First Contact

Chapter 561: 4th & 10

"The First Precursor War, as it is now called, took an estimated eleven thousand years from beginning to end. A simple three way fight between opponents who knew each other quite well, and thus knew their capabilities. All three combatants lost to their own autonomous war machines at the end.

"The Second Precursor War was laughably short by comparison. The Terrans had fought longer battles on their home planet before the invention of superluminal travel." - Former Grand Most High Sma'akamo'o, from I Have Ridden the Hasslehoff

He didn't have a name, not even a number. He was just one of millions on board the Great Hive Ship. He had born fully aware but not in control of his own body. Another hand had smothered his will while he was still slumbering in his egg. For nearly a decade he had worked, at times nearly to death, at the urging of another. It was bad enough his mind was smothered, but his limbic system was slaved to the Overmind, making it so he suffered anxiety if he did not complete his tasks.

He had seen others die of anxiety when the task had proved impossible.

His mind was full of raving anger. The Overqueen was furious, all but two of the Queens were dead, and the Speakers were struggling to hold on to the Overmind. He could hear the Overqueen raving at both the High Speakers as well as the starship that had been pounding upon the Great Hive Ship.

From his point of view, the world was full of chaos. Gone was the orderly construction, gone was the smooth mathematics and equations he had grown up surrounded by. Now it was all flashing lights, flickering gravity, dust in the air, and dead Mantid.

He had his toolkit and was rushing down the hallway toward the Overqueen's armored command center, hurrying to repair a datacable that had gone offline.

He saw the 'soap bubble' in front of him but paid it no mind. The world kept going topsy turvy anyway, and it wasn't the strangest thing he had seen in the last twelve hours.

He crossed it and stopped.

Free? he wondered. He waited. He couldn't hear the Overqueen screeching. He couldn't hear the panicked orders of the High Speakers. He couldn't even hear the frantic conflicting orders of the Speakers or Warriors.

He blinked several times and turned slowly around to look behind him. He could see the soap bubble.

He heard and felt technology move near him and turned around, raising one bladearm to defend himself. Before he could do much more than that something grabbed him. It was massive, the grasping appendage bigger than his thorax, its fingers as thick as his abdomen. It was all black, with tiny white LED lights here and there. He couldn't feel the flow of electricity through it, couldn't feel anything more than the fact it was made with Substance W, which was impossible to work.

He closed his eyes, shutting the protective lid over his compound eyes, preparing to be crushed. He could feel himself moving rapidly for a moment before he slid to a stop. He was being held gently, cradled against the massive chest of the huge biped.

--query-- he heard.

He could faintly sense electronics.

--want-- the word was crude, the accent poor, and to his senses it was computerized. --some--

He opened his eyes. He was in the middle of a group of the bipeds. One had what looked like a computer hooked up to a short range phasic transmitter and what looked like a steaming orb of substance W on the other side.

--yummy-- the computer said. --turkey--

He drew back slightly as a one of the big gripped hands picked up something extruded from the steaming orb and held it out to him.

The atmosphere in the corridor was thin, full of contaminates and debris particles, but he could smell the object with his sensitive antenna.

Meat. Greasy hot meat.

Not nutripaste.

Meat.

Like the High Servitors ate.

He snatched out with his bladearms, grabbing it, pulling it close, grabbing it with his hands and chewing on it.

It was bliss.

--no hurt-- the computer said.

He signaled assent, chewing on the soft, delicious, tender, juicy, greasy, yummy meat.

Yar had to admit, this was not how she thought she'd spend her Saturday night.

Hundreds of miles into a Precursor Mantid ship, tens of miles deep, following a phasic energy detector that kept going on the fritz, surrounded by nearly thirty Redshirts. Like her, the Redshirts were in light powered armor, in clear defiance of Federation LARP rules, copied from Space Force surplus templates. Her Redshirts weren't carrying standard LARP phaser rifles, but rather Confederate Space Force standard issue magac rifles, some of them with the underbarrel attachments. Ensign Harold James Earl had something called a 12 gauge shotgun on the bottom of his weapon and despite the relative primitiveness of the design it killed Mantids just fine.

