Chapter 646: The Spoked Offensive (1/2)
”Nothing is good enough for the Terran military machine. Where other races reach a certain point of combat effectiveness and martial might and say 'this is perfection, nothing will ever be better' a Terran will say 'ok, but can we make it more deadly?'
”This attitude is why any race, when they misconstrue the majority of humanity's willingness to just dance around having fun, are so shocked when they come face to face with the actual human military.
”Most of these species have attacked lightly armed civilian vessels, or poorly guarded colonies, or militias with obsolete equipment and made all of their military planning based on that alone.
”Almost as if the BOLO supertank is invisible, as if that vast self-aware stadium sized engine of destruction is something they can just ignore. Most species can't envision the fact that the Terrans designed entire ships around moving those vast engines of warfare.
”But beyond ships, tanks, even past the power armor and the man portable weapons, every single species, every single time, is absolutely shocked at the effectiveness, deadliness, and absolute force projector that is the Terran infantryman.
”Over their history they have undergone strength training, constant combat training. Later, in their history at least, they were enhanced with chemicals, cybernetics, phasic enhancers, unholy blendings of one or more.
”All with the simple question: How can we increase our soldier's killing power?
”There is no pinnacle of martial might to a Terran. How can there be, when they believe perfection is a road not a goal?
”Just the simple citizen-soldier Terran is one of the most fearsome engines of destruction the universe has ever seen.
”They climb over their own dead like the Mantid assaulting a rival hive. They move as one coordinated whole like the Treana'ad sweeping across the plains. They are as paranoid as a Pubvian in a crowd. They are as strong and fearsome as a Rigellian female defending her ducks. They are as cunning and quick to strike and fade back as a Kobold.
”A Terran is like the universe itself looked at all of the advantages of all the other races possessed and said: You know what, I wonder what would happen if I crammed all of this into a primate from a death world?
”It created a bipedal omnivore predator capable of technological, artistic, philosophical, and sociological progression, that not only developed the atomic bomb but then used it and charged into the debris cloud with rifles and bayonets.
”Then, the universe itself went: Behold: Humanity!
”If we listen close, we can hear the universe's laughter.” - Ngwarkit Angrawark, Rigellian military leader, -15 PG.
The lemur slid to a stop in the room. It was round, polished black walls that had a slight glitter to them as if there were tiny crystal just under the surface. There were a dozen doors leading into the room aside from the one that Natraya and On'trak had followed the lemur through.
”Great, now where?” the lemur asked. It slowly turned, looking at all the doors. ”Looks like warsteel walls, inset doors with no controls, ambient nanite generated light. Great. Which door?”
They all suddenly rose up and a Dweller flanked by two of the larger spawn with a half-dozen small robots at the base of their robes floated in the entrances to the doorways. Natraya noticed that the little robots were like ovals with six legs, a saw blade and a pincher at the front, and a set of four tentacles waving over a crystal globe that glowed blue and had a brain inside that was fitted with tubes and wires and cylinders.
”Oh, now all y'all gonna get serious,” the lemur said. It looked around. ”Warsteel walls too. Nice.”
Natraya noticed that the Dwellers ignored both her and On'trak to all turn and stare at the lemur. The robots clacked their pinches and revved their saws, the spawn clacked their claws and unlimbered their bladearms, and tapped their pointed leg ends against the metal.
The lemur turned slowly in place as the Dwellers floated in a bare few feet, giving room for the doors to shut.
”Stay out of it unless its to defend yourself,” the lemur said, waving its arms again and settling into that odd spread legged stance, one hand forward, the other by its waist. The lemur inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly.
The Dweller moved forward slowly, half of them carrying crystal carved into blades, the other ones carrying rifles and pistols with crystals poking out of the tops. The spawn hissed loudly, acidic drool falling from their heavily mandibled jaws and onto the floor. The robots clicked and whirred.
Natraya and On'trak pressed back against the wall, on either side of the door, remembering the lemur's advice.
Don't be like good ol' Daphne. If you lean back against the door it can open, dump you at the enemy's feet, and close before the hippy and the talking dog can help you, the lemur had said.
Natraya wondered, for a split second, who 'Daphne' was, as she mentally imagined all of her scrapes and contusions on a doll's body and, in her mind, began applying paste to the wounds. She slowed down her breathing, breathing in deep and slow through her nose and exhaling naturally through her mouth with her tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth.
”You feel lucky, punks?” the lemur asked, making his voice sound rough and gravelly.
FWOOP! all of the Dwellers fired off the conical blast of psychic energy at the same time.
Natraya watched as he ducked, bobbed, weaved, and waved his arms for balance to get out of the way, looking for a moment like there was a half dozen of him moving. Then they all seemed to collapse into the same lemur, who stood back up from where he had been leaning back, bending only at the knees, his back level with the floor before he straightened up.
”Did you fire six shots, or only five?” the lemur asked, his voice still rough and gravelly. He moved his arms and this time there was a slight bluish aura that trailed a few inches behind his hands until it wisped away.
FWOOP! they tried again, to the same effect, the lemur moving even faster. Natraya noted that the lemur's feet stayed planted in the same spot.
”Again. Faster. More precise,” the lemur snapped, straightening up. ”Your masters should beat such poor students as you.”
This time the Dwellers tried one or two at a time. