First Contact

Chapter 789: The Inheritor's War

The biggest problem the Precursor races suffered when encountering Terran Descent Humanity is that bad pattern recognition leads to slow innovation, slower application, and often stagnation of technology and, worse, the application of that technology. - Bo'okdu'ust, Lanaktallan researcher

The Atrekna gathered for a quick Quorum stared as the Young One was brought before them, held tight by the combined power of a half dozen Ancient Ones. The Young One was bruised, battered, and had a pressure cut leaking purple blood just above their third eye.

As the Quorum watched, the Young One was released from the Ancient Ones' power. It stood up, brushed off the shoulders of its robe, tugged at the sleeves, then faced the Quorum.

**You are part of the Cult of the Defiled One** the Quorum accused, waiting for a denial.

**Affirmative response** the Young One stated.

The Quorum stared for a long moment.

**You have infiltrated our number to destabilize us in the name of the Cult** the Quorum stated.

**Negative response. This grouping destabilizes itself through conflicting goals and machinations. This grouping needs cohesion and cooperation to attain victory over the Inheritors of Madness and instead chooses to involve itself in in-fighting and machinations intended on increasing an individual's power and position** the Young One stated, a sneer coloring its thoughts.

**Then why are you here** the Quorum asked.

**To witness first hand your failures and carry the knowledge to my fellow devotees so that we may examine your failure and its causes** the Young One stated. **The Inheritors have pushed you off of over sixty percent of the planet. You barely hold the orbitals. You have lost the majority of the stellar system geography. It is but a matter of time**

The Young One paused.

**Of which, you are nearly out of** it stated.

**You think you could do better** one of the Quorum shouted, standing up, screeching audibly a wordless expression of anger and aggression.

"Yes," the Young One spoke aloud. Its voice was liquid but raspy at the same time. "You have the technology. You have the weapon systems. You have the servitors and the numbers. You have the war materiel. You simply lack..."

It let the silence hold out.

**We lack the what** the Quorum demanded.

"Discipline," the Young One vocalized. "You lack imagination, discipline, the ability to apply experience and knowledge, but most of all, you lack the strength of will our ancestors possessed to dominate and consume other universes."

It stood silent. Right when the Quorum began to gather themselves to speak the Young One spoke again.

"If our ancestors acted as you do we would be extinct," it stated out.

**Then prove it** The Quorum demanded. **Gain one victory on this planet. Just a single victory**

"Victory is not just to command. The enemy has a vested interest in victory. Victory must be wrested from the grasp of defeat and from the clutches of the enemy," the Young One stated. "There may be no victory to be found here."

**And why not** the Quorum demanded.

"Because it may be too late. You may be out of time," the Young One said. It reached into a pocket.

The Ancient Ones lifted up psychic focuses, preparing themselves for the oncoming attack by an insane one.

The Young One withdrew a colorful can from its pocket, lifted it, and used a lever attached to the top to crack open a drinking port.

"Countess Crey Shows the Way to EXTREME THIRST QUENCHING! SHE HAS WHAT YOU NEED!" the can sang out.

The Young One swallowed deeply from the can then dropped it.

"Recycling earns monetary and social credit," the can stated as it bounced across the floor.

**Deliver one setback to the Inheritors or face our determination of your fate** the Quorum stated.

The Young One belched loudly then wiggled its facial tentacles in amusement. "You can't even threaten right any more," it said. "You should have said: Push back the lemur lovers in one place or we'll rip your face off and feed you to servitors." Its voice was full of scorn.

The Quorum withdrew slightly then turned back to the Young One. **Deliver a set back to the Inheritors or** they paused for a second. **We'll throw you into the sun**

The Young One gave a hiccup and turned away. "Better. I guess."

Several of the gathered Quorum noticed the thick scar on the back of the Young One's head but did not comment upon it.

-----

The Young One looked at the missile designs, bringing them up on the crystalline phasic projectors that served the same function as a Confederate holotank.

"These. Load these missiles into the launchers in this section," it verbalized.

The other Atrekna looked at which missile the Young One had chosen.

It shifted out of temporal phase right after launch, so that during its flight it was a split second out of phase with the rest of the universe.

**The Inheritors temporal stabilizers will nullify the missiles' protective field** they stated.

"I know," the Young One stated, scrolling through the other munitions.

It stopped.

"A secondary barrage of these warheads on the previous missiles," it said. It kept scrolling. "Then a barrage of these."

It moved to the available units.

"You still throw away slavespawn in frontal assaults. It may have worked in other universes, but not here," the Young One stated. It withdrew another can, opening it to a jingle, then drinking the whole can before tossing the can over its shoulder. "Energy weapons," it scoffed. "The Mad Lemurs of Terra devised ways of countering energy weapons through microprism crystals suspended in liquid droplets in mass quanitities to form a mist before they were ever even able to manufacture them."

**The Mad Lemurs are gone. Extinct. You waste energy considering them** an Ancient One stated.

"The Mad Lemurs of Terra passed all of their knowledge of technology and warfare to the Inheritors before we began the Second Incursion, through warfare and then through mutual defense pacts," the Young One stated, its voice full of scorn. "Unless you have more to offer than poor pattern recognition and stupidity, I advise you to not waste energy broadcasting your ignorant thoughts where larvae might accidentally intake them and become even dumber."

The Ancient One drew itself up in fury.

"Assign these units kinetic weapons only. The advantages are obvious to any being with the slightest bit of pattern recognition," the Young One stated. "Move this armor unit to reinforce these two infantry units. Assign this air combat unit to this location."

The Young One moved over to another phasic console, taking out another can and setting it on the console. "Prepare these units. Do not bother with temporal masking. They will do a charge once they are given the orders. Casualties will be heavy but it is a risk I am willing to take."

**You speak with authority beyond your expertise** the Ancient One snarled. **Kinetic weapons are obsolete, inferior to phasic and temporal powers**

The Young One turned. "Do you truly believe so?"

**I do** The Ancient One broadcast. "Kinetic weapons are primitive and I disapprove of their inclusion in our order of battle**

"Obsolete does not mean ineffective. Obsolete may refer to the tactics and use rather than the technology," the Young One stated. It picked up the can of fizzypop and stared at the Ancient One, who was across the large room from it. "Imagine this is a rock."

**It is a metal container of liquid refreshment not a rock** the Ancient One sneered.

"Just imagine it, you half-blind idiot," the Young One snapped.

The Ancient One drew itself up. **Fine. It is a rock. So what**

The Young One bounced the can up and down in its hand, shaking it slightly. "A rock is primitive and cannot compete with such powers of time and space and reality affecting thought as the Atrekna possess, correct?"

The Ancient One signaled assent.

"The Atrekna's ability to manipulate space and time make it the evolutionary pinnacle, correct?" the Young One asked.

The Ancient One nodded.

"We are the winners of the evolutionary arms race and the dominant life form everywhere through our evolution, correct?" the Young One asked.

**Obviously** the Ancient One stated. "The arms race between armor and weapon comes to an end when psychic powers are achieved no other ability or defense can match psychic powers and phasic manipulation**

The Young One exploded into motion. The can made a fluttering noise as it whipped end over end through the air in an arc. The Ancient One reacted, firing off its psychic blast.

FWOOP!

The psychic blast passed under the can, which was still arcing through the air. It was a long distance across the room and the psychic crush merely rippled the hem of the Young One's robe.

The can, under pressure with the shaking of the carbonated contents, slammed into the Ancient One's face, knocking the Atrekna to the floor with its skull caved in. The can ruptured, the contents spraying out, sending the can spinning across the floor.

"FUCK YOUR EVOLUTIONARY ARMS RACE! THIS IS MY PLANET NOW!" the Young One screeched.

The can came to a stop, just leaking now.

The gathered Atrekna looked at the can, looked at the Young One, then at the dead Ancient One, then back at the can.

"And the universe made that everyone's problem," the Young One stated quietly. It pulled another can out of the pocket dimension of the robe's pocket, cracked it open, and took a long drink. "Such wisdom I saw on the Trial of Visions. Such wisdom I endured fighting the Mad Lemurs of Terra," it muttered, turning back to the phasic displays. "Such wisdom this malevolent universe offers to those willing to endure the pain."

The other Atrekna remained silent, many sliding slightly away from the mad one in their midst.

-----

The Atrekna units moved quickly, the Atrekna on the ground slightly confused as to why they were ordered not to replicate the units and move the copied version. Instead, units were brought from the rear up to take the place of the units that shifted position.

One of the Atrekna command groups formed a Quorum and requested the reasoning that they should follow the orders. They were the Quorum in charge of the armor units, why should they listen to the commands from the Conclave so far away?

A small phasic portal opened.

A can of liquid under pressure from carbonation whipped through the portal, slammed into one of the Atrekna's chest, sending them staggering.

"FOLLOW ORDERS, YOU MENTAL DEFECTIVES!" was screeched through the portal.

The Quorum glided away on their hoverdisks.

The units moved as ordered.

-----

The missile launchers, each of them carrying sixteen missiles, were loaded slowly with the munitions. Another three units loaded up their own munitions, different warheads for the same missile body and stealth systems. It took some jury-rigging, but they managed to accomplish it.

The infantry units and the armor units repositioned. Forces being kept back in case of an Inheritor breakthrough in the lines again were shifted up to take the place of the repositioning and redeploying forces.

The Atrekna Quorums doubted the effectiveness of this new strategy. They were all convinced that if they just repeated their previous attacks just one more time then surely it would work this time.

The fact that the Insect Lords and the Cyborg Herd Lords had gotten into their rear ranks and wreaked havoc a month ago still had not quite set in just how much damage could be done. Yes, they had forced the Cyborgs and those overly aggressive insects back into their own lines, but not before they had destroyed entire units ten times their size.

The Quorums were sure that this time repeating the actions taken previously would succeed.

Whoever was in charge in the Citadel of Thought and Domination made vile threats against any who went counter to the plans being laid.

The Inheritors kept up their probing attacks, forcing the Atrekna to replicate more and more units. It was getting to the point where some units weren't able to be replicated any longer and the Inheritors were pushing steadily at those areas. In more and more areas it was no longer possible to replicate supplies or war materiel.

The Citadel of Thought and Domination ordered all the Atrekna to stop replicating units until they were directly ordered to do so and only when ordered to do so.

Several Quorums and Conventions sneered and summoned up reinforcements before they were no longer able to.

The Atrekna in charge of the Convention sent a strange looking armored servitor with a big heavy iron chain to beat to death any Atrekna who temporally replicated any units. On the chain was painted "CHAIN OF COMMAND" for some reason.

Finally, the orders came.

-----

The scarred moon was large in the sky and pinpricks of light appearing and vanishing still spoke silently of the raging battle for possession of the system when the orders came. The launchers were deployed, camo nets pulled off of them, the launch systems hissing and blowing steam as the high pressure pistons got the firing racks into position. On orders, all the missile launchers fired in a carefully staged sequence. The missiles were put a split second out of phase with reality as they were launched and additional equipment caused the launchers themselves to be out of phase for a moment, with the idea that the launchers activity could be momentarily hidden.

The missiles went hypersonic, streaking across the battlefield. Adjusting speed so that they approached in multiple waves that would arrive at the same time.

**They will hit the Inheritor's termporal interdiction and stabilization fields and be revealed** an Ancient One stated.

"I KNOW!" the Young One shrieked. It twisted the top off of a colorful can that squeaked "sucks to be you" at the Young One. "I know. I get the picture," it said. It took several convulsive swallows and went back to watching what was going on.

The missiles hit the edge of the temporal interdiction and stabilization field.

They dropped into real-time just as they howled in on their terminal guidance.

Computers never slept, VI never rested, so there was no biological entity lag before the point defense systems engaged. The darkness didn't inhibit their sensors from pinpointing the missiles. The 'compound lens dome' design didn't require a barrel to shift and turn.

The autocannons did swivel and begin to throw out glass beads with an iron core that led the mag-rails fire the pellets at hypervelocity.

The initial missiles appeared inside the battlescreens.

Point defense wiped out eighty three percent of them.

Seventeen percent of them got through.

They slammed home, focusing on buildings and vehicles.

Explosions erupted as the buildings took the hits. Vehicles exploded, mass tanks ruptured, nano-forges were torn apart, and communication systems were reduced to scrap. Generators and power plants took multiple hits until their local battlescreens failed.

The entire night was lit up by explosions as even more waves of missiles came in.

Point defense was faltering as tracking systems and power generation went offline and the point defense had to go to local systems.

Still the missiles hammered home.

Artillery rounds, fired on a high parabolic arc, combined with guided mortar rounds, fell from the sky, pounding the Confederate lines.

Focused all on one small section.

Just like the Inheritors had done to the Atrekna to force open a hole that they had poured troops through and forced the Atrekna to retreat nearly two hundred miles.