One of her men had seen a green servitor enter the phasic stealth field and go still. She'd pointed at it and yelled to 'grab him!' She'd grabbed it and brought it up to Yar.

Yar could tell the little thing fully expected to die, but to be honest, there was no way in Hell Yar was going to kill the little guy.

He was just what they needed.

"Get the lexicon we got from those other greenies we picked up up and running," Yar snapped. "Set the nutriforge to basted turkey breast, they really like that."

"Aye-aye, ma'am," Technician Grade-Seven Sculman said, kneeling down and unfolding the computer. It had a phasic communicator, built based on data from the greenies, as well as small nutriforge.

Yar watched as the little greenie stabbed the meat with his bladearms, pulling it close and munching on it. They let it eat the first piece, telling it that they wouldn't hurt it, then gave it a second piece before moving on.

It complained about being cold, so Ensign Rafferty put it on the top of his shoulder pauldron.

Yar checked the map and the phasic detector.

They were less than a mile from the largest concentration of phasic energy on the ship. The corridor dead-ended in massive wall of battlesteel that had lowered to protect whatever lay beyond.

That was all right.

That's what God made fusion cutters for.

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

The Overqueen railed against the universe itself as the ships that had just arrived shed hundreds, thousands of light attack craft. The larger ships, the huge gray diamond ones, were pouring out rivers of highly agile and high speed attack craft, the ion casters more devastating then they had any right to be. The ones shaped like two squished cones pressed together launched hundreds of disk shaped craft that extended the edges of the flatted disk to reveal heavy laser cannons and missile launchers.

The barrel shapes with the long underslung component launched ships.

EVERYONE launched ships.

But that wasn't the worst.

The new ships were just as heavily armed as the Hated Ship. Not as bad as the Hated Weapon, but the weapons were more powerful than they had any right to be. Nearly a dozen of them were pounding her battlescreens with the equivalent of planet-crackers.

Worse, unlike any other opponent, no two groups were armed the same. They had a dizzying and bewildering array of weapons, quickly adjusting their firepower and attack angles to maximize their performance.

The Overqueen screamed with rage as a heavy cruiser tried to take off and that damnable armored vehicle that still clung to her hull like a tick hit the ship dead center, breaking it in half.

Her two remaining lesser Queens were working hard, having to do something they had never been required to do before.

Add their psychic power to the shielding.

They both complained to her, but she snarled at them to shut up and keep up the shielding.

Her own torchships, her light attack craft, were getting swept from the sky as if they were naught but insects.

Despite the wild variation in the light attack craft fielded by the enemy they worked together as one coherent whole even as the range dropped until the combat became a point blank knife fight with chainsaws. Worse, the small attack craft were protected by battlescreens normally fielded on a light cruiser, not something smaller than the Overqueen's majestic body.

**casualties are mounting, oh Queen** one of the High Speakers said.

**THEN KILL THE ENEMY!** the Overqueen shrieked back.

**they are killing us faster than we can kill them by a factor of nearly a hundred to one and the enemy is launching a third wave** another High Speaker said. **we need to retreat**

**NEVER! I WANT THIS PLANET! MY WANTS SUPERSEDE YOUR NEEDS!** the Overqueen shrieked.

**your wants are our wants, oh queen** another High Speaker said. The Overqueen could tell by the 'tang' of his thoughts that this High Speaker was the one in charge of all of her torchships. **you misunderstand, it is not that we lesser beings need to retreat**

**Then what is it?** the Overqueen snapped.

**you need to retreat** the High Speaker said gravely. **the second wave will drive past our fighters and directly assault the ship**

**the computer systems are going wild at a greater and greater rate** another High Speaker added. **the phasic repeaters are now failing**

**we have only 43% of our engine capacity left, oh queen** another High Speaker added, the tang of his thoughts letting the Overqueen know that this one was the High Speaker in charge of engine and power engineering. **MY QUEEN! WE HAVE BEEN**

There was the bright sparkling flash of the High Speaker's death across the overmind.

