Chapter 413+ (2/2)

Again, the Dark Crusade of Light had healed him.

Again and again he had fallen in battle.

Each time the Crusade had healed him.

He had been there when the Warsteel Herd had formed from those that the Terrans had saved, had taught to fight, had armed and equipped.

Cyba'armo'o had been the first Lanaktallan 'Full Conversion Cyborg' in recorded history.

Cyba'armo'o had considered the fact that he had always been told that his body was too evolved, too refined, too superior to accept something as crude as cybernetics to be the height of amusement and irony as piece by piece his body had been replaced, his limbs replaced, and more and more cybernetics had been implanted in his body.

He had been the proving ground that had resulted in others being saved. He was the first, ensuring that all those who came behind could be healed with metal rather than cloned flesh if they so wished.

Yes, there had been agony, there had been terrible pain, there had been time when he had wished to die, had wished that he had been killed upon the battlefield rather than turned over to the cold surgical blades of the ripperdocs of the Dark Crusade of Light.

Now, he had no fear of the blades and saws and nerve stitchers of the ripperdocs. He had moved from the dark science of the ripperdocs to the cold chrome and warsteel science of the Terran Confederate Armed Forces.

To the arms of the Cybernetic Organism Collective's surgeons.

For nearly two years he had fought on planet after planet, side by side with the heavy warborgs of the Terran Confederacy. Marched through fire, smoke, radiation, and fear to wrest each planet from the cold metal claws of the Precursor machines.

Now the Warsteel Herd had ships of their own. Reconfigured and reconditioned Lanaktallan military vessels, true.

But reconditioned and refit by the Mad Lemurs of Terra.

Cyba'armo'o was in the bay of the Terrible Freedom, a Warsteel Herd Armored Assault Troop Transport.

A wholly Terran idea. Where Lanaktallan and Great Herd troop transports were thinly armored, if at all, the Terrans armored them as if they were battleships, armed them like a cruiser, and sent them into close orbit.

On the bridge of the Terrible Freedom Ship Most High/Admiral (Upper Deck) Harnix Burgerking No'ome'erci stared at the deep hologram of space in front of him. There were nearly thirty of the baroque and ostentatious Dark Crusade of Light ships near him, all hanging apparently motionless in the space between stars.

On the holotank in front of him was a massively armored male Terran on split screen with a heavily armored female Terran. Both wore heavy ornate armor, scarred from battles past. Below them were two more figures, one male, one female, both Terran. While their armor was shaped the same it featured more spikes, more skulls, more chains, and dripped blood. The top two were obviously living, the bottom two had the gray pale skin and black veins of the dead.

Admial No'ome'erci turned his head slightly so his XO knew he was looking at the Rigellian female.

”What are our current standing orders?” No'ome'rci asked, his artificial lung wheezing.

”To hold in position until command determines where we are needed,” the Admiral (Rear Deck) stated.

”Alert the fleet,” Admiral No'ome'erci ordered. ”We will interlock with the Dark Crusade of Light, our brothers and sisters in warsteel and fury.”

”Are you sure, Admiral?” Admiral (Rear Deck) Shwarkaki asked, more for the record than anything else.

”I am sure. As they have succored us, we shall assist them. Alert Warsteel Herd Command that we ride in warsteel and chrome with our brethren in fury,” No'ome'erci ordered.

”As you command,” Admiral (RD) Shwarkaki said, saluted.

No'ome'erci turned to the holotank, staring at the Terrans he had come to appreciate. ”We ride together, brothers and sisters, in fury and chrome.”

Down in the heavy assault cyborg mechanic's bay, Cyba'armo'o felt the deck begin to tremble, felt the strange vibration in phantom bone marrow of FTL drives warming up.

He smiled, sending a smiling emoji to 82A. He looked down at Uxlurt. When the mechanic looked up he gave the best smile he could with the artificial hide of his head pulled back.

”At last. Again to war.”