First Contact

Chapter 486

Vuxten followed Casey as the Terran went over to the waiting suit of armor. Casey put the weapon back in the compartment and sealed it shut, then turned around. When he saw Vuxten waiting he raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, sir?" Casey asked, his voice empty and expressionless, but his eyes still red.

"Can you still follow orders? My orders?" Vuxten asked. He waved around himself. "There's still an entire planet to save here."

"Of course, sir," he looked at the armor. "I'll follow orders, sir, that's one of the things I'm good at."

"And Trucker? Do I have to have him guarded?" Vuxten asked.

Casey stepped forward and put his hand on the thick armor of the power armor suit. He sighed. "I'll follow orders, sir."

Vuxten nodded, looking at the armor. It seemed like it was waiting eagerly for Casey to step back into it.

"Do you know what the kid wanted on his twelfth birthday, sir?" Casey said softly. Vuxten stayed silent. "A pink golfball. That's all, just a pink golfball."

Vuxten stayed silent and watched as Casey stepped into the armor. He shuddered slightly as the human picked up the datacable and pushed the three inch long needle back into his eye socket. The armor suddenly closed, sealing up, and the eyes went red. The armor stood up to its full height.

"Awaiting orders," Casey's voice was synthesized.

"Stick with HHC right now. I need a sitrep update," Vuxten said. He turned and walked through the mud to the flitter, climbing in the back, the Marine who's hand he grabbed practically snatching his arm off to pull him into the vehicle.

A quick check via the radio, double checking against the holo-projection from his palm, and he had the Division moving again. He gave the orders, making sure to shift everything.

Trucker sat on the bed of the flitter, watching Vuxten work, his eyes red rimmed and sunken into dark rings. Despite the fact the cybereyes were clear and bright, they gave off the feeling of being bloodshot and red.

Finally Vuxten was done. He took a couple deep drinks of the flat and tepid water, tabbed up a piece of stimgum, and looked at the Terran General.

"I've managed to make contact with Fleet. They're sending a dropship for you, sir," Vuxten said.

Trucker nodded. "Of course they are."

Vuxten waited a moment, expecting more to be said. When nothing more was forthcoming, he turned his attention back to the hologram being projected above his hand, watching the flow of his Division and the battle.

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

Smokey 'No looked up as the doors opened to the Ground Combat Command Center, seeing Trucker standing in the doorway for a long moment, looking around, before coming in.

A hush descended on the CC, and Smokey 'No noted that everyone looked away from Trucker as he slowly moved over next to General NoDra'ak and looked at the holotank.

"We broke their back," Trucker said, his voice tired.

"Indeed. It's mopup right now. We've got it under control unless someone manages to sneak more reinforcements through, but I'm pretty sure if there's any Atrekna left, we've got them on the run," NoDra'ak replied. He turned slowly from the tank, the robotic legs of the harness he was in clacking. He had regrowth casts on his right side that burbled and bubbled. "How are you?"

"Tired," Trucker admitted. "Doc's say I'm gonna live. My inability to accept regen or cloned or bioware implants or replacements probably saved my life."

NoDra'ak nodded. He turned back and glanced at the tank. He lit a cigarette, slowly exhaling.

"I heard you were threatened," he said carefully.

"You heard wrong," Trucker said, shrugging. "It was confusing at the end."

"I heard one Sergeant First Class Casey threatened to kill you the next time he saw you," NoDra'ak said. "Threatening a superior officer is a serious offense."

"You heard wrong," Trucker said. He pulled out his can of chew and packed it, thumping one finger against the tin lid. "You shouldn't listen to rumors, sir."

NoDra'ak nodded slowly, still staring at the map. Trucker put in his chew, wiping his mouth on his sleeve before tucking the can back into his pocket.

"Black Cauldron is shut down. 834th Treana'ad Engineer Horde is destroying the vehicles and bodies in place," NoDra'ak said. "Can't have it just laying around."

"No, sir," Trucker said. He reached out and touched the holotank. "Have Ekret shift two degrees East, there's Dwellerspawn trying to slip by him through that corridor right there."

NoDra'ak nodded and gave the orders.

Since the space assets had been destroyed, communication with the planet had been reestablished. It was staticy and full of squealing and pops, but it worked again.