She was looking at the computer directly across from her, that she was using to examine the damage to the ship, when it suddenly went blank.

Words appeared, then flashed, and the Overqueen shrieked in rage.

I'M IN UR SHIP KILLIN UR DUDZ appeared.

A flare of alarm made her look at another monitor, where the Speaker was backing away.

ALL UR BASE R BELONG 2 US appeared on the monitor, then the face of a hairless primate laughing soundlessly.

**FIX IT!** the Overqueen screamed.

The Speaker moved up to it, reaching forward.

The screen exploded, driving macroplast through the thorax and face of the Speaker. It fell to the floor shrieking and convulsing, but the Overqueen was paying no attention.

She barely got her bladearms up in front of her face as her own monitor exploded. The shrapnel bounced from her armored body.

**engines are down, oh queen!** a High Speaker transmitted, panic flavoring his thoughts.

"FIX THEM!" the Overqueen shrieked audibly as well as over the Overmind.

**primary engineering is not responding** another High Speaker stated.

She looked out, through a million million eyes, and found eight large blank spots in the Overmind. Found that hated armored vehicle crushing dozens of armored vehicles under its huge treads as its guns pounded and blotted away miles of nCv cannons with hobnailed boots of nuclear fire.

For a second she touched something inside the armored vehicle.

It was a giggling, dancing, flitting butterfly of purple, red, yellow, and white, that burned with an inner light and sparkled with joy.

A butterfly entirely made of hatred and malice that exuded fierce joy as another volley of fire from the massive guns of the armored vehicle destroyed two miles of point defense weaponry even as the massive spiked treads crushed more vehicles beneath the armored vehicle's weight.

For a second she tasted a single thought, a single thought that slammed into her like the impact from the Hated Ship's powerful gun.

NYAAA! echoed through the Overqueen's mind, throwing her back against her crash couch as pure innocent malevolence and giggling dancing fury slammed into her mind, disrupting her thought process, shattering the Overmind with echoes of gleeful and joyful rage that emanated from that single sound.

The Overqueen flailed around her, shattering computer consoles, convulsing from having touched that insane alien mind.

Across from her, where she could have seen it if she wasn't trying to keep from gouging her own eyes out, four small circles of the battlesteel wall slowly turned red, then yellow, then white. They began expanding, moving toward each other, as if to form a square.

On the surface, the guns pounded, the shield rippled and snarled, and missiles howled out to try to intercept the incoming torpedoes and missiles.

----------

"Here they come," The Treana'ad, who went by the name of T'Rook said, around the thick piece of plastic in his mouth.

"Let them come," Nemta said around his own piece of plastic. He held the Terran Mark 2 Cutting Bar in both hands. His armor was pockmarked and a few of the pocks were cratered. His rifle was somewhere, he wasn't sure where. He'd dropped it when the missile had hit his fighting position and stunned him. T'Rook had dragged him out.

The Mantids had pushed hard, the lines had collapsed, and, as T'Rook has said, the time had come.

They were back to back. T'Rook had a magac pistol in each hand, his bladearms were sharp and ready, his armor battered but serviceable.

They both had wads plastic explosive wired to their chests, under their armor.

The triggers were inside the hard plastic in their mouth. A hard bite would collapse the plastic. Two more chews, and the plastique would detonate.

There was an explosion from each side, smoke billowing into the room as the doors collapsed. The Mantid rushed in, black ones scuttling forward waving their bladearms, bigger ones behind them.

"FOR ICE CREAM AND MOO MOOS!" T'Rook yelled, firing his pistols.

"FOR THE MAD ARCH-ANGEL TERRASOL!" Nemta screamed out as they got close, thumbing the trigger of the cutting bar. The engine roared and the barbed chain screamed as it rotated around the blade.

He began chop at the Mantid as they got close.

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

Pikark watched as the engines suddenly cut off on the massive ship in front of him.

"Signal from Yar-38173," Uhura said calmly. "Mission successful. Fortifying position. Expect counter-assault. Over and out."

