First Contact

Chapter 651: The Spoked Offensive

"It ain't about how hard you can hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and still keep moving forward." - Unknown Terran Gladiator, Pre-Glassing

"One step at a time, one punch at a time, one blade at a time, one bullet at a time, one enemy at a time, one battle at a time, one war at a time. One life." - Engraved on the wall of the P'Thok Advanced Warfare School, Fort Erwin, Hamburger Kingdom.

Captain Cyba'armo'o stood with his men, all of them looking like normal Lanaktallans, wearing only standard shipboard armor, carrying light magac weapons with standard frangible ball rounds. They watched the battered dropship sitting in the middle of the deck with expressionless eyes.

Despite their appearance, Cyba'armo'o and his men were much different than the average Lanaktallan trooper.

They were 90% Terran Confederacy cybernetics. Full conversion cyborgs.

More Lanaktallan than Lanaktallan.

He scanned the dropship again, thinking to his briefing.

The dropship was listed as "lost in action" five years ago on a far away planet that had been assaulted by what was later determined to be Atrekna autonomous war machines. It was battered, had nose art from the XIIth Rifle Guards Orbital Assault Force, and most of its munitions were expended.

The passengers had to rely on the Indomitable Will of the Herd's tractor beams and two aerospace recovery ships to bring it in. According to communications it carried three passengers, a Tukna'rn, a Puntimat, and, unbelievably, a Terran who claimed to have been from San Angelos, Hamburger Kingdom.

Cyba'armo'o waited, watching closely. He could see the tattered remains of Atrekna phasic energy swirl on the dropship's warsteel armor, thanks to the phasic coprocessor systems he had built in to effectively fight the Atrekna.

The ship's side door cracked and slid open.

Alarm went off, flashing and whirling red lights. Cyba'armo'o felt his phasic/psychic shielding lock down around his head, down his spine, shooting down his flankspine to protect his biological parts.

The Puntimat was rippling with phasic energy, radiating out from the middle of her chest, flowing down her arms, and her hands with bright yellow levels of energy. The Tukna'rn had the same, with his arms and forearm rippling with orange levels.

It was the Terran, Cyba'armo'o knew, that had caused the complete lockdown.

Phasic levels were purple, from bright purple to dark purple, completely through the lemur's body. As Cyba'armo'o watched, the Terran seemed to have spikes of phasic energy suddenly stab out from his body then slowly withdraw.

The lemur looked around. "Uh, this isn't about little ol' me, is it?"

Captain Cyba'armo'o stepped forward. "The ship's VI detected heavy phasic levels. It is nothing to be alarmed about," he said.

"Damn, you're a hell of thing," the lemur said. He squinted. "Full conversion, huh?"

Cyba'armo'o nodded. "Yes."

"Can smell the gear oil, hear the micromotors and flatware gearing running, see your eyes," the lemur shrugged. "You're not as bulky as the heavy hitters but I guess that was a long time ago."

Cyba'armo'o motioned to his men despite the fact he just could have used his cyberware comlink. "Escort them to inprocessing," he said. He moved forward, holding out manacles. "It's for your own safety."

The lemur suddenly got a wide grin and the phasic levels suddenly went purplish white.

"You wanna put them on me you better have been feeding a lot of jarheads a lot of crayons and you better not care too much about them," the lemur said, moving his hands slowly as his feet slid apart. His grin got wider. "I'll rip this whole ship down around your ears," he said, then spit rapidly in Treana'ad, "Strike hard, strike true."

The Tukna'rn shifted, feet shoulder-width apart and planted solidly. He curled his arms slightly, putting his fists below his waist, and flexed his muscles.

His phasic levels went from yellow to bright red.

The Puntimat crouched slightly, her hands coming up, moving in small circles, her elbows tucked tight and her wrists flexed. Her levels went from yellow to bright red.

She reminded him of a mean feline he'd seen on a video.

"There is no such thing as only Tukna'rn," the Tukna'rn rumbled.

"Or only Puntimat," the female said.

The comlink clinked.

"Stand down," he heard the Chief Security Officer order.

