First Contact

Chapter One-Hundred (Vuxten)

General Imak Takilikakik was an anomaly in the Terran Space Force Marine Corps. It wasn't that he was overweight. It wasn't that he had a double-chin and was balding with watery brown eyes. It wasn't even that he was a human who had been orphaned and then raised by Treana'ad.

He didn't have a combat action badge.

Two-hundred and thirty years as a Marine and he had never seen combat. The closest he had come to it was when, two days after he had left the planet, his personal foxhole had been hit by an enemy rocket that had killed four other Marines.

Most beings thought that it was his lack of Combat Action Badge as to why he kept butting heads with the combat commanders. The rumor that he disliked combat troops because he had never seen combat always went through the upper ranks.

But not through the lower.

General 'Tic-Tak' as he was known, had the best hospitals, his logistics bases were the most supplied, his medical personnel were the most highly trained, his engineers and mechanics were the best out there with plenty of parts already crafted and rarely needing to run his creation engines.

Tic-Tak also had the best and safest things that command didn't approve of. His narcobrews were the richest with the most variety. His heavy alk never made anyone blind. His smoke'n'chaw peddlers had the best from the Old Systems. His ice cream was the thickest, the richest, with the best fruit and always with real Terran moo-moo milk. His brothels always had the cleanest joy-boys and coin-girls willing to do the dirtiest things. Tic-Tak's men stayed bribed, avoided too much greed, and rarely busted a being just for their species.

Even the MP's admitted that Tic-Tak ran things the best. MI and CID had embedded so many people into Tic-Tak's staffs that the joke was always 'How many Marine does it take to change the poster in one of Tic-Tak's staff rooms? The only one, the rest are all Military Intelligence and Criminal Investigations Division."

Even steel teethed warborgs preferred Tic-Tak's area of operations to even R&R vessels.

General Tic-Tak knew how his fellow leaders viewed him. They were right. He didn't have a Combat Action Badge, he didn't understand the first thing about combat (which he admitted, even to himself, the possibility of scared his hair off), didn't know a damn thing about most of the Fleet and the Corps's weapons, and was never going to be some great military leader with a stack of victories high enough to make the Cult of the Blade take notice.

He didn't care.

When he had been told that Telkan-1 and Telkan-2 were lost, he had protested, stating that there was no evidence the enemy was even going to be making landings in force. He had known that this was going to be beyond his capability. Part of him had panicked immediately at the thought of trying to figure out how to stop germs from entering the atmosphere.

He had breathed a sigh of relief when Colonel Harvey and Colonel Kosey had been brought in to handle the combat operations.

He lived in fear that someday he might have to save someone with a gun. He'd privately believed he'd probably shoot himself in the dick except he wasn't a sharpshooter.

Sure, he could usually figure out how to feed every being in the refugee camps with less than half the rations they needed, but actually do anything but hold his rifle and scream in terror?

Yeah, it wasn't happening.

Which is why he felt so relieved looking over his operations center, a twisted bread dough pretzel in one hand and a narcobrew in the other.

His engineers were going over the configuration schematics for the shelters. He knew there were eight different shelter designs in use, which would require a separate team for each of them to reconfigure the anti-Precursor design for biological hazard protection.

He had no idea how to do it.

But he had men who did.

He wandered through the operations center, watching everyone work. Here the team he had assigned to making sure that podlings and broodcarriers suffered minimal discomfort if they had to be exposed to 3G to 5G accelleration. Anything higher unacceptable and he was offering bonuses in alk, herb, and sweaty time to any team who figured out how to safely get below 3G without sacrificing protection or lengthening the amount of time they would be in atmosphere.

There another team worked to figure out how to make the rations last longer. Podlings and the three sexes all had trace nutrient needs that different from the others in the group. The goal was something that the nutrigel/paste dispensers could churn out that had variety, taste, texture, smell and was fully nutrient loaded.

Tic-Tak knew he wasn't the brightest leader out there, but by the Burning Chrome Egg, he surrounded himself with the best and made sure they had access to best.

There was a minor argument between the three competing teams overseeing the reconfiguration and he steered himself over there, gesturing at a Captain to bring over the tray of narcobrew and stimsticks.

"...to keep any environmental hazards from entering the shelter while keeping the external ventilation, power, and waste disposal lines open," one team member was saying.

"Then what do you suggest? Should we just have them running on canned air? What if we need to get into those shelters to protect them?" another shot back.

"Gentlebeings, gentlebeings, what is the disagreement?" General Imak Takilikakik asked mildly.

"We're trying to keep any external threats from reaching anyone inside the shelters. We're in particular concerned with tailored organisms designed to move through groundsoil and follow water seepage," A third one said.

Tic-Tak looked at the schematic for a long time. The current consensus was to move the FTL drives underground via drill housings and mount them to the sides, providing access panels for maintenance system technicians.

Tic-Tak frowned. He lazily pointed at the FTL engines. "How many of our Telkan brothers and sisters are rated for FTL drive repair?" he asked.

They all looked at each other and then at Tic-Tak as if he'd grown a second head. "Uh, none, sir," one said carefully.

"Show me a simulation of the reconfiguration stages until they get to their refugee planet," Tic-Tak said.

He watched the shelter's wireframes shift, shift again, shift a third time, then the engines get added, then another shift. A launch shift. An orbital shift. An FTL shift. A post-FTL shift. Another orbital shift. A landing shift.

Tic-Tak shook his head, looking at the four engineer groups.

"Gentlebeings, gentlebeings, I am disappointed. This is the Corps, our motto is 'as few moving parts as possible' not the Navy's motto of 'can I add any more missions and equipment to this?' and you are not thinking straight," Tic-Tak said. He put the simulation at the first stage, the current stage.

He made only a handful of alterations, then adjusted the engines. "There, gentlebeings. I present to you the Shuttle-Block."

Tic-Tak shrugged as all the engineers looked at him in horror. "I am not an engineer. I am sure that you had much more elegant plans," he said. He took a swig of his narcobrew, wiped the foam from his scraggly mustache, and shrugged. "You handle the details of that reconfiguration. No more."

The engineers stared at each other as Tic-Tak walked away. All he had done was pull the shelters into one long block, seal the entire thing with three meters of warsteel with no exits or entrances at all, and had the engines attach by wrapping straps around the the block-like warsteel wrapped shelters.

They immediately set to work, talking about how of course it should go to internal atmosphere as if it was a longjump ship right now.

Tic-Tak heard his datalink ping and opened a window in the corner of his vision as he watched one of his subordinates, a talented Rigellian, managed to find two unused creation engines and ordered them to be moved near the Telkan lines and configured for repair, refit, and reload operations.

"General Imak Takilikakik speaking," He said, putting up his favorite wallpaper of himself sitting behind a desk on Terra.

"General, Colonel Harvey here," the other man said. He was using real-time, which was fine, there was no chance of a stray turn revealing his logistics chains to anyone peering at the datachannel.

"Ah, Colonel Harvey, I assume you have called me with good news about how I was right and the enemy won't be making planetfall?" Tic-Tak said.

Colonel Harvey shook his head, resisting the urge to reach through the datalink and strangle the fat Terran. "No, sir. They've landed in force. Meteoric drop-pods are landing all across the planet now," he said instead.

"Oh. That is unfortunate," Tic-Tak said. He pinged his engineers that they had one hour to complete the initial reconfiguration plan or it would go out as-is. "I was hoping that I was correct."

Harvey just sighed. "No, General. We've lost a significant amount of territory to the enemy already. The newest drop pods contain creatures that exit the cracked pods and attack as soon as they can cross the crater."

"Well, that sounds like a job for your men, Colonel," Tik-Tac answered, feeling a cold chill on his back. He glanced around at all his men, looking for any not wearing their sidearms. He pinged them all to go get their sidearms and reluctantly pinged his assisant to retrieve his own from the armory.

Harvey swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Let me know what my people can do for yours. We'll be quite busy, I'm sure you understand, with logistical concerns," Tic-Tak said. "For the Honor of the Corps, Colonel," he said, and cut the link. He turned and snapped his fingers, pinging everyone's datalinks. They turned and looked at him.

"The enemy is making planetfall. Move to Readiness Two. Warm up the creation engines and nanoforges. All logistics commanders, ensure that the combat troops in your areas have one hundred and fifty-percent of unit commander recommended food, water, and ammunition per element. Alert all medical units to prepare for incoming casualties," he said. "Git 'er done!"

