First Contact

Chapter 454.5

Undrat moved to the back of the bunker, his armor hissing as he moved. The orbital strike had obviously forced the enemy to break contact and retreat and he was grateful for a few moments of rest. Dunkark had already gone into defrag and recompile mode, feeling 'bruised' after the temporal resonance cannon strike.

The passageway was barely wide enough for Undrat to push against the wall and allow a Treana'ad infantryman to move by, his armor scarred and pitted, his armored bladearms nicked and gouged. Still, there was enough room, and that was what mattered.

He stepped into the maintenance rack, letting the system remove his armor. The feeling of the control plug being withdrawn from his spine felt weird and he knew it was because part of his 'body' had just been disconnected.

The maintenance area was busy, the armorers working on the suits of Third Telkan. One of the armorers called Undrat over to use a prybar on the Telkan's leg while the armorer ran a grinder around the knee to unfreeze it. Undrat could see where something had partially melted the warsteel and the lower lip of the knee system had soften then folded up underneath. After a few seconds the piece flew free and Undrat was able to slide the prybar free and step back. The Marine moved his knee several times and nodded.

Undrat had started to move back when the entire armory went still.

Undrat turned around slowly, looking where everyone else was.

The Dread Corporal had entered the room, standing in the doorway in full armor, steam or some kind of other vapor wafting up from their joints.

That wasn't what got attention.

There was a little creature in the middle of the armory. Four metal legs made of tiny girders and pulleys, attached to a rough looking base that was lumpy with small projections and had two arms coming off of the front, one a saw blade and the other a pincher. A crysteel globe on top with a brain pulsating amid the blue light, with wires and tubes sticking into the brain inside the bubbling liquid.

It chittered to itself, shifting left and right, a purplish halo appearing above the crysteel globe.

Before anyone could do anything Undrat took a single step and brought the heavy prybar down with all his strength onto the top of the globe. The globe shattered and a scream that was more felt than heard sounded out. The fluid gushed out, vile smelling and thick, and it screeched louder. Following his training Undrat hit it a second time, the brain squishing unpleasantly as the bar impacted on the top.

The little robot, no bigger than Undrat's knee, collapsed, all four skeletal legs sprawled out.

"Scouting unit. Must have been scuttling underneath one of the Treana'ad infantrymen," the Dread Corporal said. "Nice job, trooper."

"I thank you," Undrat said. He held out the prybar to one of the armorers, who took it and wiped one end off with a rag. "If you will pardon me, this is my assigned recovery time."

"Of course," the Dread Corporal moved to the side and Undrat slid past, heading for the small cubby he shared with another Tukna'rn. He collected a standard ration and sat down on his bunk, using a datapad to bring up the field manual he had been studying earlier to peruse as he ate mechanically.

He knew that, barring an overwhelming attack, he would have time to eat and take a short five or six hour nap before he would be required to return to manning the guns.

Undrat felt no fear of failure.

He was prepared.

-----------------

Gu'unmo'o trotted out in front of his men, the sun warming the glossy black warsteel armor he was wrapped inside of. He had his helmet off, looking over his men with an appraising eye. He had taken no casualties from the ground defense of the enemy and all of his men were accounted for.

As he passed they turned away and trotted over to pick up their weapons, step into their heavy combat chassis, or mount their vehicles.

He would be support for General Melfunt and the Sixth Neosapient Armor Division. He knew that General Melfunt was a fine leader and a canny tactician who's abilities meshed well with Gu'unmo'o's own combat prowess and strategic skills.

The Pukan commander wielded his tanks like surgical instruments and Gu'unmo'o knew that his men would not be left hanging, to use the Terran phrase, if things dropped into the shitter.

Gu'unmo'o climbed aboard the striker, thrilling, as he had for the last two years, at the powerful aerospace craft's eager trembling. Unlike his previous career as a Great Most High, now he had equipment he could rely on, equipment that was designed to kill the enemy and break their possessions and make them regret ever testing their might against the Terran Confederacy of Aligned Systems. The guns were designed for lethality, not safety. The striker was designed for speed, power, precision, and survivability, not to look good sitting in a hangar for a half million years.

He was proud to take up the banner of the Terran Confederate Armed Forces and carry it out against the Atrekna, who sought to dominate and devour and perform vileness upon the peaceful peoples of Hesstla.

As the striker lifted off and oriented, Gu'unmo'o found himself looking forward the battle.

It would be tough. Men would die.

But was not the liberty to graze where one would worth the blood that must be shed to preserve it?

---------------

Ewtlin paced back and forth as night fell.

Red Ear Camp had nearly a hundred of his fellows in it. Men and women who understood that the old ways were gone. That understood when their minds filled with fire at the scream of You Belong to Us! the way the world worked now.

No more classes, no more menial labor, no more meekness.

The strong took what they wanted from those that were weaker. That was the way of the universe. If the weak had what you wanted, then it belonged to you.

They belonged to you.

Unfortunately that idiot Frintell had been stupid enough to go out with only six others.

No, that wasn't right.

Ewtlin pressed his hands against his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his palms. When he pulled his hands back his palm pads were smeared with blood.

Frintell had been on patrol. He'd sent her on patrol, and she'd seen someone moving around Blue Creek after it had been abandoned by the cowardly to go hide in a shelter somewhere like a whipped dog hiding in a kennel.

He turned and looked at his fellows gathered up.

Everk had driven all the way back to Red Ear, missing an ear of his own, torn off by the Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake. A hatchet thrown with enough force that it had been stuck in the smartglass of the truck. He'd passed out at the very end and crashed into the gate.

Ewtlin had ordered tar smeared on the bleeding hole in the other Hesstlan's scalp. If he survived, he survived.

Ewtlin had then ordered a group of fifteen to check where the scouts had been, to take three trucks.

They'd returned with news that Frintell and her scout team were all dead. Some of them hacked upon with an axe or a brush clearing blade. None of the kills were clean, they were all driven by rage and had made Churklu's team nervous and afraid.

When dawn had come, Ewtlin, like everyone else, had hidden in dark spaces to hide from the painful searing light of the sun, even as dim as it was through the heavy clouds.

Now, he stood in front of everyone in the black rain, his clothing darkening as he stared. Past them were the cooking pits, where Ewtlin had ordered Frintell and her scouts to be roasted on the spits so they didn't go to waste.

The sight brought up a slight bit nausea as he remembered a mistake from two days ago.

The Terrans had shown up, killed half of the Red Ears, and forced the rest to kneel in preparation for arresting them. Suddenly they had all fallen down and died and Ewtlin's predecessor had ordered the bodies roasted on a fire.

Those who ate them had died. Slowly and painfully, over the course of two hours. At the end green foam had run from their nose and mouth, blood had ran from their ears.

Now Terrans were to be left where they were at best, dragged into the bushes at worse.

White flashed lit the clouds as he slowly looked over the group.

"The Masked Killer is just someone out there having fun," Ewtlin told them. "Like we're having fun till it all falls down. If we don't bother him, he won't bother us! If we stay away from his lake, he won't kill us!" Ewtlin pointed at Ackja Seven Finger. "You were here just like me, last time, before the Terrans showed up. Did he kill you?"

"No," the big Hesstlan said. "Just the ones who went to the lake."

Ewtlin pointed at Primka Blade Biter. "You were here! Did the Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake come here and kill us in our sleep?"

"No," she said. "Just the ones who didn't believe in him and went to the lake to prove he didn't exist!"

"Did he follow anyone who got away back here to kill them?" Ewtlin asked, pointing at Half Face Erdanti.

"No! He only took my eye and ear and let me run!" Erdanti said, holding up his spear.

"Is he fun to play with?" Ewtlin asked.

"NO!" the crowd roared.

"Is he just having fun like us?" Ewtlin asked.

"YES!"

"There's nothing but two hundred miles of forest on the other side of that road. There's nothing there we want, we don't eat plants!" Ewtlin said.

"WE EAT MEAT!" everyone roared back. "THEY BELONG TO US!"

"Does he bother us if we stay away?" Ewtlin asked.

"NO!" the crowd roared.

"Do we bother him if he stays away?"

"NO!"

"WHO'S WORLD IS THIS?"

"OUR WORLD!"

"WHO'S LAKE IS IT!"

"HIS LAKE!"

"WHAT'S BACK ON THE MENU?"

"MEAT!"

"WHO DO THEY BELONG TO?"

"THEY BELONG TO US!"

Ewtlin jumped down as everyone cheered, moving over to where the dead scout team was roasting on a spit. He used his knife to carve himself a chunk and turned around, holding it over his head.

"THEY BELONG TO US!" he roared, and took a bite.

