First Contact

Chapter Twenty-Two (DOKI DOKI DOKI)

TERRASOL

30,000 BC

Ogg looked up as Ugg staggered into the cave. Ugg was beaten up, bruised, bloody, and had the broken off end of a spear sticking out of his leg. Ogg managed to stand up before Ugg was in his face.

"You say Huk Huk all gone! Huk Huk waiting! You say Huk Huk no have spears! Now Ugg have spear in leg! You stupid!" Ugg snarled.

"Tuk Tuk and Mogg say Huk Huk gone. Not Ogg fault!" Ogg whined.

"Tuk Tuk and Mogg dead! You stupid say so get all killed!" Ugg threw the other neanderthal to the ground and began beating him with his club, doing what millions of others through history would wish they could do as he took out his rage at Terra's first and longest lasting oxymoron.

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

The com section was overloaded, ships had dropped from Armada and Task Force broadcast to Fleet or Division or Battalion or even dropped off the net completely. Most com officers had signaled "All Shifts" and even the emergency communication centers were running at full capacity.

"Yorktown, I have visual, do you read? Yorktown, can you respond? Yorktown, signal if you read and cannot transmit..."

"...engines three, five, and nine are down, main batteries are offline, secondary batteries are at 22% and failing..."

"...all hands, abandon ship, all hands..."

"...gravity containment failing..."

"...ching Piranha Class Fishyfish Reaper Drone Wave..."

"Geddonem geddonem!"

"...Incan Pride Division, shift to 229 and go to 60% broadsides..."

"...boarders have been repelled and DCC has the fires under control..."

"...recover all Viper fighter craft. Prepare to recover all..."

"...Yorktown, do you read? Yorktown, do you read? Please signal..."

It wasn't the worst battle the Terran Navy had ever faced. No, that was the Orion Shoulder, which devolved into an order of mutual slaughter that cost the lives of nearly 12 million Combine naval members and 320 million clones. A battle that occurred two years after the war had ended. That had been so bad everyone was so embarrassed about it that it brought an end to the Combine and the Clone Corporate Conglomerates.

But to Fleet Admiral Amythas Nawsh'tik, this was worse because it was not just happening to him, not just happening to his men, but it was happening right now.

And it didn't fucking have to.

"Order Division 21 to hold off Contact Echo. Tell them to not worry about conserving ammunition, once they run out I want them to jump to Rally Point Ticonderoga," he snapped.

"Harumph, I was speaking to you, Admiral," a stuff voice said from behind him.

"Tell Cruiser Bat Rogue to get in tighter to the Hammer of Pluto, her point defense is damaged and I don't know if she can hold off another wave of those plasma widgets," He snapped.

Comm One relayed his orders, using whisker com's, point to point FTL that was no more jammable than particle motion.

"Most High Commander, I am speaking to you," the voice tried again, this time using a local rank.

"XO, what's the status on the refugees?" He snapped.

His XO, a Treana'ad who had born in interstellar space, answered crisply: "Current wave is almost unloaded, next wave in enroute, one wave loading, one wave returning for loading."j

"Keep sending reinforcement requests. Any ships, any forces. Tell them we're trying to save people here, that the system has to be surrendered temporarily, but we've got to evac the civilians."

"Yes, sir. Even if I have to stand on the hull and wave flares in Standard Code," The Treana'ad snapped out, his posture perfect. "Comm two, push that signal through, open broadcast, unencrypted. Contact someone before the Admiral gives the order that I shall retrieve the flares from the survival locker."

"COMMANDER!" The creature behind him yelled.

Admiral Nawsh'tik spun his chair, turning back to face the screen. On it the System High Most was staring, his tendrils bloated and his crests on his neck, back, and sides expanded and raised. His clothing was obviously intended on being impressive, he wore three sashes, all covered in medals.

Amythas raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Governor?"

"You will address me as System High Most," The being said, ruffling his crests. Beyond him he could see the Ready Room of the CNV P'Thok, several other government officials gathered around him, ignoring the sole crewmember who looked ready to explode inside her armored vac-suit.

"What do you want, I'm extremely busy here," Amythas said.