Harvey ground his teeth as the General cut the line. There was nobody else he'd want handling post-battle reconstruction, hell, even active combat logistics, but the man was just do so goddamn dense it drove Harvey crazy.

"Does he not take this serious?" Brentili'ik asked, staring at the holotank.

Harvey shook his head. "It's not that. He's not a combat soldier. I doubt he even knows where his weapon is. But," he held up his fingers to stop Brentili'ik's angry outburst. "I'm willing to lay bets had knows where every single bullet and scrap of armor is located in the entire system."

Brentili'ik was silent for a moment. "I worry for my husband."

Harvey nodded. "I get it," he waved the holotank and loaded up a schematic of the area hit the hardest. "Your husband's there, isn't he?"

Brentili'ik nodded. "First Telkan Marine Brigade (New Blood)."

Harvey turned to Brentili'ik and stared at her for a long moment.

"What?" She asked, feeling suddenly nervous about the way the human was staring at her.

"It's time, Madame Director, for you to learn to put on your protective gear and use the evac-lift and your emergency gear."

"But I have too much to..." she started to argue and then saw Colonel Harvey's face. She swallowed. "Perhaps you are right?"

Harvey nodded. "Good. I want you able to put it on, in the dark, in the lift itself, in under thirty seconds. We will start practicing now."

Brentili'ik sighed. She'd tried it on twice. Once to ensure it fit right, once to check to make sure it was still in working order. She sighed again and followed the big human in. It felt strange to have him watch her strip naked and put the suit on.

"Again," he said after the first time. "That was four minutes. You're dead. Do it again."

She sighed as she started undoing the seals.

Vuxten heard Private Second Class Peklik cry out in fear and turned, seeing the other Telkan covered completely in spores. The other Telkan had nudged a seed pod and it had vomited yellowish-green spores all over the armor covered troop.

Vuxten turned and pointed the nozzle of the weapon he was carrying at his fellow troop. "Stay calm, Private," Vuxten snapped, and thumbed the trigger. Flame whooshed out of the nozzle, covering the armored Telkan. Vuxten kept it up to the count of three and released the trigger.

Lacey soot wafted down from the small suit of armor. He could see that Peklik was panting and opened his com-link. "Breathe through your nose, trooper," he snapped.

"Yes, sir," Peklik said. His breathing changed.

"Everyone, watch your feet," Vuxten said over a section-link that would go to both squads. "Squad leaders, watch your men."

He got back a chorus of assent and waved at his men to keep moving.

The only ones carrying flame throwers were four of the twelve Terran Marines and Vuxten.

The air was full of spores drifting down. Some glowed yellow, some green, a few here and there glowed red. The plants were twisted looking, greasy or waxy looking, with broad leaves covered in veins. Some were beginning to flower, others had tiny buds of fruit on them.

Three weeks ago it had been a park.

Now it looked like nobody had been there in decades.

Vuxten checked his HUD again. There had been eight 'knots' landing in the park, hitting where the pond had been. The biggest ones so far and this was in his unit's area of responsibility.

He knew his men were nervous, hell, he was nervous, but someone had to check it. LT Bent Spoon had told him that there shouldn't be any problem but he was going to send twelve Terran Marines, including four warborgs, with him just in case.

Up ahead the road had been reduced to a gravel road.

"Try not to brush against the plants too much. Warsteel's proof against most acids these things are giving out, but we don't want to take the chance of something new," Gunnery Sergeant Wentmark said, his voice calm and even.

"Roger," was all Vuxten said, squeezing the flamethrower slightly.

"Vuxten, take point," the Gunny said.

Vuxten sighed and trotted forward a little, looking around steadily. He heard his first Sergeant's voice in the back of his head.

'keep your head on a swivel, Vux, and you'll be fine...'

The jungle hissed and creaked around them. Liquid pattered and there was the sound of something moving in the foilage but nothing showed itself. Each step was an exercise in nervousness and every soldier expected a puffball to erupt no matter how many troops had stepped there before them. A vine dropped down but a knife caught it, severing it, leaving the ends suddenly curling up and as acid dripped from the hollow spot, the saw toothed thorns pushing through the vegetative skin on the inside of the curls.