Juice, fat, grease, and blood ran down his chin as he chewed on a chunk of Frintell's leg. He moved away, walking over to where the cases of alk were stacked up. He grabbed a Terran narcobrew and knocked the top off before taking a long drink.

"You're just afraid of him," a voice behind him said.

Ewtlin tensed slightly, recognizing the voice. Anverk, who'd been an original Red Ear just like him and had been less than please that everyone followed Ewtlin.

Anverk felt that everyone should follow him.

"Not afraid, just don't want to play his version of fun," Ewtlin said nonchalantly, turning in place to face the other male Hesstlan.

"You were afraid of him the first time, you're afraid of him now," Anverk sneered. He hefted his spear. "Me and my boys, we're going to go out and have some fun of our own, kill that masked bastard and bring back his head."

Ewtlin scoffed.

"Everyone knows the killer lurks around that campground. We're gonna sneak up on it, kill him, and when I get back, it'll be your turn on the spit," Anverk snarled.

Ewtlin just sneered.

"Come on, boys, lets go get us a mask," Anverk said, waving his arm.

Nearly a dozen followed him toward the trucks.

"You take any of the humie guns we got working, I'll cut you down," Ewtlin threatened them as they walked off.

"We don't need them to kill him. He's one man," Anverk sneered.

"Don't forget to say hello for me when he's holding onto your ears and ripping your hide off from the head down!" Ewtlin called out.

Anverk gave him a profane gesture.

Ewtlin shrugged and went back to eating his chunk of meat.

Either Anverk would be back or he wouldn't.

-------------

Anverk stretched when he got out of the truck, feeling his spine pop in two places. The others climbed out of their truck and everyone gathered around him.

"We won't go straight up the road to the campground," he said, wiping the rain out of his eyes. "We'll go up through the woods, come at him from the west," Anverk said. "Any questions?"

"We gonna eat him?" Tlistav asked, her nose twitching with excitement.

"Of course," Anverk scoffed. "Right after I kill that coward Ewtlin."

Tlistav didn't say anything. The last time Anverk had confronted Ewtlin, back during the First Hunting, Ewtlin had bashed in Anverk's head with a spanner, letting the other male live just to heap abuse on him for the next month.

"Let's go," Anverk said.

Lightning snarled in the sky and thunder growled as they crossed the stream, jumping from rock to rock. It took a moment, and Ismstat fell in the water, to everyone's amusement. He crawled out on the far bank, spitting and cursing, and everyone waited for him to scramble up the muddy incline.

The thunder was louder, the storm above them gaining strength as they moved into the woods. The darkness got thicker and the forest seemed to grow closer. The night ferns were up to their chests in some places, the trees as thick as a ground car was long, and the moonlight that filtered through the clouds was obscured by the heavy branches.

They were forced to spread out, doing their best to keep track of each other through the thick foliage as they steadily walked north toward the lake. Finally Anverk gave a whistle and waved, which they each repeated, and then started heading to the east toward the campground.

Oftak was in the lead by a good twenty feet, swinging his brush blade idly, daydreaming about going back and filling his belly with meat. He had wanted to stay back and stuff his gorge, but Anverk was his friend from the Before Time.

He didn't notice when his ankle hit a cord, snapping the string that had been weakened deliberately with a blade.

The Hesstlan did notice the thick branch that swung out from behind the tree, slamming into his stomach, two of the five sharpened branches tied to it puncturing his clothing, tearing through his abdominal cavity, to exit out his back. The branches, sun faded and weathered, dripped with bright red blood that steamed in the cool night air.

He threw back his head and gave a high breathless scream, standing on his tiptoes for a second before going limp and slumping down, his brush blade falling from his hand.

Kretnik heard the male scream, turning and running toward him, sure that she would get a chance at ambushing the Masked Killer.

Her right foot went through old leaves and thin debris scattered on the ground, pushing the cloth that had been carefully affixed to the ground. Her leg went in to the mid-thigh, past her ankle, hock, and knee. Her foot was impaled on several sharpened sticks at the bottom that were crumbly and rotted and she screamed, trying to pull her leg out.

That's when she discovered the sharp piece of metal pointing downward, that sliced into her leg as she tried to pull it up.

"I'm coming!" Drenveya called out, running toward her.

"WAIT!" Kretnik said, spotting the danger right as Drenveya hit it.

The cord, faded and rotting, parted easily in front of her leg as she ran toward the trapped Kretnik but nothing happened and Kretnik started to breathe a sigh of relief, believing the trap had malfunctioned.