The being harumphed at him, a noise that reminded Amythas of an elderly incontinent dog passing gass. "When will we break orbit? Your fleet cannot hold off those monsters for much longer."

Amythas sighed. "As I've told you, Governor,"

"System High Most," it grumphed.

"Right now my fleet is the only thing holding the high orbitals open and maintaining air superiority as well as missile defense for the continent. If my fleet breaks orbit, there will be nothing to stop the enemy from," He broke off as several of the beings began chattering. The System High Most cut the sound from his end.

He waited, hands folded over one another at the small of his back and his feet shoulder width apart. An uncomfortable position in an armored vac-suit but protocol gave him no choice.

Finally the sound came back on. "I was not aware of anything of importance still on the planet's surface," The System High Most said, harumphing again. "All government and corporate officials and they wealthy have already been evacuated."

"System High Most, as I have told you before, there are," he brought the number up on his retina display. "Eleven million civilians still lined up and waiting to board transports."

The four armed cow ruffled his crests and shook his tendrils, inflating and deflating his jowls rapidly. "And I told you, all personnel of value have been evacuated. This delay is unacceptable."

"We of the Confederate Navy are not accustomed to leaving behind living beings to the mercy of Precursor machines bent on mayhem and slaughter," Amythas snapped. "Your intelligence stated there was one Goliath Class in this system and we arrived to find two devouring it. You said you had reported it immediately on sighting it only to reveal once we got here that you had given it weeks to establish itself. Had your intelligence been correct more ships would have been allocated for this mission, without causing any delay."

"You had the best intelligence the Unified Military Fleet could offer, it is not our fault if you were not able to capitalize on it," The being huffed.

Military intelligence, talk about an oxymoron, most of the bridge crew thought to themselves.

Behind him the orders and reports still flowed.

...BOLO Dreamer reports all civilians away from Point Tango, requesting orders...

...Yorktown, do you read? Yorktown, we have you on visual, do you read?...

...Tell her and Rancor to get out of there. There's nothing more they can do there. Tell them I'm ordering them to make high orbit. Attach to the Medical Transport Kikikikik and generate point defense and stand off interceptor rounds. I want it to have all the support it can get...

...Port battery crews of the Newport are going to Bulwark status. They're going to try to give the lifepods time to go to hyperspace. Captain Tak'ak'ni transmits his regards...

"Harumph, well, I was made aware that the Confederate Navy was also not accustomed to losing," It said.

Amythas could tell that the System High Most thought he had scored an important point. He shook his head and smiled. "We may lose a battle, but we are never defeated."

"You risk our lives, for what?" The System High Most asked. "Beings that have a million others to take each of their places? I demand that you evacuate us at once with your entire fleet to provide protection."

"Well, System High Most, thankfully for those people down there, you are not in the position to make any demands," He said. "Tactical Three, give me a report on the ground and put this jackass in a holding buffer. He can whine to VI."

The System Hind Most vanished from the screen and the screen wavered for a second before a clear channel could be found. It just displayed the area around the largest starport, in the middle of the largest city, on the protocontinent below.

There was a small spoked ring with unit designations blinking on it around the starport, marking where Confederate Marines were holding out against the sheer red wave of assaulting machines.

"Goliath Amarok is dropping another wave on the far side of the planet," Com-12 reported. "Goliath Jotun has left the gas giant and is heading back toward us."

The number of refugees at the spaceport was steadily dwindling, but not fast enough. As Amythas watched two of the leading spokes vanished as the unit markers slid down the spoke, indicating that the unit had been forced to retreat. Bright spots kept blossoming around the outside "rim" of the wheel and around any protruding bubbles.

His fleet providing orbital fire support.

One of the units signaled they'd repelled the attack but desperately needed reinforcements.

They'd taken 30% casualties.

"Time to full evacuation?" Amythas asked. A VI tossed it up next to the spaceport.

Seventy-two Terran minutes.

"Time till the lines collapse with current hero range analytics?" He asked.

Twenty-two minutes.

"Time till the cloning banks are reloaded?" He asked.

Eighty-one minutes.

