telkan sat down.

Major Tut'el, a recent graduation of the command course, and one PFC Bit.nek, recent graduate of the Primary Leadership Development Course and recently promoted to the exalted rank that was signified by the worn and battered pin on the front enclosure of his uniform and on his lapels.

"Colonel," Tut'el said.

"Major," Vuxten answered.

Bit.nek didn't say anything, just tossed out a quick prayer and dug into the food on his tray.

"How was your schooling?" Tut'el asked.

Vuxten snorted. "Awful."

"Same here. They promoted me the same day I graduated from the course," Tut'el said. He plucked at the still shiny and unmarred rank. "I feel like a fool."

Vuxten snorted. "Me too."

Bit.nek said nothing, just kept shoveling food in his mouth, glancing now and then at the thin shaved strip on the inside of his left forearm. Vuxten frowned, knowing the other Telkan had a subdermal implant that showed the time in red numbers under that shaved strip.

"Major, can I have the rest of the day off?" Bit.nek asked Tut'el. "It's Friday, payday weekend."

"Sure," Tut'el said, shrugging as he picked at his salad. "It's past close of business formation anyway."

"Thanks, sir," Bit.nek said, and went back to demolishing his food.

When Bit.nek stood up, Vuxten gave him a look.

"Why the hurry?" Vuxten asked.

Bit.nek looked around, then back down. "NthTok Field?"

Vuxten looked at Tut'el who just shrugged.

"Neither of you know?" Bit.nek asked.

"Know what?" Tut'el asked.

"The thing. Nineteen hundred hours," Bit.nek said. He checked his wrist. "Gotta go. Gotta get there in time to lay down some creds on my boy."

Both officers watched Bit.nek hurry away.

"What do you think 'The Thing' is?" Tut'el asked.

Vuxten shook his head. "I don't know. But if it's requiring that practice field behind the motorpools, across from the staging areas. It's being chosen because the sec-vid system doesn't work, it isn't easily visible from any roads, and there's nothing there to break."

Tut'el nodded. "Think it's a mekbash?"

Shrugging, Vuxten stood up, grabbing his tray. "Hope not. Hard to hide a mekbash," he gave a sigh. "Only a matter of time, I suppose."

"Surprised our boy isn't running it," Tut'el said, standing up and grabbing his tray.

"Mekbash is more the kind of juice Big Mike likes," Vuxten said. "Big payday, Confed picks up the repair tabs and everything else. Lower overhead."

Tut'el followed Vuxten out of the chow hall. "I swear, you give an enlistedbeing a ten minute break and they'll have a Conex brothel, two speakeasies, and a boxing ring set up and be half drunk by the time you turn around."

Vuxten chuckled. "Let's see if this is a monitor situation or a shut down situation."

Tut'el checked his implant. "Pay hit today."

Vuxten checked his pay. Most of it he sent home, even though his family didn't really need it with Brentili'ik being the System Director. His pay had dropped, and he knew that Confed Finance Services made it so officers were paid after the enlistedbeings had been paid.

"Great. They'll all got doss burning in their pockets and gut full of Bingo Cola, and an unauthorized meekbash," Vuxten said. He thought real quick. "Get me that crooked MP Lieutenant and his crew. That way we're all covered. Tell them plainclothes."

"Want me to get Captain Telvak? He's Criminal Investigations Division. Everyone knows he's so crooked he had to pirouette to put on his uniform," Tut'el suggested.

"Good plan. Yeah, get him. We'll all go plainclothes," Vuxten paused. "Hopefully nobody recognizes me."

Tut'el didn't bother to snort at that.

-----

Vuxten kept his hands in his pockets as he walked around the 'lot', looking over the various trailers and tractors. Techs were running around and Vuxten had spotted more than a few that worked in the Third Shop he'd been running the last two years. He was wearing civilian clothing that he'd never actually worn before, a hat with the nude and lewd anime girl of the Dirty 34 unofficial logo on it, and his combat boots.

He fit right in.

Tut'el was walking with him, wearing a non-animated t-shirt of the Brigade's "Best Girl", an anime girl from "To Squiddies With Love" series. The only thing clothing her was ribbons in the Brigade's colors and the massive anti-mek rifle she was holding and licking the barrel of. Between Vuxten and Tut'el was a tall reptillian Blevak wearing non-descript clothing. Beside Vuxten was a Telkan that you forgot what he looked like when you blinked. They were out of the MP's and CID, respectively.

On the trailers were meks, suits of power armor, and even robotic combat drones.

As they walked by a trailer the Blevak leaned over to murmur to Vuxten.

"The four-fifty Stiener Class scout mek is out of the reclaimation yard," he said. "I recognize the graffiti on the legs."

"All reclaimation," Vuxten said, shaking his head. "It says something, I don't know what, but something, that it's just easier and cheaper to junk full warmeks rather than repair them."