Cyba'armo'o stepped back, motioning to his men.

A Treana'ad hustled out of the side door. "Where did a Terran learn Warrior Caste speak?" it asked loudly, still using clicks and pops.

"P'Thok Military Academy, Advanced Non-Commissioned Officer's Course" the Terran said, still speaking Treana'ad. "Class Number 22."

The Treana'ad stopped. "Prove it."

Cyba'armo'o heard the Terran make clicks and pops, buzzing noises. The translator didn't quite catch it.

"Victory through innovation, adaptation, agility," the Terran finished with.

The Treana'ad gave a slow nod.

"It had the best ice cream on any military base in..."

"DO NOT!" the Treana'ad snapped.

The lemur jerked back.

"Say... Hamburger Kingdom," the Treana'ad warned. He motioned. "Follow me, and I shall explain."

The lemur nodded. "Perhaps," he turned and looked at the Puntimat and the Tukna'rn. "They go with me."

The Treana'ad nodded, crossing his bladearms behind his back, which looked very formal to Cyba'armo'o. "Of course. I understand."

The Treana'ad turned to Cyba'armo'o. "They will be coming with me."

Cyba'armo'o nodded and watched the Treana'ad, Major H'voktik lead the three out.

-----

The gathered officers stared at the recording, shaking their heads.

"Look at the phasic levels," Captain Through the Looking Glass said softly. She shook her head. "By the Digital Omnimessiah and Bellona's Hundred Cursed Ships, look at the way it flows."

Commander G'vrawk nodded. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Attended the P'Thok Aye-Knock course," Commodore Julius Shawrawrkat said, the Kobold tapping his tail on the floor. "Destroyed during the Mantid Invasion of Fort Erwin, Hamburger Kingdom, six months Pee-Gee."

"How did he react to seeing Technical Sergeant Three 917?" Captain Glass asked.

"No prejudice," Commander G'vrawk said.

Fleet Admiral Shyp'fyter nodded slowly, then nodded at the recording, which had been taken four days ago.

The Terran was pacing back and forth, waving his arms, reciting what the battle had been like to free themselves from the Atrekna. The Terran had said repeatedly that they were led to the dropship so that the Atrekna could get rid of them.

He was bright purple and his hands and down his spine kept going white.

The Admiral stopped the video playback and turned to Glass. "Any diagnosis over the the last four days?"

Glass nodded slowly. "Physically, he's in top condition. He heals rapidly, phasic biofeedback cellular reconstruction. He eats roughly twelve-thousand calories a day and backs it up with extensive exercise."

Cyba'armo'o nodded, he'd watched the Terran work out in the gym.

"He's got the phasic levels of a Warrior, easily, maybe even a Speaker," Glass stated. "I ran phasic level comparisons off of old battlefield footage and, well," she paused a moment to clean her antenna. "I can tell you, it took everything I had not to run screaming," she gave a slight giggle, took a minute to take a sip of water off of a magnetically held droplet. "The Terrans blew a hole through our psyche just like many other species they have fought."

Cyba'armo'o reached out. "May I?"

The others nodded.

Gym footage appeared. The Terran working out on the equipment. Cyba'armo'o pointed out several things. "The Terran is capable of bench pressing literal tons of weight in high gravity. He's capable of running thirty miles in a breather mask, two miles in complete vacuum and still be capable in a fight. But, most of all, watch these strikes."

To everyone watching it looked like he was just striking the heavy bag. The Tukna'rn and the Putimat were watching closely. Every time a spurt of sand flew out of the other side.

"Now, look under phasic recording," Cyba'armo'o said.

Each punch, the lemur went completely white. More than that, the impact of the fist brought out a bright flash and a lance of phasic energy blew through the bag.

"It is about to get worse," Cyba'armo'o said.

The Puntimat stepped up to the bag. She did several breathing exercises, then took the strange close armed stance. She stepped forward, striking out quickly, sometimes straight up and down, other times crossing her hands so that she raked the bag in an X pattern, other times lashing out to the side of the bag and either striking or pulling toward herself. She kept circling the bag, sometimes rolling under it or rolling off to the side. Turning around from it and striking behind her after taking a quick, snapping look.