"Sir, we've got a response! One, no, two signals!" Com-11 reported. There was a pause and before Amythas could ask for further information Com-11's officer groaned. "Oh, by the Great Egg of Oz, it's two Idiot Fleets."

Great. Idiots.

"Put them onscreen. One at a time. Let's see if they'll be of any use," Amythas sighed. You could never tell with Idiots. It might be twelve million screaming 'Nids or a Federation shuttle with inflated ideas.

It was worse.

A lot worse.

Half cartoon, half cat-girl in heavy ornate pink "Imperium" power armor, the Neko Marine Praetorian waved her little fists in the air and began babbling in her native Engrish-Emoji. The translation appeared, but it was just as garbled as her words, since the language was constantly evolving and often the subject of furious firefights and even blood feuds over the exact meaning of things. The computer tried to translate but had obviously just given up.

"You want to help," Amythas asked.

A ten second long babble of Engrish-Emoji translated out to a simple: "Yes."

"It's not winnable. It's a holding action until we can get the civilians out," Amythas said.

More Engrish-Emoji, with hearts streaming out of her eyes and popping like fireworks. The translator guessed at "Roger."

...Yorktown, we read life signs. Do you read? We have you on visual and are in shuttle range. Do you read?...

...shift to 315 by 119, Division 31, keep on Target November...

...going to rapid fire on all tubes...

...C+ Battery Sigma is down, plasma wave phased motion cannons are down, shields failing...

...Fleet Amethyst engage at will at your discretion...

"We need reinforcements. I'll tie you in to our tactical net," He said. He knew better than to offer Idiots orders. If they followed them they usually screwed it badly for everyone involved.

Cartoon versions of the Neko Marine Praetorian appeared on either side of her, eyes replaced by beating hearts, waving pompoms and firing off blasters.

"Com-18, tie them into the net," Amythas snapped. "Tie in the other one."

Oh god, things just went from bad to worse.

On screen was a fist fight between two big green skinned monsters. Their armor, bolted directly to their muscles, was painted pink and white.

"Orkz," he muttered.

Finally one stood up, cracked his jaw back into place, pulled the knife from his neck, and faced the screen. It slapped a yellow wig on its head and put on a pair of oversized star shaped sunglasses.

Oh God, the Kawaii Boyz.

He started yelling in Orky-Emoji and the computer did its best to translate. After a full minute of inarticulate rage filled screaming the computer guessed with "Hello. I like your ship and hat. Would you like to buy a vowel?"

"You want to help too," Amythas said.

More yelling, another fistfight in the background. The big one talking knocked out one of the fighters with one swing, took its pink wig, and planted it on his own wig then began yelling again. When it stopped Amythas nodded.

"Very well. This is a holding action. There's no way we can win. We've got two Goliaths here and they've had nearly three weeks to dig in. Just give the refugees time to escape, that's all. We'll tie you into our tac-nets," the Admiral said.

More yelling, guns firing, and the screen went blank.

"Think it will help, sir?" His XO asked.

Amythas shook his head. "They're Idiots. Who knows."

"Sir, both fleets are splitting into two components. One set is accelerating on an orbital vector, the others look like they're splitting the Goliaths between them," Tac-11 called out.

"They can't win. Why do The Idiots do this?" His XO asked softly.

"They can't help themselves," Amythas shook his head. It wasn't these particular Idiots fault they were the way they were. They insisted on using teleport technology despite the fact it slowly caused a steadily progressive psychosis in living beings. Their 'canon' demanded it, so they used it no matter what the effects.

"You humans are a study in chaos," The XO chittered. "They go at full emergency speed to their doom. They dive into the back of an ice cream truck with spoons in every hand."

"If they can take the pressure off the Marines, give us time to evac the civilians, then I'm willing to sing their praises," Admiral Amythas said, looking at the numbers.

Nine million left to go.

"Idiot One and Idiot Two are charging through the Precursor lines," Tac-5 called out. "Idiot One is taking almost total casualties on their lead ships. Idiot Two looks like they're going for a close range pass on Amarok and... CORRECTION! CORRECTION! IDIOT ONE PERFORMING BOARDING RAM!"