The MP LT shrugged. "Always been like that."

"Except the heavy creation engines are starting to shut down," Vuxten said. "I had to refire two of them in the last week, both times it wiped me out for a couple of days."

The LT nodded. "You may be on to something. We might not be able to keep up the logistical tempo of 'nearest mass tank' to replace the big boys."

"Hold up," Captain Telvak said, lifting up the bottle of Ol' Smokey No in his hand and taking a drink off of the cloudy alk. "Look over by that Davion class."

Vuxten looked around and spotted it just as the tarp was pulled off by several Treana'ad.

Colonel Brett T'Klakak, Commander, 7th Armor Regiment, recently assigned to the Service Member Recovery Battalion, stood up to his full height, slapping his right arm, his flesh, chitin, and blood arm, with a red rag held in the cyberhand of his left arm. He jumped down then looked up at the Treana'ad still on the trailer.

"You think this piece of junk can fight?" the Colonel asked a warrior Treana'ad still standing on the trailer.

"Absolutely, sir," the Treana'ad said.

"Well, I've got my ice cream sunny day credits on this heap, son," the Colonel said. "Honor of the Regiment is on you."

"We'll come out on top, Colonel. You'll see," the warrior said. He turned to another Treana'ad. "Check the hydraulic master cylinder, I don't want it blowing out like last time."

Vuxten moved up quickly, standing there with his hands behind his back as Colonel T'Klakak turned around.

"BAH!" the Colonel said, stepping back.

Vuxten noticed that both left legs didn't lift high enough to keep them from dragging in the dirt.

The Colonel recovered quick, stepping forward and clapping Vuxten on the shoulder. "Vuxten. Good to see you," he said. "You come down to watch Third Shop work, watch 471's battlebot, or just here for the main event?"

"Main event?" Vuxten asked.

The Colonel gave the slightly smug aura that Treana'ad got as he clacked his mandibles in amusement. "Oh, I wouldn't ruin it for you."

"My Shop's down here?" Vuxten asked.

The Colonel nodded, grabbing fizzybrews off the trailer and handing them out to Vuxten's retinue. "Yup. Shop Steward has them come down and do hands on repairs during the two minute rest break between rounds," the Colonel pulled out at pack, let Tut'el and the LT grab one, then put one in between his mandibles and lit it with a flame lighter. "It's pretty much broken down into teams now."

Vuxten frowned. "OK..." he drew the word out.

"It's experienced guys that aren't getting bounced or pinkie slipped out of This Man's Military, training the boots on field repairs," the Colonel said.

Behind him the big warmek sat up. Something under the right pectoral armor started showering sparks and the Treana'ad started yelling.

"We should get out of the way," Colonel Brett said, puffing.

Vuxten noticed that no smoke came out of the Colonel's left legs as he followed the big Treana'ad warrior.

"This is the kind of training that wins wars, Colonel," the Treana'ad said. "You can teach anyone to fix war machines in a controlled environment, with plenty of manuals, eVI, VR, and a direct datalink to the TM database," he said, motioning around.

They walked by a long trailer holding nearly thirty battered sparring bots that were all spraypainted with 17th Mechanized Infantry Regiment's colors.

"Repairing it, in the dark, in a field, without a proper scaffold or cradle, with hand tools and by memory? A modified mech that's out of regs due to pilot and crew customization? That's real training, right there. That's reality," the big Treana'ad waved in the vague direction of the motorpool. "That? That's just regular maintenance, playing pretend like we're civilian mechanics," he waved at the two big meks standing up to their full height. "Working on them, like this? That's reality."

Vuxten just nodded. He glanced at Tut'el and saw the other Telkan officer was nodding slowly.

"The enemy has a vested interest in winning, and he'll train his men to fight, dominate, and achieve victory on the battlefield, Colonel," Brett was saying. "We have to find ways to train our men to be better, to achieve victory no matter what the circumstances, and training in comfortable air conditioned offices and with your entire logistics chain intact is training for peace-time," he stopped and looked down at Vuxten. "With your record, and your experiences, you know that being able to achieve victory even after everything has gone to the Detainee's loving embrace and you've been atom smashed right in the face, is the ultimate goal of any commanding officer."

Vuxten just nodded.

They were silent as they slowly moved around the cleared out four square acres. Already beings of all species were gathering up, passing around booze and stims, narcojets and narcobrews, and bottles of hard alk.

"You get your orders yet, Colonel?" the big Treana'ad asked.

Vuxten nodded. "Back to Telkan-2. Executive Officer to the Cadre Commandant," he said.

Brett nodded, lighting another cigarette. "That's a thankless job, training the next wave of boots, but someone has to do it and do it well. The Telkan Marine Training and Doctrine Command is lucky to have you."

