Chapter 385 (1/2)
”So the kid, right, he starts the second grade. Now, his dad and mom are still worried he's going to slack off on his grades like he slacked off all summer on his chores, so his dad promises him anything he wants if he gets straight A's,” Casey said, looking down one of the barrels of his partially disassembled minigun.
Vuxten and the others nodded, Vuxten glancing at Addox to see if the scout drones had returned. When Addox shook his head head Vuxten knew they were still out.
”So the kid, right, he really busts his ass. Buckles down doing homework, extra credit, all of it, right? So he gets straight A's and his dad's all: son, you can have whatever you want. A trip to Zaginaw Beach, a tour of Titan, even a trip to Mouse Planet,” Casey said. He locked the barrel back in place and begun unscrewing the next one from the housing.
”The kid looks at his dad and goes: Father, I just want a single pink golf ball,” Casey said. He lifted the barrel up and looked down the inside. ”The father is all ”A single pink golf ball? I offer you anything your heart desires, my son. Surely you want more, despite being only a second grader. Surely there is something in this grand universe that you wish.” The son replies, just a pink golf ball father.”
Casey tilted the barrel, checking for gouges in the barrel's rifling.
”The father thinks to himself: well, bright children are often strange, and buys a single pink golf ball. When he presents it to his son the kid runs off with it, and the father doesn't see it again,” Casey said. He suddenly looked up. ”Drones coming back. Get ready.”
Vuxten nodded. There was always a chance that Precursor machines could follow the drones back.
The drones settled in their cradles on Sergeant Addox's shoulders and Vuxten knew the Terran sergeant would have his armor systems and his greenie compile the data into a usable form.
”Hey, Sergeant Casey, can I ask a question?” one of the Telkan with third squad asked.
”Go ahead, kid,” Casey said.
”Aren't you worried about the fact you're just in a loading frame? Why not fab up power armor?” the Telkan asked.
Casey stared for a moment, then shook his head. ”I don't do power armor any more. Back a couple centuries ago I was part of Ninth Armored Guard, an Old Blood unit, a historical Vodkatrog armor division,” Casey said. Before the Telkan could speak he held up his hand. ”I was a damn good power armor troop. Powered Orbital Drop Assault.”
”That's a fast life expectancy for someone without SUDS. Ninth Guard is one of the Old Blood units that expect you to die during assaults, you don't get dropped to a non-Blood unit for dying,” Glory said from where she was sitting on a pile of uncrushed ore. ”How in the burning chrome Hell did you get out of that alive?”
”I was better than the enemy. Too good,” Casey locked the barrel in on the minigun and looked back up. ”I suffered a bad case of Operator Identification Syndrome. Part of me still yearns for it.”
”Oh, I'm sorry,” Glory said softly, turning slightly and looking away as if the big combat mech was embarrassed.
”I wasn't patterned on your big dropship ass,” Casey laughed.
Glory laughed and it felt like something that Vuxten didn't understand had been cleared from the room.
Vuxten could feel some sort of weird longing from the big Terran.
”Patterned? What's that?” Wextuk asked.
”It's when you develop an emotional attachment to the VI or eVI assist systems in your power armor, robot combat power armor, tank, whatever,” he said. ”It's pretty rough and if you get a bad enough case you end up needing hospitalization and therapy.”
”How did you get it?” Wextuk asked. Vuxten thought about telling the Telkan Private Second Class to shut up, but figured that they might as well talk about something while the maps were being compiled.
”I was a power armor jock. Good one. Deep insertion, heavy assault, had an 80mm railgun on my right shoulder that could hit orbital targets. Rapid fire rapid reload missile rack, point defense, battlescreen systems, the whole nine yards. Toughest suit ever produced by the Confederacy or anyone else in the Universe,” Casey said.
”The NovaStar-VII,” Glory guessed. ”You were a NovaStar pilot. By the Digital Omnimessiah, I thought all of you were dead.”
”What happened?” Wextuk asked.
”One drop went bad, hell, the whole war went bad, and I spent literally two years in my armor. Never getting out of it,” Casey said. ”Once I was able to get out of it, I spent five years where the only time I got out of my armor was to do field repairs on it or to briefly talk to survivors I'd rounded up.”
”You can stay in armor that long?” Wextuk asked.
”Yes,” Casey said. He reached forward and tapped Wextuk's armored chest. ”Your armor is designed for you to live in, without removing it, for up to five years.”
Wextuk shivered.
”It's not advised,” Glory said softly.
Casey reached down and wrapped his hand around the firing grip for his minigun and Vuxten saw the weapon's smartwire go live.
”When did the drop go bad?” Addox asked, not looking up. Vuxten knew he was going over the maps and the data.
”I barely got to the ground,” Casey said softly. ”It was a horror show aboard the CSFNV Sulaco less than an hour after we docked with Thule Station. One minute everything was green, the next I was fighting for my life. I was actually in the shower when it all went sideways.”
Vuxten noticed everyone glanced at each other as small arcs of purple electricity wound around the barrels of Casey's minigun.
”I barely made it to Jemila and get her wrapped around me before almost everyone was dead,” Casey said. ”Had to fight my way to the drop pods and launch it manually. For almost two years Jemila was my only company aside from terrified civilians and the enemy. I couldn't leave her embrace, couldn't take the chance. After a while, I didn't feel safe unless I was in her embrace, unless I could hear her voice and feel her touch me, feel myself become one with her.”
”Chromium Saint Peter,” Glory swore softly.
He suddenly looked up and gave a sudden grin that made Vuxten wonder just exactly how many teeth humans had in their mouths.
”After that, I went Administrative for about ten years, then Maintenance for about twenty years, then went into Ordnance before rotating to an Old Blood unit,” his grin seemed to get more friendly and the electrical arcs vanished. ”And that, boys and girls, is how Uncle Casey ended up in Ordnance.”
”Map's done,” Addox said, looking up. ”My little brother's about to have a fit.”
”It's Mantid make, Precursor Omniqueen era,” Casey guessed.
”Yup,” Addox said. He shook his head. ”It's really obvious once you hit the maintenance spaces.”
”I assume it gets worse?” Vuxten said. ”Live Mantids?”
Addox shook his head. ”No. Pressure suits, hazardous environment suits, greenie toolkits, the whole nine yards. Looks like one of the larger ones, the ruling caste, is supposed to be overseeing this thing but from the scan data it looks like it was retrofitted for full automation. Got the old style horseshoe command center with the upraised central pit in the middle.”
”Got us a route?” Vuxten asked.
”Several. Easy to forget how big the ruling caste was,” Addox pointed at Casey. ”Bigger than him in his loading frame.”
”Can you get us a route that won't have us fighting everything between here and there?” Vuxten asked.
Addox nodded. ”Yeah. Not for Glory, though. She's gonna have to stay here,” he said.
”Great, finally get a date and you all ditch me,” Glory laughed. ”It's because my butt's big, isn't it?”
”You know it,” Addox said.
”I don't like leaving her behind. We should pull her braincase and take her with us,” Casey suddenly said, turning from where he was staring at the dead conveyor belts.
”No, I'm good, Casey,” Glory said.
Vuxten heard his armor chirp as Glory opened a private channel to Casey, his officer hardware alerting him to the communication's existence but not the contents.
”I'll come back for you if I have to,” Casey said.
”I know you will,” Glory said.
”Got the route,” Addox said. He looked at Vuxten. ”Give the order, sir.”
Vuxten stood up. ”All right, move out by squads. Let's see what this thing's brain looks like.”
The blue line appeared on his visor, showing the way.
”Let's get going,” Vuxten said.
He led his men into the dark maintenance spaces of the beast.
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General No'Drak looked over the data and Ge'ermo'o watched, slowly being able to make more and more sense of the Confederate labels.
”Can you get a deep level scan of where the three mountain ranges join?” No'Drak asked, puffing on a cigarette.
The pink canine-human-feline chimera shook her head. ”Too many atomic explosions to get a good ELF reading or seismic reading. Unless you want to have the Dinochrome Brigade and Third Armor to stop firing and give us a few hours to do deep level crust geo-mapping.”
No'Drak clacked his mandibles in irritation.
”So we have no idea what that machine, who has managed to reach speeds of nearly a hundred miles an hour under the ground, is heading toward?” he asked.
”I'm afraid not, sir,” the Military Intelligence Analyst said. ”I can give you a WAG if you wish?”