-----

Vuxten was thrown out of bed by the explosions. The bed flipped after him and he crashed against the wall, the bunk hitting him a second later, driving the breath from his body.

The cot saved his life as the second missile hit and shrapnel ripped through the officer's hut. The roof was peeled back, the sandbags gone, part of the wall he'd been sleeping next to missing.

The night was full of explosions.

Vuxten touched his comlink as he kicked the cot away and got to his feet. He pushed his feet into his boots, grabbed his weapon harness off the floor, and ran at the door.

"GET OUT OF BED IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE!" he shouted. "UP! UP! GET UP!"

He threw himself at the door, slamming the damaged panel out of frame, and stumbled into the night.

Flashes were lighting everything up and he saw the Morgue take a direct hit from at least two missiles.

The explosion knocked him down as he tried to run for the nearest overhead cover. He reflexively slapped his hand over the pistol holster as he rolled across the dirt.

He scrambled up as the armory took a hit at the same time as one of the mass tank trucks, ignoring the fact that his thigh was aching from hitting a rock in the dirt.

NCO's were shouting, getting order, and Vuxten ran for the nearest foxhole, jumping in next to a Private who had blood running down his head from a missing ear, an LT with part of his face smashed, and a Sergeant busy tying a bandage off around his leg.

"How did they get through the point defense, sir?" the LT asked.

"Dunno," Vuxten said. He glanced up and saw that the Morgue was on fire. "Get everyone into cover, armor up when able. Get the men armed and armored," he said. He reached down and patted his own armor. "Tell the men to get ready to fight."

"Sir?" the LT asked.

The Private pulled the LT around, grabbing the LT's pressure dressing off his gear and using it to cover the LT's eye and start winding the bandage around the Telkan officer's head.

"They'll be coming," Vuxten said. He reached up and tapped his comlink. "Engineer section, report."

There was a delay before his private channel clinked.

A private slid into the foxhole, one hand on top of his head, three rifles on slings over his shoulder.

--trapped-- 471 said. --took a hit in opening salvo. casualties. building collapsed--

There was a second pause.

--ruptured pipe water rising-- 471 said.

"You're green mantids. Wrench and warsteel. Don't let a busted pipe kill all of you," Vuxten ordered.

"Sir, I've got the wrong helmet, it's too big for me," the newly arrived private complained to the LT.

"Be a man and grow a bigger fucking head," the Sergeant snapped.

"Roger, Sergeant," the Private said. He handed out two of the rifles. "Grabbed them off the ground. Looks like the armory was hit."

Vuxten looked up as another set of blasts rocked the compound. Shrapnel whipped by as he looked at the edges of the 'self-auto-deploying overhead cover' system.

That hadn't deployed.

He kicked the button twice and it did nothing.

"MEDIC!" someone screamed.

Artillery fire and mortar rounds answered.

Another set of mass tank vehicles took hits and exploded.

"Never seen them put out this kind of volume of fire," Vuxten mused. He tapped his comlink. "Dammit. Commo's down. We need to get a drone up."

A corporal slid on his ass into the foxhole, landing hard. He had a light machinegun in his arms and was holding the handles of two cans of ammo in each paw.

"Pulled this off a wrecked vehicle," the corporal panted. He dropped it and stood up next to Vuxten. "Dammit, the Morgue and Armory are on fire."

Vuxten nodded, ducking slightly as more missiles, artillery shells, and mortars hit.

The Corporal put his hand on top of Vuxten's head. "Keep your head down, sir," he said.

"We need to get the armory fire under control," Vuxten said. He pointed at the fire extinquisher tanks. "There. We'll use that and put out the fire."

The Corporal nodded, turning to the two privates. "Get ready, men, we're running into that and putting out the fire or we're going to be throwing rocks at the Atrekna."

The two privates nodded, their faces lit by the fires.

"LET'S GO," Vuxten yelled out, starting to climb out of the foxhole.

The Sergeant grabbed the back of his harness and yanked him down.

"GET OUT THERE, YOU APES! GET THE FIRES UNDER CONTROL! NOBODY LIVES FOREVER!" the NCO yelled over the channel. He looked down. "Not you, sir."

Vuxten gritted his teeth.

Another volley howled in, hammering the half-destroyed compound.

"This is enlisted work," the NCO said.