Vuxten just nodded, following the big Treana'ad warrior. He noted that everyone got out of his way as he clapped beings on the shoulder, called them by name, helped pass around alk and stims, even took a few himself.

Finally he stopped, right behind a shielded battlescreen projector that looked like it belonged on a BOLO rather than sitting on a concrete slab on the ground. There was a comfortable looking Treana'ad couch next to it, with beer and snacks next to it.

Brett made the request and it took a few moments for chairs for Vuxten and his retinue to be passed up. Once he was sitting down, Brett handed Vuxten a beer just as the first two combatants came out to the roar of the crowd. It was over in a few minutes, the two Rigellian female power armor pilots clashing fast and hard until one went sailing into the air, falling into a kick that slammed them into a concrete pylon.

In the lull, Vuxten leaned over to shout a question at Colonel Brett.

"What about you?" Vuxten asked.

The Colonel leaned over. "I'm being separated."

Vuxten nodded. "Yeah, but what are you going to do?"

The Colonel gave a sign of amusement. "Now that's the question, isn't it, young one?"

Vuxten nodded again. The crowd roared as two sets of six combatants entered the ring. After a quick introduction they went at it.

It lasted two rounds before the last of one team was dropped by the two remaining power armor troops of the other team.

Vuxten could see credit chips and sticks, data cubes, and other things being traded. He knew that favors were being swapped and wished, for a moment, that he was still low ranking enough to bet favors on combat games.

IN the lull, Vuxten leaned over again. "So what will you be doing after you get out?"

Colonel Brett leaned over, looking serious.

"I'll be escorting General NoDra'ak home to Smokey Cone and making sure that the powers that be respect his living will," the big Treana'ad said.

"Living will? I thought that was just if you were in coma or brain dead," Vuxten said.

"For us Treana'ad, there's another part, and General NoDra'ak falls under that. Euphoric senility is covered under our living wills in case of head wounds," the big Colonel said.

"What's General NoDra'ak want?" Vuxten asked.

Before Colonel Brett could answer another round was introduced. A battlebot mass melee, the battlebots made by greenie mantids.

Vuxten paid attention. He could see the little battlebot that 471 had been working on.

His battlebuddy wasn't the winner, but he was in the final four. Vuxten jumped up and cheered each victory of the small battlebot and cheered when 471 was awarded the third place prize, a ticket for a deep fried turkey from the 4/25 Mess Hall.

In the lull, Vuxten looked over. "What's the General want?"

Colonel Brett looked down. "Death by Matron. The General is a traditionalist, I guess. From what I hear, the competition to be that Matron is hot and heavy and speculation is rampant on Smokey Cone. Cattlequeens, the former War Queen, and even the Hive Queens are all submitting their names."

Vuxten shuddered. The idea of having his head chewed off during mating made him close his eyes as he shuddered.

"There are worse ways to go, Vuxten," Brett said softly. "You and I, and the good General, we've seen a lot of them."

Vuxten just nodded.

He watched the next set of matches quietly, thinking about General NoDra'ak's fate and where his own life was going.

I'm the last Telkan of my Basic Training class still in service, he thought to himself.

The wreckage of the last combat was moved out of the 'ring' as a Rigellian female in assless chaps and wearing crossed leather belts tightly cinched to her chest swaggered out into the middle, holding a hot-mic.

Vuxten recognized her as the Command Sergeant Major of the 84th Light Infantry Battalion.

The lights went off around the edges as she slowly turned in a circle. She smiled and raised the microphone to her mouth.

"IT'S TIME FOR THE MAIN EVENT!" she roared out.

Colonel Brett leaned over and yelled in Vuxten's ear. "You're not going to wanna miss this one, Colonel."

The crowd went wild and Vuxten found himself leaning forward.

Off to the right red lights appeared. One pair after another until Vuxten saw it was a small crowd.

"In this corner, standing at Terran male average of seven feet, weighing four hundred pounds apiece for a grand total of five metric short tons, the Robo-Horde of the 17th Mechanized Infantry Regiment! Twenty-Five reprogrammed and battle tested combat armor sparring robots, with a group record of twenty-eight wins, zero draws, and zero losses!" she called out.

The lights came on to reveal the robots all standing in a square, five by five, all with glowing red eyes. As one they raised one fist and turned at the waist to pose.

The crowd went wild.

The MC gave it thirty seconds then made a throat cutting motion.

The crowd went silent.

"In this corner, at seven foot eight inches, one hundred twenty kilograms, with a record too long for me to get in to here," she called out. There was light laughter in the crowd mixed in with the cheering.

Vuxten got a sudden sinking feeling.

The light came on to reveal someone sitting down, wearing a black robe with red edging.

"You know him, you love him!" the MC called out.

The figure stood up and threw off the robe, revealing rock hard muscle and scarred flesh.

"CATHAL 'WORLDBREAKER' CASEY!"