"I took my family here a month ago," Private Fotlan said softly.

"Same here," Vuxten said. "My podlings swam in the lake."

"I wouldn't recommend taking them now, trooper," the Gunny said.

"No, sir," Fotlan said as a few people chuckled or flashed icons of amusement to replace their own icons for a moment.

Vuxten blocked it all out, keeping a watch all around him. According to his map he should almost be at the lake, but the vegetation was getting close to the point he was having trouble moving forward.

"Gotta switch to my cutting bar," Vuxten said, slapping the flame thrower nozzle against his leg to attach it. He pulled the 'cutting bar' off his back, which was basically a chainsaw with a graviton generator in the hilt to balance it that some troops called a chainsword.

It was listed, officially, as 'powered foliage cutting tool.'

Vuxten thumbed the switch and it roared to life, emitting smoke as the engine used the hydrogen and the oxygen in the air to run the pistons, leaving water to drip out. The vegetation snapped at his armor, spikes and vegetation teeth sliding along the warsteel of his armor. A vine snapped against his crysteel visor (after a scouting run by an uplifted 'Simp-Chimp' had shown that plasteel and duraplas could be easily melted, all the visors had been swithed) hard enough that his ears popped, a branch slapped him hard enough he took a step back, another vine wrapped around his arm and when he yanked on it he pulled a huge pufferball against himself.

The Marine behind him was washing fire over him about every two steps.

Finally he slashed across a curtain of vines, dropping them to the ground, and stomped through them, glad of the Terran armor, which was completely environmentally sealed.

The lake was covered in algae, thick purple algae with weird onion-like reddish shapes bobbing in the water. Spores drifted over the lake, twinkling yellow, green, red. Veins ran through the algae, thick and pulsating. An island in the middle was covered in moss that bulged and throbbed with obscene life.

"Bring up the flame..." the Gunny started to say.

"GET BACK! EVERYONE GET BACK!" Vuxten yelled, breaking onto the channel at the same time as he flexed muscles that didn't exist through his cyberlink. He two shoulder mounted weapons deployed, the rounds whining as they reconfigured. Vuxten took a single step back as his two shoulder mounted weapons went into rapid fire, his eyes already tracking and marking targets even as he spoke.

Six rockets into the island and all twelve of his 40mm grenades into the water.

"GET BACK! WATCH THE FLANKS AND REAR! EVERYONE FALL BACK TEN METERS!" the Gunny roared.

The island exploded, revealing heavy chitin as the creature inside roared in pain and began to stand up, the hypergrowth algae blanket sliding off of it. It was standing inside a fifty foot lake and still had close to hundred feet of body above the water, burning patches on its back from where the rockets had gone off against the fibrous mat and the explosive forged penetrators of duralloy had driven deep into the body.

The grenades exploded in the water, fountaining chitin and blood into the air.

A dozen creatures burst from the mud and algae at the edge, unfolding bladearms and clacking huge jaws that drooled with acid. They rushed Vuxten, their genetic programming telling them that the little black creature in front of them would run away like all prey did.

Vuxten didn't bother trying to switch out weapons, he just took a single step forward, satisfied the ground around him was solid, and swung the chainsword with one hand even as his other hand dropped to his hip out of reflex, pulling out his 10mm magack pistol. Behind him he could hear, and a split second glance behind him, showed him that the warborgs and the Terran Marines were struggling with massive creatures that had moved silently through the jungle, pacing them, until the time to spring the ambush was ripe.

Except Vuxten's warning had given the Marines an entire two seconds warning.

"MY POLDINGS PLAY HERE!"

Giving out a Terran roar of pure aggression he began hacking at the waist high creatures that swarmed from the mud, firing his pistol as he used the warsteel barrel to block drooling mouths of fangs, blowing apart the skulls in a shower of blood, gore, and shattered chitin. The blade bit deep and he squeezed it to full power, shredding the ones in front of him. He slashed and stabbed, following his close quarters combat drills that had been hammered in him exhausting day after exhausting day on the hot tarmac of the Marine Training Base.

"GET! FUCKED!"