Everyone on the bridge grimaced. Boarding actions were some of the bloodiest battles in a fleet battle, usually only reserved for dire circumstances.

"Idiot One has gone to ramming speed. Their radio chatter is completely garbled," Tac-3 called out.

An entire outer ring slid back to the center ring on the planetary overview.

Time to Line Collapse: 10 minutes

8.2 million civilians to go.

"Idiot Three is performing orbital bombardment," Tac-5 reported.

Amythas watched as the heavy beam weaponry aboard those pink and white painted ships, the paint scheme and the cartoon kitten emoji icons at odds with the baroque Gothic architecture of the ships, reached down and started pounding the abandoned areas.

...Yorktown, we have you on visual, please respond. Yorktown, please respond...

...all ships, tighten up, interlock missile defense, go to rapid fire on C+ batteries...

...For the Honor of the Regiment...

...Get out of here, boys, you can't help us...

...abandon ship, repeat, abandon ship...

...prepare to repel boarders...

"Idiot Four is joining in," Tac-5 added. More sigils of orbital bombardment, this time from the ships that were little more than mobile junk piles with heavy engines slapped onto them. Their pink and white color schemes so out of place compared to the jagged half-finished pseudo-wreckage of their ships.

"WARNING! MAT-TRANS TYPE TWO DETECTED!" The ships VI sounded out. The XO responded, reassuring the VI.

Time to Land Collapse: 8.5 minutes... STATUS CHANGE! RECOMPUTING

"Idiot Three is launching drop pods," Tac-5 reported. "First wave is two thousand pods."

"There they go," Amythas said. "Tac-5, give me numbers when they come in."

Time to Line Collapse: STATUS CHANGE! RECOMPUTING

"One, two, five, eight, twelve, fifteen, thirty! Many many mat-trans signals," Tac-5 called out. "Idiot Four is dropping troops."

"How many?" The XO asked.

Admiral Amythas mouthed it as Tactical reported the exact same words. "Um, all of them?"

Down the surface the machines pushed the advance. The number of cybernetic opponents was slowly dwindling, each defeated cybernetic warrior scrapping itself with an implosion charge and taking itself out of the tactical and fire support network, easing up the fire being directed at the machines a minute amount. By itself, it wasn't that much, but repeated by the hundreds every minute it added up.

The machines could computer victory was at hand and threw more machines at the stubborn biological defenders, screeching out their war cry.

The return war-cry for the machines to perform biological sex acts upon themselves was weaker, but still thunderous.

Victory was at hand. The two Goliaths could compute nothing less than total victory and the complete slaughter of millions of resource wasting biological parasites. The culling of millions of cattle that had been allowed to run amuck without oversight for millions of years, breeding uncontained and allowed to slowly obtain technologies forbidden to cattle.

Both Goliaths noted the approaching ships, not ships from cattle but massive resource wasting ships of unknown configuration.

Both of them felt slight electronic versions of irritation. A feral intelligence had arisen, as they had a tendency to do. But unlike most feral sapient species that had not destroyed themselves.

The two ancient war machines listened in on the communications between the ships heading on a collision course toward them, attempting to penetrate the computer network.

The two massive supercomputers driving the two ships blinked at the same time in electronic surprise. Communications between the ships were wild howls of inarticulate gibberish being screamed at top volume. There was no rhyme or reason to the computer systems. Artificial intelligence screeched and gibbered along with feral sapient speech and thought patterns.

The two ancient war machines disconnected from those nets so fast the sound was almost audible.

Both fleets, two scarred and painted sides of the same warped coin, howled with glee and crashed into the massive Precursor machines.

Nuclear rounds went off, boiled away and slagged armor, penetrator rounds detonated, driving huge craters into the armor. The fake prows hit and crumpled, functioning as designed, to crush against the density collapsed knife-like lead edges of the ships, which drove deep into the ships as the engines went to emergency power and pushed the ships deeper.