"I'm approving Casey's transfer when he puts it in," NoDra'ak said. He glanced over. "If I don't, it's a violation of his religious rights and a court martial could make a case for inhumane treatment."

Trucker nodded slowly. "Yeah."

"While we had a choice, none of them were good," NoDra'ak said. "As you so eloquently put it, V Corps is the World Enders, the World Breakers. Victory or Death, Either is Fine."

Trucker nodded, still staring at the tank as he lifted up a plas bottle and spit in it.

"Your request for transfer is denied," Smokey No said, moving icons on the tank to order 419th Artillery to support Ekret. "I'm relieving you of command of 3rd Armor, but you will stay in the V Corps command structure."

"The men will never trust me again. Hell, you shouldn't trust me ever again," Trucker said.

NoDra'ak shrugged. "I'm Treana'ad, we look at things differently. You're too valuable of an asset to throw away because of human superstition and primal beliefs. You don't airlock a matron for eating a male's head, you don't punish a commander for achieving victory within doctrine."

"So where will you be putting me?" Trucker asked.

"With the largest armored asset that V Corps presently has," Smokey No said. He exhaled smoke from around his footpads. "Get some rest, get checked out by the medics, report to your new duty station as soon as possible."

"Which is?" Trucker asked, frowning.

"The Atomic Hooves," NoDra'ak said. "I hope you know how to fight in a Lanaktallan tank."

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

The First Telkan Marine Division was stopped again, heat and slush running hot, the men exhausted and needing sleep.

Vuxten had to remind the officers and senior NCO's that they needed to ensure the men ate. Exhaustion would prevent hunger pangs, the act of eating too much effort compared to curling up and just laying there.

The last fourteen hours had been tough. Orbital command had been identifying Atrekna spawn zones with increased accuracy and prediction speed and everyone on the planet had been slamming against them as soon as they were identified.

The Treana'ad Combat Hordes had taken the cities and most of the larger towns. Eight hours ago Vuxten had been forced to start peeling off companies and battalions to guard infrastructure points, to dig in and hold it against the enemy. First Recon Division had split up into hunter/killer units of company size and were scattered all over the continent. The Atomic Hooves were going toe to toe with the last of the major Type-IV PAWM areas, advancing steadily into the territory held by the machines.

Vuxten sighed and leaned back against the ammo crate behind him, shifting slightly to get more comfortable on the box he was sitting on. It had held nanoforge refill nanite clusters, now it was completely empty.

His armor was in the hands of the Battalion armorers, the unique suit undergoing preventive maintenance checks and services, the same with all of his weapons but his pistol.

He'd thought about what he was going to do for over an hour, and there was no more putting it off.

"Sergeant Tarmont," he said, opening up a channel on his datalink.

"Sergeant Tarmont here, sir," the NCO said.

"Do you see Casey around?" Vuxten asked.

"He's standing over by one of the light armored fighting vehicles, breathing heavy," Tarmont said.

"Tell him I want to see him. Outside of his armor, sergeant," Vuxten said.

"Roger that, sir," Tarmont said.

The datalink gave a metallic clink as the link shut down.

Vuxten scrubbed his face with his paws for a moment, then dug in his pocket for a piece of stimgum. He got his canteen and a cravat and waited.

It took nearly five minutes for Casey to duck into the tent. Vuxten noticed the human was still wearing the strange looking pilot suit, still had blood on his face below his missing eye.

Vuxten tossed the damp cravat to the human. "Wash your face, soldier."

"Yes, sir," Casey caught the rag, sat down on a box that had nutripaste refills, and started wiping the blood off his face.

Vuxten waited until the human was done, gathering his thoughts.

When Casey set the rag on the makeshift table Vuxten cleared his throat. When Casey looked at him he nodded.

"You want out of V Corps," Vuxten said. Casey nodded. "I've talked to General NoDra'ak, Commander of V Corps, well, actually, Commander of 7th Army right now, but until we link back up with VII Corps, he's only directly in charge of V Corps."

Casey just nodded.

"I thought about it. Your religion states that coming back via SUDS means the old person is gone, that they're missing what you called 'God's Grace', that they aren't who they were," Vuxten said.

Casey nodded, the red in his eyes cooling to amber.

"Which means that V Corps will be full of meat puppets, that look and sound like your friends, even have their memories, but aren't actually them," Vuxten said. "Your religion states that those people you knew are gone."

Casey nodded again, tensing slightly.

"I respect that," Vuxten said. He set his canteen cup on the table and unscrewed his canteen while he was talking. "You aren't abandoning your religion or your principles when it would be easy to," he poured the water in his canteen cup and resealed it. "You could just throw your religious beliefs away and reunite with someone you have dated and cared for since before my parents were born."

Casey sat silently, as if he was carved out of stone.

"But you won't," Vuxten took out a packet of instant coffee and poured it into the canteen cup, stirring it with one finger after pressing the packet against the side of the cup. As he kept speaking the coffee started to steam. "I haven't known you long, sergeant, but I know you aren't the type of man to throw something away just because it makes things harder, or to abandon something just because it prevents you from something you want."

Casey didn't move.

"I knew a man named Donovan, one of the first Terrans I ever met. He was part of the Army squad I was press-ganged into when the Precursors attacked Telkan," Vuxten said. He picked up the creamer and tore open the packet, letting the powder fall, then dropped the packet in to let it dissolve. "He was shot through the head by a Precursor medium laser. I'd never seen a human die, I didn't even know they could die."

Vuxten poured in sugar, dropping the packet, and then picked up his knife and used it to start stirring the coffee.

"He was never the same. He didn't recognize me. He didn't remember me or what we had been through together," Vuxten reached up and tapped his nose. "He smelled a little different. Not by much, and I quickly got used to it, but he smelled differently than he had before. The Donovan I'd known, that had dragged me through the first few days of combat to keep me alive when I was dumber than a sack of bricks? He died. Right there on the wreckage of that skyraker. Shot through the head. The Donovan that came back? He didn't recognize or remember me."

Vuxten picked up the canteen cup and blew on it for moment before sipping at it. He set it down and stared Sergeant Casey in his one eye.

"My people, well, all of the Unified Galactic Species, we don't come back from the dead. If we die, we're dead, gone, never to return," Vuxten said. He took another sip. "So we understand how you feel."

Casey nodded slowly, stiffly.

"The Confederacy is in trouble. Your people are almost extinct," Vuxten said, not bothering to sugar coat it. "Reports of the children vanishing are coming in. Whole worlds are charnal houses, completely empty except for the dead. Your people are teetering on the edge of extinction."

Again, Casey nodded.

"General NoDra'ak is willing to grant you your request for reassignment," Vuxten said. He held up one paw as he took another drink. "Which works out great for me."

Casey frowned. "How so, sir?"

"First Telkan is rotating back to Telkan after this, providing nobody else gets jumped. My people weren't forged by a malevolent universe to be warriors. We're a gentle and peaceful people. My men need time with their families, time to let the horrors of the last year fade. They need training, refit, and reinforcement," Vuxten said. "That's where you come in."

Casey frowned.

"I requested to have you undergo a permanent change of station to First Telkan Marine Division," Vuxten said. "As of zero hundred hours, fifty minutes from now, you belong to me."

Casey's face went blank and he nodded.

"I understand what drove you to threaten General Trucker," Vuxten said. He sighed. "I liked Peel too. She was funny. I could see why you liked her, why you thought she made an acceptable mate. I've seen the pain your going through my entire life when someone's loved ones are taken from them."

Casey just nodded.

"But you're almost a thousand years old. You represent an asset that Telkan cannot let slip through its fingers. My people need you," Vuxten tensed inside, knowing that this was the make or break part.

"I'm reassigning you to Maintenance. You can do OJT (on the job training) to get up to speed till we rotate back to Telkan, but you're Maintenance now," Vuxten said. "Which means you need to stow Lozen. Put her in a crate, strap her to the side of a tank, whatever, but from here on out your uniform is adaptive camouflage with protective plating or PT uniform, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," Casey said.

Vuxten could feel the reluctance, the desire to protest, to argue, simmering in the air.

"You're an addict, Casey. I'm not going to enable your addiction, and I'm not going to lose a good soldier because of their addiction," Vuxten said. He took a drink off his coffee. "Instruct the maintenance crews on storing Lozen. Pull her brain box or put her in sleep mode, whichever is more merciful and abides by regulations, but I'm restricting you from conversation or interaction with her from this moment forward."