His rocket pack reloaded, the creation engine running hot, and he cut loose with all six rockets again in a blinding flashing ripple, the missile reconfigured for explosive penetrators. The huge creature shrieked as the rounds burned meters into its flesh before exploding, blowing massive craters in its torso. Its eight red eyes fixated on Vuxten and it began rushing the little Marine.

"YOGAWTNUTTIN!"

Vuxten was busy stepping on the dead, climbing up them and swinging his chainsword, still roaring out Terran phrases he'd learned that long lifetime in the city in scout armor. The crab-like creatures still used their powerful back legs to climb over their dead even as Vuxten killed them. Some climbed on his arm and he either put the pistol against the small faces under the top shell and pulled the trigger or sliced them off his arm with his chainsword, the teeth throwing sparks against the warsteel of his own armor.

His grenade launcher fired again, overriding the minimum safe distance, and blowing huge gouts of mud and water up into the air, chitin and blood mixed in to rain down.

A glance showed him that his own two squads were in the fight, firing grenades into the jungle even as they used their smart-links to direct their fire from their magack rifles.

The big creature roared in agony and rage as it kept rushing through the hip deep water. Vuxten was almost covered in the mound still fighting, the dead and living crab-things up to slightly above his waist, even as he fired the pistol as fast as the bolt could shave off a piece of duralloy from the block of it in the magazine. He'd fired over a hundred times, the block halfway shaved away, and still he kept shooting, overriding the heat warning in the barrel of the pistol.

"BRACE!" one of the warborgs shouted at him.

The fuel-air grenade went off right above him, blowing the dead and living crab-things away from him.

The huge monster reached down and grabbed him, lifting him up. He heard his armor alarms ring as he creature squeezed him in one hand.

He fired rockets point blank into its chest, shot it through the top of the mouth, and, following his training, thrust his chainsword into the joint of the thumb and hand, sawing back and forth.

Gore fountained out and covered him as the hand opened and he was dropped to the ground. He landed like he'd been taught. Heel, backside, shoulders.

His grenades, still fuzed for impact, fired off four times before the weapon jammed. The grenades went off on the creature's chest even as he slammed the pistol against the launcher on his shoulder. The grenade launcher clacked shut and chuffed out the other two grenades as Vuxten got to his feet.

The monster collapsed. It started to rise when Vuxten stepped forward, drew back his arm, and thrust his chainsword between the creature's nostrils, the blade screaming and smoking as it tore off pieces of chitin and sprayed tissue over him.

It coughed and collapsed, but Vuxten held onto his weapon as his grenade and rocket launcher reported fully loaded. His engine was at 60% heat and 20% slushed since he'd had it running on rapid reload.

He fired three times into the face with his pistol.

The fighting behind him had stopped.

Vuxten jumped up, activated his graviton generator, and slammed into the head with his boots as if he was 2 tons hitting in 5G gravity.

The head exploded.

Vuxten stepped slowly back, breathing heavy, his limbs trembling. It took his twice to get his pistol holstered.

"Permission to call in artillery, Sergeant?" Vuxten asked the Gunnery Sergeant. "The lake is some kind of spawning pool now."

"How did you know, Corporal Vuxten?" one of the warborgs asked.

"I took my podlings here last month. There was no island in the lake," Vuxten said, suddenly feeling exhausted. His armor loaded a stim into his veins and the fatigue washed away.

"Good eye, trooper, good eye," The Gunnery Sergeant said. "Everyone fall back, it's gonna rain in two minutes."

Vuxten gave a yawn to pull in oxygen and turned around.

"Vuxten, take point," The Gunnery Sergeant said. "Take us home."

Home.

Brentili'ik was looking over the morale of the shelters. So far everyone was nervous, the biggest fear was that the military couldn't keep away what the rumor mill was claiming were monsters landing from space.

An icon pinged to life and Brentili'ik tapped it. It was a morale fluctuation alert. Something was raising morale.

A picture appeared and Brentili'ik inhaled and gave a sharp squeal of distress.

It was a black armored figure, half buried by obscene scary looking things that looked like huge crabs had suddenly grown powerful triple jointed jumping legs and their claws were five times the size they should be. It had a toothed bar in one hand, laying about it, and was firing a pistol with the other.

The icon above the head said "CPL VUXTEN, 1st TELKAN MARINES"

There were dozens of the crabs, all trying to tear her husband's life away.

As she watched laughing icons, giggling icons, were floating up the edges, along with hearts that popped into sparkles, icons denoting hysterical laughter.

People were laughing at her husband fighting for his life.

Harvey suddenly burst out in laughter behind her.

She whirled around and glared at the big human by opening her eyes as wide as possible, putting her hands on her hips. "What is so funny? That is my husband fighting for his life."

"Read the text," Harvey chuckled.

She turned around, at the terrible picture of her husband fighting dozens of half-crustacean half-insect creatures. It took a second, she had to physically step back, to see the writing. On the top it said "WORKER VUXTEN, YOU ARE FINED ONE DAY'S PAY" on the bottom it said: "FOR UNEXCUSED TARDINESS TO WORK"

She could only goggle at the text and the picture, her brain unable to comprehend what she was seeing and why it was funny.

Harvey snickered again.

Another one came up, her husband held tight by the massive six fingered hand of a creature that must have been a hundred feet tall, its hand wrapped around her husband below his armpit. Behind it the lake could be seen, water visible in small circles and explosive geysers. He was clearly identified by his ID tag over his head. He was shooting it in the mouth with a pistol held tight in his fist, that chained bar thing spraying gore from the creature's hand. More hearts, more icons of amusement and merriment.

Her mouth went dry.

"The words, Madame Director," Harvey said, trying not to laugh.

The words were again in a heavy font. "EXCUSE ME, SIR, THE POOL IS CLOSED FOR CLEANING!"

She could only stare.

That was her husband!

Another picture, this one a short video clip of her husband stepping up to that huge creature's face as it roared and shoving his chainsword into it's nose. "THE POOL" floated up. Her husband stepped back and shot it repeatedly in the face. "IS RESERVED!" floated up. Her husband jumped up, landing on its head and causing it to explode in a shower of gore.

"FOR PODLINGS!" floated up.

They were laughing, in the shelters. Morale was higher than it had ever been since they'd entered the shelters.

She turned away as another short video showed up, a warborg shooting a bar of fire at her husband, who was covered in flame that he ignored as he walked forward. "Despite the evidence, Trooper Vuxten was unable to locate the human" was the caption. Another caption appeared: "Thank You For Not Smoking"

Her hands shook as she moved over to the table and poured herself a glass of water.

"He's all right. They're cleaning spores off of him with the flames," Harvey said softly, moving up near her, out of his arm's reach. He brought up the menu and punched up a sandwich, making the food replicator whir.

"Food printer go brrrrr," he mumbled, chuckling.

"Why are they laughing?" She asked. "He's trying to protect them."

"Because it's funny to them. He isn't their husband. They aren't laughing at your husband, they're laughing because they're scared and worried," Harvey said. "During combat our gestalts often throw stuff up like that to help calm us."

"They're laughing because they're scared," Harvey said, sliding the dish with sauce over to himself and then picking up the sandwich. "You'll be all right. He had it under control. I didn't see any armor breaches and he's been trained for things like that."

Brentili'ik shivered and followed Harvey's example, bringing up a tray of salted nuts to eat.

General Imak Takilikakik saw the memes coming across and stared at them for a moment. They represented a sharp increase in moral. He chewed on his lower lip a moment then walked over to the holotable where several of his men were looking over a new design for a broodcarrier sling. He pinged his datalink for a tidbit of information and nodded to himself.

"I want you to switch to a priority," Tic-Tak said, nodding to himself. "There are four thousand three hundred eighty-two Telkan in our beloved Corps doing various jobs. You will run off male and female Telkan in uniforms, soft stuffies and action figures. Ensure that all podlings and broodcarriers of service members are given one. I want 'Doyourpart' posters drawn up and one that says..." he paused for a moment, thinking. "have it say: 'They fight so we can escape' and 'Telkan Will Live On!' on them."

His men all nodded as Tic-Tak turned around, walking away.

What he'd seen on those pictures scared the ever-lilving hell out of him.

He knew, in his heart, he'd have not only spent the whole time screaming, he'd have probably fouled his armor.

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