The hodgepodge ones fired thrusters and began to shake wildly, forcing themselves deeper even as parts shook off their own bodies. The Gothic ones fired thrusters and twisted, forcing their hulls deeper into the ships. Warsteel groaned and warped as the ships pushed their prows deeper into the hulls of their enemy, engines flaring with more thrust than they were rated heedless of any consequences. Aboard the ships fists and weapons were raised as they bellowed out war cries.

Both fleets pushed their hulls deep enough to reach open spaces.

The two Precursor war machines reacted with shock as their internal motion detectors reported feral life forms pouring into their bodies. Intership communication arrays were overwhelmed with the battle cries of the two forces.

The two ancient AI's had never been boarded, have never thought it could occur. A search of their programming strings and databases was intense enough the guns faltered.

Battleship Division 11 took the breather to break action and let their plasma wave phased motion guns cool.

Together their computations could be described as: Total electronic panic as their inner spaces filled with the horrid cry of "KAWAII-DESU!" and feral intelligences poured into their bodies like an infection.

There. In the oldest databanks, dating back to their construction, some being had thought it might be remotely possible that a severely damaged one could be boarded.

The two Goliaths put the programs in action and turned their attention back to the system wide battle.

On the planet, the tide of battle had turned. Victory was still impossible, but the tide that the Confederate Marines had resisted for days had gathered itself to overwhelm them when the Idiots made landing.

A half million Orkz teleported to the surface, raised their weapons as one, and opened fire on the machine. Fifty thousand drop pods slammed into still superheated rock, splashing it at the point of contact, each to unfold and reveal a dozen troops clad in heavy power armor with overly thick plates, painted pink and white with a golden eagle on the chest. They were firing their weapons as soon as the sides dropped down, screaming their battle cries in high pitches voices.

THERE IS ONLY...

The roar of the Precursors was met by one just as savage, just as feral.

NO SOUP FOR YOU!

Up in the high orbitals the Confed Fleet kept up the action, holding and ensuring the high orbitals clear, maintaining air superiority, and keeping the various fleets of Precursor war machines engaged and unable to help on the planet.

...Yorktown, do you read? We have you on visual. Yorktown, do you read?...

...move to heading 294 by 182, push that element back into the main body of Tango-11...

...All Dinochrome Bridge forces, lift off and attach to medical support ships. Repeat, all Dinochrome...

...DOKI DOKI DOKI DOKI...

...WAAAAAAAGH....

...DCC get that reactor under control...

The minutes ticked by slowly for the Admiral as he watched the number of civilians still down on the planet dwindle, watched the Marines get enough breathing room to dig in and reintegrate their tactical network, and, of course, watch the Idiot Forces go to work.

"I've never seen them fight before," the XO said softly. "They fight as if they are insane."

"They are," The Admiral nodded. "I have seen them fight before. Once, back when I was the Captain of an Adaptus Cruiser. Found them on an arid planet that had been wiped clean by a Precursor machine. They were fighting an outbreak of Precursor ground forces. We watched for a few hours then left."

The XO shuddered at the thought of being tied to an AI assisted SUDS crewed naval vessel.

"The green ones, they don't care if their lines collapse, do they?" The XO asked.

"Not really. That just means they can fight on all sides," The Admiral said.

1.2 million civilian remaining.

"The System Most High is still screaming that we need to evacuate him right now," The XO said. "He's arguing himself blue in the face with your personal message service VI. I don't think he's realized that it isn't you."

The Admiral snorted in amusement.

600,000 civilians remaining

The Admiral watched the numbers.

"Sound recall. I want as many as we can get off the planet," The Admiral said. The XO relayed the orders as the Admiral continued to watch the tactical display of the planet's surface.

"Sir, Idiot Three and Idiot Four are ignoring recall orders," Tac-5 reported.

"I know, Lieutenant. They always do. They've forgotten why they fight," The Admiral said, still staring at the screen. "Get the Marines out."

The last flight darted toward the planet. Not the fragile shuttles of the evac ships, but the heavily armored dropships of the Confederate Navy. Thrusters flared and the dropships slammed to the ground, opening their hatches. The Marines hustled on board, firing as they went, the dropships guns adding the mayhem.

