Chapter 163: (Nemta) (1/2)
Nemta watched as the mantid engineers kept messing with holographic displays, pulling out lasers to measure distances, putting out small holographic projectors and placing them at certain points. Nemta couldn't understand quite what they were doing and it bothered him. One of them, he didn't know which one it was, kept reaching into his pack and pulling out tools or small machines or putting in chunks of broken electronics or broken armor.
The green mantids could be doing anything and not one of his fellow survivors seemed to really be too interested.
The other survivors moved around and Nemta moved over to them, talking to them to get a feel for their stories. Mostly their stories were the same. Workers in factories or menial labor, the Precursors arrived and started massacring everyone, the Terrans arrived and saved almost everyone. They had all, almost uniformly, hidden, and so had missed their chance to escape. Afterwards they had spent their time hiding from the remaining machines until they found Friend Terry.
Nemta felt slightly disdainful of his fellow survivors. They had done nothing but run and hide from the machines and had lifted Friend Terry up on a pedestal because he would fight the machines.
That made Nemta raise his eyebrows. They acted as if the Precursor Machines could not be stopped, but every news organization agreed that the Corporate and Military Fleets had to rescue the Terrans every time they had engaged the Precursors. Nemta had attended briefings about how the Terrans routinely lost to the Precursors and it was only the timely intercession by the Corporate, Executor, or Military Fleets that had saved the Terrans from certain doom.
The fact that the Terran fleet, which had been less than 1% the size of the fleet that Nemta had been part of, had been tearing the Council fleet apart never went through his mind. A small part of his mind remained convinced he had only had to ditch onto the planet because of mechanical malfunction, not that the malfunction had been caused by the pounding of the Terran's guns.
At one point Nemta winced with everyone else. They muttered a prayer to TerraSol as they wrapped shiny metallic foil around their heads and made another prayer.
The next time there was a sharp jabbing pain between Nemta's eyes nobody else even twitched.
”What keeps doing that?” Nemta asked 'Mother' after the fourth one.
”The screams of a Precursor. Too far away to hurt, but his powers tear at our minds regardless,” Mother said. She tapped the tip of her cane on a rock. ”Friend Terry is undoubtedly fighting them.”
”Don't you worry he'll lead them back here when he is forced to flee them?” Nemta asked.
Mother looked at him strangely. ”Why would he flee the evil ones?”
”Because he can't beat them,” Nemta said confidently. ”Everyone knows that. The Terrans are powerless against the Precursors.”
It started slowly. A snerk, a giggle, then outright laughter from everyone around him. Nemta felt the fur on his back stiffen as everyone kept laughing at him.
”What's so funny?” Nemta demanded. ”Many Council Military members have lost their lives because they had to save Terrans after they instigated the Precursors! If the Terrans had just minded their own business the UMC could have cleared up the Precursor threat in a tenth of the time without the loss of life that the Precursors caused!”
The laughter stopped dead.
The Telkan moved forward slowly, until she was nose to nose with Nemta.
”Have you even seen a Precursor, boy?” she asked.
Nemta sneered. ”No. The UMC drove them from Council Space over a year ago.”
”Then perhaps you can answer a quick chain of logic?” The Telkan, Hilima'ata, asked, glaring at him. Nemta was surprised by the force of her stare, as she had merely been a laundress before the Precursor attack.
”Fine. What?” Nemta asked, stepping back.
”You have not fought the Precursors, but you fought the Terrans, correct?” Hilma'ata asked.
”Yes. We lured them into an ambush through geometry and proper preparation,” Nemta said, feeling pride in the fleet commander. ”We lured them close with an emergency beacon.”
”The Terrans are unable to beat the Precursors, correct?” Hilma'ata asked.
”Correct. They have been defeated in every engagement with the Precursor machines.”
Hilma'ata gave a grim expression of pleasure. ”Your fleet outnumbered the Terrans?”
”Yes, by a factor of one hundred and fifty even before we launched the torchships.”
”And who won the battle?” Hilma'ata asked.
”We had taken nearly 40% casualties when the retreat order was given. I assume we were able to break off into jumpspace and escape,” Nemta answered.
”So, you lost.”
Nemta frowned. ”Well...”
”How many casualties did you inflict on the Terrans?” Hilma'ata asked.
”I believe two of their ships were damaged.”
”And how many of yours was 40%?” the Telkan seemed particularly aggressive to Nemta.
”Well, the fleet was over eighteen thousand ships, so at least 7,200, with many of the larger ones destroyed outright,” Nemta admitted.
”So the Terrans, who were unable to beat the Precursors, beat you, who were able to beat the Precursos?” The Telkan asked.
Nemta stared at her. ”They didn't fight fair. They kept pressing the attack after 10% of the fleet was destroyed and targeted the torchship carriers and the big capital ships.”
”So, they were winning, so it wasn't fair?” Another asked.
Nemta felt personally insulted. ”They use criminal tactics. They cheat. They don't fight fair and they don't fight by the rules. It's cheating. They cheat.”
”How?” Another survivor asked.
”Well... like... they just do,” Nemta snarled. He stomped out into the darkness, ignoring the couple of shouts behind him, until he reached a tree and leaned against it.
There was another pain between his eyes and he flinched. It was more painful, more intense, and he faintly heard a loud sound off in the distance.
Nemta sat down, feeling angry. Yes, the Terran had fought their way free of the ambush and then had started blowing ships out of the sky, but that didn't mean he or his fellow Unified Military Fleet members were incompetent. The Terrans were just cheating somehow.
If he could just figure out how, he could stop them from cheating and that way they would stop interfering in Council business.
He mused over it, going over the battle in his mind. He had launched and been almost immediately engaged. Half of his fighter wing had been wiped out by a missile volley, then they had gotten in with the Terran fighters. Within minutes he had gone from being part of a 250 fighter wing to less than a dozen of them surviving.
When he thought about it, he wasn't even sure if any of his wing had been left when he'd ditched to the planet.
Nemta reached back to scratch the stub of his trail when he heard it.
A clicking noise, a slight buzzing sound, and the sound of metal on the leaves and the sticks of the woods.
Curious he looked around the tree, gasped, and pulled back.
On the other side of the tree was a long rust colored snake. It was segmented metal links put together, moving slowly across the ground. He could see thin beams of high-red light coming from the cluster of eyes on its head as it was slowly looking around.
He glanced back in time to see the snake-thing deploy additional scanner surfaces on its neck just below the head. It was moving slowly back and forth, scanning the area. As it got close to looking at Nemta he jerked back with a gasp.
With a rattling hissing sound the snake suddenly whipped around the tree, raising the head up and looking down at him. It slowly deployed not only fangs but serrated teeth inside the mouth.
There is only enough for one it whispered, driving Nemta to his knees in pain as it felt like a knife had been driven into his skull.
Nemta looked up, whimpering, and saw the snake was drawing back. Its tail was raising, a long blade of rusted durasteel sliding out of the tail like a needle. The eyes were staring at him, bright red, the high-red beams playing over his body.
You are not that one, the snake-thing hissed in Nemta's brain, the sound-not-sound like a white-hot wire burrowing into his brain.