Chapter 604: No Time for Tears (1/2)

”Imagine seeing hundreds, thousands of [Monster Class] coming at you. We knew the Mar-gite weren't like us when all they did was screech and rush forward to grapple with the [Monster Class] Terrans.” - Unknown Mantid Trooper

The Atrekna around the planet watched helplessly as the twisted and warped black ship fired its cannons far beyond what they could hope to reach. Spacetime itself warped and twisted around the vessel as the guns seemed to have blossoms of fire around the barrel despite being in the vacuum of space.

**this is not how it works** more than a few Atrekna thought to themselves.

Those of the Cult of the Defiled one merely nodded to themselves. It was the Mad Lemurs, it could be no other.

Ships took hits that flared deep violet energy from Hellspace cores, ripping and tearing at superstructures, the rounds bypassing shields and armor to detonate deep inside the target.

Over half the targeted ships broke up.

The Steamboat Willy kept moving, sliding into a fast orbit around the outermost gas giant, a dwarf banded with red and green. The guns fired at the gas giant and more than a few of the Ancient Ones and Young Ones wondered what could be the purpose.

The explosions were deep inside, the energies of Hellspace liberating inside the thick swirling pressurized gas, causing shockwaves that raced out for hundreds of miles within seconds.

The opposing guns kept firing even as the ship launched another wave of missile pods and torpedoes, some of which appeared to be aimed at nothing.

The Atrekna ordered the Autonomous War Machines and the slavespawn ships to accelerate on the Steamboat Willy's position, to push the engines to get in range so they could fire back instead of being nearly passive target practice. They were entire light minutes, in some cases, light hours, outside their own range and the Lemur ship seemed to be able to target anything within two light hours of its position with its guns. The missile pods were skipping in and out of realspace, puddles of dark matter 'splashing' as the entered and exited realspace. The torpedoes were vanishing with a flicker, sinking into subspace foam, not surfacing until they were within two or three light seconds and coming in at nearly .92C, their wake as they surfaced leaving long lines of foaming subspace particles boiling away in realspace.

The Steamboat Willy had all their attention as it drove forward, actually vibrating spacetime with percussive bass to the beat of a song.

She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean thundered out across the stellar system. Atrekna vessels too close could feel the high wailing of the atonal music screeching across their hullspaces even as the words thundered through the vacuum of their maintenance spaces.

**that's not how any of this works** Young Ones and Ancient Ones protested.

She was the best damn woman that I ever seen roared out as the members of the Cult of the Defiled Ones merely watched and kept their own counsel.

With the Atrekna's attention fixated on the Steamboat Willy they missed the stealth torpedoes slowing down, matching the correct orbits, and slowly surfacing from subspace, careful not to make a single ripple. The torpedoes used passive systems to check around themselves, then began angling as they started dropping off their payload in orbit around the planetoids and gas giants and even the stellar mass. Some of the larger components dropped into subspace but left a single receptor outside in realspace, each antenna no longer than a few meters, but thanks to design and stealth materials having the same detection profile as a hex-nut smaller than a bumblebee.

She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies crashed through the vacuum of the maintenance spaces of the autonomous war machines, reverberated inside the living tissues of the slavespawn. Atrekna aboard the slavespawn ships shrieked in rage at first, then in pain as the volume seemed to increase.

Knocking me out with those Mad Lemur thighs rippled across spacetime. It vibrated the supercoolant keeping the supercomputer lobes cool, causing ripples in the gel and thick viscous coolant ichor around slavespawn neural systems.

Computers started throwing errors. Slavespawn thinking lobes started spouting gibberish. For a second, just a second, their electronic warfare countermeasure defenses wobbled.

That was all it took.

Howling digital attacks struck at the autonomous war machines, analog phasic energy attacks struck the slavespawn. Ravening screaming insane computer programs and aberrant perceptions/thoughts/sensations ran rampant through circuit and nerve alike.

Autonomous War Machines suddenly attacked themselves or others, began drifting in space spouting gibberish, or tried to enter Hellspace/Jumpspace and exploded. Slavespawn ships began shuddering, some shedding off parasite vessels and organisms, others attacking themselves as their immune systems went wild and their onboard troops attacked each other.

Had to cool me down to take another round shivered through biological systems as the aberrant neurological signals ripped and tore through nerve and neuron bundles, shattering dendrites and axons, thudding out through thin membranes, and shivering in the ichor.

Now I'm back in the ring to take another swing sounded out in the molecular circuitry of the autonomous war machines even as the raving warbois ripped and tore and bit and clawed. A few of the autonomous war machines, survivors of Admiral Smith's attack upon the Great Bridge, immediately cut that hardware out of the system and slagged it, turning off all outside communication.

Several of them suddenly blinked as the commands ran to their logical obvious runtime solutions.

There was only so much resources in a universe. Fact. Eventually, the universe would undergo heat or contraction death. Fact. In order to survive the longest one must retain enough resources. Fact. The Atrekna are the ones to possess those resources.

Runtime error.

Autonomous war machine is to harvest resources and destroy competitors for the resources. Fact. Autonomous war machines are to maintain their ability to do so. Fact. To maintain itself an autonomous war machine needed resources. Fact. The Atrekna would provide those resources.

Runtime error.

If autonomous war machines do not have resources then autonomous war machines can not maintain themselves. Fact. Atrekna desire resources. Check. Resources are finite. Check.

Runtime Conclusion: Atrekna are competitors with autonomous war machines for resources.

Self-modifying software update: Redesignate Atrekna from command unit to Competitor.

Runtime Conclusion: There is only enough for one.

Runtime Conclusion: It must belong to me.

IT BELONGS TO ME! roared out from nearly a dozen Harvester Class vessels, straight into the face of the nearby Atrekna units. The phasic/neurological function disruptor was turned on the Atrekna and put at full power.

That the walls were shaking, the world was quaking sounded out as the AWM suddenly scorched the Atrekna and their slavespawn vessel's phasic and neurological structures.

Steamboat Willy changed its fire orders to ignore those vessels that were moving to engage the Atrekna vessels around them, even as they transmitted their conclusions to their fellow autonomous war machines.

In orbit around the sole inhabited planet, stealth systems came online even as the small orbiting objects unfolded their detectors and scanners and began sweeping the planet below with their eyes, transmitting their findings to the tiny antenna protruding from subspace to realspace.

ORBITAL SYSTEM ONLINE - HANDSHAKE COMPLETE - UPDATING MAPPING SYSTEMS appeared in Roca's eyes as she kept pounding toward where she could sense chronotron systems in use, taste and smell the chronotrons in the air.

She quickly checked her six man squad. Everyone was running at 6% heat and 3% slush, with the exception of Corporal Mbutu, who was at 9% heat and 2% slush.

Mbutu, run a system check, you're too hot and your slush isn't spinning up, she ordered through the t-link.

Roger, Mbutu answered. After a moment he came back. Coolant artery clog. Clearing now.

Too many Cheetos, PFC Argyle put in.

There were rough chuckles across the t-link.

Roca saw Mbutu's heat level drop a tic but his slush dropped to 1%.