Drenveya hit the monowire that had been lifted up from the ground, the wire slicing through cloth, flesh, and bone with ease.

Drenveya's arms fell off just below the shoulders. She took two more steps before gravity beat out fluid tension and her torso just below the shoulders slid off the rest of her body, which took two more steps.

Kretnik screamed louder.

Another voice joined her as they tripped and fell face first into a shallow pit full of whittled stakes that had rotted enough they broke off, leaving the male writhing in the pit and screaming, one of their eyes put out by the dirt covered stakes.

Stopping next to a tree Anverk turned around slowly, looking around him.

Four of his crew were already screaming, two had gone silent.

Who's woods? echoed in his mind. His woods.

----------------

Tru scrubbed the medical shampoo that Mister Mewmew had horked up into Dambree's back fur. Her fur was coming out in splotches, revealing tender looking spots and blotches that looked like purple bruises.

"I wish I could help you more," Tru told her sister, who was sitting in the large tub that was used to bathe or wash clothing or carry stuff.

"I know," Dambree said, her chin resting on her arms which were folded on top of her bent knees with her eyes closed.

"Do you feel better than this morning?" Tru asked.

"The pills help," Dambree admitted. "Mister Mewmew said I should be all right in a week or so."

"Are you going to get sicker?" Tru asked, her upper lip trembling.

"I'm sorry, but yes," Dambree said. "Mister Mewmew said I'll get sicker before I get better."

"I love you," Tru sniffled.

It was silent for a long moment, just the noise of the babies fussing slightly as they squirmed in their little pile. Not hungry, just shifting and complaining about it.

A scream, far away, sounded out and Dambree sat up straight.

Tru sighed, scooped out water, and rinsed off Dambree's back.

"It's from the west," Tru said.

Dambree nodded. "I know. Black Eyes from their camp."

"I'll help you get dressed," Tru said.

----------------

Anverk was panting as he scrambled up the incline back to the road.

It had been a disaster. Every time he and his crew had turned around there was another trap. Razor wire, mono-wire, stakes, swinging branches, spiked holes and pits.

Then they had gotten within sight of the camp. He had been positive that the worst was behind them. The five of them had started toward the camp, going into the first cabin to search for their quarry.

The Masked Killer had lunged through the window, grabbing Herplik and dragging her outside.

By the time Anverk and the others had rushed out of the cabin and around to the side, Herplik's throat had been slit and they'd watched as she'd drowned in her own blood. Anverk and the other three had run into the cabin.

Istopu had never made it, vanishing between Herplik's corpse and the back door.

They'd cowered inside, until Deskni's courage had broken and she'd ran outside into the storm.

She'd screamed twice.

Anverk and Mretuk had made a run for it.

Mretuk had stepped on a buried stake that had left her standing in the woods screaming as Anverk kept running.

She'd stopped screaming before Anverk had reached the gully.

Anverk ran up to the truck, pulling open the door.

Istopu's head rolled out, landing at his feet.

Anverk screamed, spun around, and ran for the other truck. He whipped open the door and climbed in, sobbing in a combination of terror and relief. He got behind the wheel and pumped the pedal, turning the key.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, no no no," Anverk whimpered. He looked down.

The wires were all ripped out from under the dash, cut haphazardly.

He opened the door, climbing out and slamming the door behind him. He turned around, ready to run back to Red Ear.

Instead he screamed and wet himself.

He stood there.

Anverk tried to draw his knife but dropped it. It splashed into the rain puddles that had collected on the road.

When he looked up he was closer. Halfway across the road.

"No, please," Anverk whimpered.

The Masked Killer of Sparkling Lake didn't answer as he lifted up the heavy brush blade and stepped forward.

---------------

Ewtlin heard the yells and screams and turned from what he was doing. The female protested as he pulled up his pants, running over to where a group had bunched up. They were all staring at the ground and mumbling.

Ewtlin pushed his way through the crowd until he got to the front.

Anverk's severed head was laying on the ground where it had landed after being thrown over the makeshift wall that surrounded the Red Ear Camp.

In his mouth was a wadded up piece of paper.

Ewtlin squatted down and pulled it free, smoothing it out.

There were two words written on it in harsh strokes on one side.

STAY AWAY

He turned it over.

The other two words gleamed in the light from the torches and fires.

OR ELSE