Every time bright red phasic energy followed her strikes, sinking deep into the bag.

Next up was the Tukna'rn. He didn't go for the fancy strikes. He planted his feet, which made his feet, legs, and spine go red, then waded into the bag, slamming strike after strike into the bag. Red phasic energy levels exploded from the bag.

"Not only is he extremely phasiclly active, he's able to instill it in others," Cyba'armo'o said. He clicked again, showing the Terran climbing an ice cliff with his bare hands, snow and ice whirling around him, dressed only in a pair of pants, no shoes, gloves, or shirt. Then using the exercise machines under various harsh conditions. "Is this standard for Terran combat training?"

Everyone looked at Glass, who shook her head.

"No. Terrans don't use phasic energy anymore," she said.

The Terran was fighting hard light projections, moving fast and showing a lot of power in his blows.

"He's fighting Vormaktin," Glass said softly, shaking her head. "They've been extinct for just over two thousand years."

"What happened to them?" Cyba'armo'o asked.

"The Wemtarran Dominion happened," Glass said. "One of the reason they got 1%'d."

"Oh," Cyba'armo'o said. He shook his head. "I have a small question."

Glass nodded. "All right."

Cyba'amo'o played the video, showing the Terran fighting against multiple opponents, mixed opponents. "Here is fighting against Type-II Atrekna Dwellerspawn."

"All right," Commander G'vrawk.

"Why does he do this," Cyba'amo'o asked, pausing it right as the Terran slapped himself in the chest.

Everyone looked at G'vrawk, Chief Bosun of the Marine detachment.

G'vrawk cleared his throat uncomfortably. "It's an uncomfortable subject."

The Admiral gave the Bosun the patented "Admiral wants answers" look.

G'vrawk shook his head. "I had to ask BOLO Blackrazor for the information and even he was loathe to give it to me. I have the general specifications, but it's locked data now."

"Did you ask ONI?" the Admiral asked, referring to Naval Intelligence.

G'vrawk nodded. "Blackrazor won't give up the data merely on ONI request. It's bad, real bad, just from the tight specs," he nodded at the video. "He's reflexively slapping a induction switch that should pump his body full of chemicals, oxygenate his blood, and have a chunk of cyberware stage his physical performance up."

G'vrawk looked around. "Nobody's made any since the Glassing, after the Combine fell."

"Why not?" Cyba'amo'o asked.

G'vrawk tapped his fingers for a long moment then switched the video.

The Terran was pounding on the bags, the Tukna'rn and the Puntimat on either side of him, all of them slamming blows into punching bags. Phasic levels snapped, peaked and exploded, rippling back and forth between all three beings practicing.

"Because it was an ugly thing, for an ugly time," G'vrawk said. "Maybe better left in the dark of history."

Cyba'amo'o paused it and looked at everyone.

"The Atrekna are here, from the darkness of history," he pointed at the Terran. "It is an ugly time.

"Perhaps we need ugly things." Cyba'amo'o said.

-----

Natraya sat down next to the lemur, Carter, his name is Carter, and set her tray down. Without speaking she began to eat, shoveling the food into her mouth rapidly. On'trak sat down next to Carter, on the other side, and did the same.

Afterwards came the running. She could run nearly a mile without stopping at a fast pace, nearly two at a slow pace. On'trak could run nearly five miles at a slow pace, less than a half mile at a fast pace. While On'trak and Carter kept running, Natraya went over to the pegs on the walls, shaking her arms out.

She took a peg in each hand, jumped up, and slammed the pegs into the bottom of the two columns of wood with holes down it. She reached up, tensing, and put the peg in the next hole and, straining, pulled herself up and put the next peg into the next hole.

Then came working on the bags, working in high gravity, wearing a face mask to make it hard to breathe and running on a treadmill.

She could still feel the anger inside of her.

The rage.

Still see Her Ladyship spit on the Atrekna, defiance in her expressionate, compassionate eyes.

Never again. Never will I lay helpless while another dies.

Never.