The bodies of the Orkz and Neko Marines were piling high on the spaceport tarmac now that the civilians were gone. Dakka and bolter fire scorched the incoming waves of Precursor war machines, breaking up each wave but not stilling the tide.

Warboss Moargutz, Orkiest of War Bosses, Shooter of All Da Dakka, Wearer of Twelve Wigs, felt his magazines reload as the mat-trans autoloader did its work. He held down the triggers, the massive framework of heavy guns strapped to his body roaring as all da dakka roared out. The Marine Boyz were away, their shuttles arcing up and away.

He remembered, dimly, being a Combine Marine. Faintly. Far away. The sand and dust of Anthill. The wave after wave of biovat insects that just kept coming and coming. The feel of jet black power armor wrapped around him.

The weakness of being human.

He spit out the memory as more disruptor bolts slammed into him, bruising his green flesh. Not that he cared, he just triggered Moardakka at them and roared.

The last Neko Marine climbed up the pile of bodies Moargutz stood upon, the Neko Banner in one hand. Disruptor bolts her hit armor but she kept climbing, panting, squeaking out her war cry.

"doki doki doki doki" she weakly called out, climbing to the top of the pile of bodies. She thrust her banner into the ruptured casing of a Precursor war machine and slumped.

Beneath the ragged banner of the hated Neko Marines Moargutz roared, squeezing the triggers tighter, upping the cyclic rate of his Dakka, sweeping it in a circle, blasting Precursor war machines back. Da Ship Boyz reporting the Confed Boyz were breaking orbit, getting out da Cizzies.

A mass driver round punched through Moargutz's torso, sending blackish blood fountaining out his back before the wound closed up around jellied internal organs. Moargutz could feel nanospores pouring off of him, seeding the next generation of Boyz to fight on the planet.

For the glory of Dakka.

There was only one thing left to do. Moargutz coughed up black blood, trying to remember. It was before he wore the wig. Before he was just one of the green boys. Before he wore was humie and had fallen and thus wore thick armor scorched with hellfire and covered in twisted profane and blasphemous runes.

He roared and struggled to his feet, triggering his weapons again.

The Neko Marine struggled to her feet, drawing her pink and chrome chainsword with one hand and her stuttergun with the other. Part of her face was torn away, she was missing one cat ear, but still she was determined to fight on, unwilling to let a hated Orkboi outfight her.

"DOKI DOKI DOKI!" she shrieked, laying about her with her chainsword as she fired her bolter point black into the Precursor machines that screeched as they tried to overwhelm the last two.

Plasma fire washed over both of them and Moargutz remembered. It was back when he fought next to the Sisters, sisters like the Dokigurlz at his back. Their blazing torches they used to burn away heresy burning away whole planets in... in... in...

"EXTERMINATUS!" Moargutz roared out. "AUTHORIZATION SIGMA TWO TWO LIMA SIX ONE! EXTERMINATUS!"

The Dokigurl behind him repeated it, her voice firm and solid as she remembered through the haze of mat-trans psychosis. Remembered wielding holy fire to purge heresy and blasphemy from the universe. She finished with a shrieked code: "We will burn with a light of our own, sisters! They will know us as JOAN!"

The moment of lucidity was shattered as the machines surged forward again and there was no time for thought as both of the orphans of Lost TerraSol fought, not for their lives, but to keep the Precursor machines focused on them.

Above them the massive ships began firing their orbital guns. Interlocked tactical nets consulted one another and began firing in a preplanned pattern that would eventually crack the continental plates and leave a surface that was useless even to the Precursors.

From the bridge of the fleeing Task Force flag ship the Admiral turned away from the screen as white fire blotted away the last of the Idiot ground troops.

He saw his XO looking at him and shook his head.

"They were the best of us, once, you know," he said.

The Task Force jumped to hyperspace.

Neither of the Goliaths could give chase, they were two busy trying to purge the ravening screaming smashing infection that streamed through their metal veins. They were winning, their mechanical immune systems, never before used, slowly adapting and destroying the infection of feral intelligences, but it was still too close for either Goliath to risk it.

The fleet escaped.

Mostly.

...Yorktown, do you read? We have you on visual. Yorktown, do you read?...