"Signal we hear them," Pikark said, not taking his eyes from the holotank at the front of the bridge. It wasn't in canon, but Jeff had quit worrying about canon over a year before. He could see everyone maneuvering to keep the Hive Ship under their guns, pounding at it. "Signal to the fleet that boarding action has met with success."

"Aye-aye, sir," the brown skin woman said, touching her helmet over her ear. She was afraid, it was only common sense when weapons were being used that could crack a continent, but professional detachment made it a small thing that she could ignore.

She had a standard to live up to.

And she'd be damned if she failed.

"Cyclon, Defiant One, and Imperial forces are making planetfall. Resistance is light," She said, parsing the dataflow from the other ships. "Phasic disruptors are going online."

She jerked slightly, opening her eyes and looking at Pikark.

"Sir, Mantid troops in any phasic disruptor zone are throwing down their weapons and surrendering," she reported.

"Transmit it to planetary defense, tell them to get those disruptors up," Pikark snapped.

Uhura nodded, closing her eyes again.

Wars were won or lost on communication.

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

Yar watched as two of her men grabbed the handles they'd stuck on the battlesteel war, nodding at her. She glanced around, noting everyone was ready. She got nods back, tight, tense nods.

"Three..." she said.

We're coming, she thought.

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

The Overqueen managed to pull herself upright, lashing out across the Overmind with pain and agony to bring everyone back in line.

How dare they! How dare that filthy disgusting mind touch her own! How dare it lash out at her! Did it not know who she was? Did it not know she was the universe's ultimate life form?

How...

A large section of the wall was suddenly yanked away and bipeds threw themselves into her chamber. Powered armor let them take huge leaps, while the second rush knelt down and began shooting at her servitors.

With the speed of thought she got an inertia dampening field in front of her, barely in time to stave off a handful of projectiles that stuck in the field, small rockets at the rear of the projectile burning with white hot hate.

One of the big bipeds landed next to her and she turned to look at it.

It was a hairless primate, maybe a lemur of some type. It had two eyes that were wide, wild, and a large mouth bearing meat tearing teeth. It looked crazed, insane, and she flinched back from it even as it took a single step forward, slamming against the inertia barrier.

She felt both of her subordinate Queens die in a flaring spark that battered at her like an explosion.

It pushed through, leveling the strange rifle at her, the end of the barrel almost touching her eye.

She was frozen. Trying to hold together the Overmind, trying to recover from the death of the last two Queens.

There was a flash from the bottom barrel of the weapon.

And she knew nothing at all.

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

YKR-3381 led the mixed squad of bulky chrome Cyclons and Imperial troops at a run across the tarmac of the airfield. The Mantids were fleeing, most throwing away their weapons, streaming away from the rubble strewn airfield.

Twice warrior caste attacked larger ones that YKR-3381 only knew were High Speakers due to his history classes.

They burst through the door of the entrance of the main control tower and stopped. The room was splattered, coated, strewn with ichor and body parts. The second story floor/first story ceiling was missing, light streaming in from shattered windows on the second floor.

Mantid bodies were strewn everywhere, the middle of the room was huge pile of them.

"CONFEDERATES!" YKR shouted.

The fuzzy creature standing back to back with a worker caste Treana'ad slumped slightly, letting its thumb off the engine trigger for the Mark 2 Cutting Bar in his hand. In his other hand he held a crude knife made of battlesteel and engraved with runes. He was soaked in Mantid ichor. The Treana'ad slumped slightly, relaxing his bladearm.

YKR noted that their armor was pitted, cracked, pockmarked, and gashed, but they were still on their feet.

"About time," Nemta said, exhaling long and slow. He looked at the knife in his hand. "Praise the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol."

YKR wondered why the furry one kissed the blade lovingly.

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

"Cease fire," Pikark ordered. He slumped slightly in his chair. "Signal the fleet to prepare boarding parties."

The release of tension among his bridge crew was almost palpable.

"Signal the Yars 'well done'," he said.

"Aye-aye, Admiral," Uhura said.