Casey opened his mouth, his eyes burning red, then shut it.

"I'm also punishing you for threatening a superior officer," Vuxten said. "You're reduced in rank to Lance Corporal, one week's pay, and the previously outlined restrictions. Additionally, you are forbidden from wearing a loading frame for ninety days or unless cleared by Mental Health."

Casey was stock still.

"Any objections?" Vuxten asked mildly, taking another sip of his coffee.

"No, sir," Casey said. His voice was flat, dead.

"You don't have to like my orders, you just have to follow them," Vuxten said.

"Yes, sir," Casey said.

"Anything you have to add, Lance Corporal Casey?" Vuxten asked.

Casey was still for a long moment, his eyes cooling to amber, the empty eye socket loosing its glow completely. Finally he spoke. "Thank you, sir."

Vuxten nodded. "Go get checked out by the medics. Get that eye socket looked at, it's been bleeding heavily. And no, I won't be requiring you to get a replacement. Dismissed."

Casey stood up and left the tent slowly.

Vuxten shuddered and closed his eyes for a long moment.

--risky risky risky-- 471 said from where he was hiding behind one of the boxes.

"Yeah, it was, buddy," Vuxten said. "I don't care how good he is in his power armor, he solved the problem with the grenade launcher."

--casey ringbreaker-- 471 reminded him.

"We don't need a ring breaker here. These people need a planet they can live on when all this is done. Casey's suit is worse than useless. It's like trying to microwave a sandwich with a capitol ship's main gun."

471 snickered.

Vuxten got up, moved to the door and slung the remainder of his coffee into the mud, then ducked back in. He moved over to the boxes and laid down on them. He wadded up his hat and put it behind his head.

"Wake me if anything major happens," he said. "And get some rest."

--sleepy sleepy-- 471 answered.

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

A'armo'o watched the big Terran limp slowly from the dropship. He was barely twenty meters from it when it lifted back off, the engines howling, and clawed for the cloud covered sky.

He looks beaten, A'armo'o thought as Trucker got closer.

"Welcome to the Atomic Hooves, Trucker," A'armo'o said. "There's been lively debate on whether we should call you General or Grand Most High. My men hold you in quite esteem."

Trucker snorted. "Even after what I did?"

A'armo'o shrugged. "Reanimating the dead to use them to attack the Atrekna after the Atrekna killed them was a stroke of genius to us. Plus, it gave them a proper death, on the battlefield, engaged with the enemy, not in their beds without even their boots on."

Trucker looked at the temporary base around him. "Doesn't feel that way right now."

"Perhaps someday, it will," A'armo'o said. He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "Like Ha'almo'or felt he had not done enough, you feel as if you did too much. Both of you are wrong, but only time will enable you to both to see that clearly."

Trucker nodded.

A'armo'o clapped Trucker on the back. "Let's get some food into you and introduce you to your crew," the Lanaktallan said. "Then I'll show you your tank."

Trucker gave a wan, tired smile. "It got a name yet?"

"No, we Lanaktallan are not one to attach such things to inanimate objects. Feel free to name it whatever you want, though," A'armo'o said. "Let me guess, Cry Little Sister is your chosen name?"

Trucker shook his head and gave a sudden grin. "No."

They pushed into the chow tent and got in line. A'armo'o looked at Trucker. "What will you name the tank?"

Trucker shrugged. "I'll know after the first fight we survive."

A'armo'o nodded. "And perhaps it will catch on."

"Stranger things have happened," Trucker said.

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

In orbit Ge'ermo'o watched as two icons of interest changed color and border.

SFC Casey transfered to LCP Casey- First Telkan Marine Division.

General Trucker transferred to "First Lanaktallan Armor Division - Atomic Hooves".

He nodded to himself.

Personally, he thought that both humans should be released from service and put on a planet somewhere with females in order to attempt to bring back the species.

But he had learned that the Terrans were a martial people.

It seemed only right that the lemurs would seek a new pack now that the pack they had always been part of was gone.

He made an annotation in his datalink to look up pack bonding more closely.

After all, he was an attentive and observant commander, which is why his men loved him.