Chapter 249: (Hesstla) (1/2)
Kelvak stayed silent as the body was picked back up, the head ripped off in a shower of blood, and the face of the dead Terran Major slowly peeled away to first reveal the skull, then the brain. The brain suddenly pulled free of the skull, vanishing.
There was a scream, a high pitched squeal of disgust and pain, and purple light started flashing brightly enough that it dazzled Kelvak. The squealing scream trailed off and Kelvak's vision slowly cleared.
Laying on the ground was a bright purple figure, dressed in a shimmering robe. It was contorting, foam running out from behind the tendrils on the lower third of the face, the huge white eyes bloodshot and bleeding around the edges. Its feet, clad in slippers, were drumming against the ground, its six fingered hands were clawing at the dirt, and it was banging its head on the ground. Its back suddenly arced, almost a bow.
The head exploded, showering Kelvak in purple goo. The body began to shrivel up, steam, and as Kelvak watched it slowly dissolved, leaving behind nothing but a purple stain on the ground and the gobbets of flesh from when the head exploded.
The Major's head was lying on the ground, the front of it missing, the skull inside empty.
”Timestamp mark,” Kelvak gasped. ”Rewind, verbal search 'do you see that?'. Play.” Kelvak saw the video recording start. ”Timestamp mark. Deep storage data between timestamp marks.”
”Affirmative,” his suit managed to grind out.
A long moment later he caught himself dozing off. It was strange, he knew his body was badly damaged, but he couldn't feel anything below his neck any more. Not warm and tingly, not sleepy, not painful, just a complete absence of information.
He knew the nanites were working, keeping him from bleeding out, keeping him from dying of shock. Armor built by the Terrans to let Telkans wage war against a universe that took everything and laughed while it did so.
He wanted to cry, but he wouldn't.
He was a Terran Confederate Marine, of the Second Telkan Marine Division.
He wasn't a child any more. He'd stopped being a child during the Precursor War.
He could still remember it. The smell of the basement shelter, the trembling of the ground, the way dust raised up in two bands, one from the floor, one from the ceiling, slowly drifting together before spreading through the room.
The way the lights flickered as the explosions shook the very earth as the Terrans and the Precursors locked in mortal combat over Telkan-2 itself.
A sip of tepid water slaked the thirst slightly and he licked his dry lips before taking another sip. He closed his eyes. He was so tired.
Himf'thalla was petting his hair, crooning to him, her tail wrapped around him as he rocked back and forth and cried over the deaths of his parents. His siblings were orphans now, some of them podlings too young to understand why mommy and daddy weren't coming back. Why something they'd never met, never done anything to, never wronged, had slaughtered their parents with mechanical glee.
All they had left was him and the two brood-mommies, who were trying to use the act of comforting all of the littles as a way to deal with their own grief. Plemill'till was wrapped in the blanket from his mother and father's bed, the littles and the podlings wrapped up with her.
There were so many tears left.
His mother, his father, his two brothers and his sister, all gone. Blotted away by the Precursor attack that he could hear rumbling above them.
He rocked back and forth, crying, pressing his paws against his face, feeling nothing but black despair at the loss of his siblings and parents.
'shh ok to cry broodmommy love Kelvak shh' Himf'thalla said softly, rocking him, holding him as he wept. A metallic clinking sounded out and Himf'thalla hugged him, brushing his face with her furry tail, rocking him back and forth.
The clinking noise wouldn't stop.
He woke up with a jerk and a screamed, banging his head against the deflated pressure sleeve. His retinal display was warning that his suit's power was running low. He knew that had to mean the onboard reactor and batteries were damaged. His suit should be good for nearly a week of straight combat without running into power problems.
”Activate audio recording,” Kelvak coughed. It was hard to breathe.
**AUDIO RECORDING ACTIVE**
”Hi, guys,” Kelvak said. ”I know I said I'd be home, but, well, things went a little different,” he coughed for a moment, pausing the recording, then starting once he got his breath back. ”I wanted to make a difference, and I think I did. In a good way. I know things for our family have been tough, but you guys will be all right.”
He paused the recording for a moment, coughing.
”Podlings, listen to Himf'thalla and Plemill'till. Be good podlings. Be brave, be smart, be strong, be clever. Grow up to be good Telkans. Grow up and take good care of your brood-mommies, they love you with all their hearts,” Kelvak said. He paused it again to get control of his emotions. He felt tired, like just making the recording was exhausting.
”Grow up to be strong, and clever, and brave, and kind. Grow up to love, and laugh. Live free, podlings. Himf'thalla and Plemill'till, you were the best broodmommies ever. Nobody ever had broodmommies who loved them as much as you loved me. When mom and dad died, when my siblings died, you made me feel like someone still loved me. I love all of you, and I'm sorry I can't come home. Podlings, take care of your broodmommies, and I love you.”
Kelvak took a deep breath, as deep as he could. ”End recording.”
”I am a Telkan Marine,” he said softly to himself. ”I cannot be beaten. Not by metal, not by flesh. I may die, but I live on within the Corps. Even if I am defeated, the Corps, Telkan, cannot be beaten.”
He raised his head, inside his helmet, and stared at his black faceplate.
He blinked for a moment, trying to get his visor to come online before he realized it was dead. He managed to chin the release and the faceplate cracked open. He gulped the thick foul tasting air, the metallic taste overlaying scorched meat and something thick and cloying. The crack wasn't wide, the visor had jammed retracting, but he could still see.
The city was sullenly burning around him, the orange lighting up the clouds in the sky. Lightning, orange and blue, flickered in the clouds. Ash was drifting down, settling on everything, giving it a grayish-black hue.
--where am I-- appeared in his retinal display. --what hit me--
”Triple-Dee? Is that you?” he gasped.
--think so. what happened-- 222 asked.
”We landed bad,” Kelvak said.
--clamshell jammed. help-- 222 said.
”Sorry, buddy. I can't help,” Kelvak said. He coughed, hacked, and spit out saliva, blood, and ash.
--suit offline you ok--
”Better than the other guys,” Kelvak said. He laughed and groaned as it caused sharp pains in his spine at the top of his shoulders.
--we in combat--
”No. Just kind of laying around,” Kelvak had never understood the dark humor so many of the other guys had, but he was getting now.
The realization of why he was understand the black humor, the dark comedy of his situation, made him laugh, then groan at the pain.
--gonna try to pop the shell-- 222 said.
”Luck, buddy,” Kelvak said.
--you aren't alone Marine I am here with you--
”Thanks. I need that right now,” Kelvak said.
--almost--
”Open mantid protective housing,” Kelvak coughed.
The suit shuddered for a moment, a grinding came from behind him, and for a split second pain roared up and down his spine. He gasped, but didn't scream, as blackness took him.
222 saw the clamshell open slightly before the flatware motor's gears stripped out. He pulled a spreader out of his toolrack and attached it.
He kept getting dizzy. Both of his antenna had broken off at the base and his skull hurt. The only reason he had both eyes was he had been wearing his helmet, the eyepieces on his helmet cracked. Even so, both of his sensitive bladearms were still in the armor's access ports.
They'd snapped free when they'd hit the ground.
The air was sweet to 222 AKA Triple-Deuce AKA Triple-Dee, flowing in through the small gap. He got the spreader locked in and began cranking on the ratchet to slowly open it.
The warsteel crumbled and 222 stared at it. He picked up some of it in his gripping hands and twisted it.
It broke apart like carbonized circuit board. Like wood pulled from the fire.
222 got a hammer and broke off enough chunks of the armor to see his next problem. He was trapped by a chunk of ferrocrete. Sighing, he kept using the hammer, pausing to take a break now and then while he panted. He hit his O2 supply twice and got back to work.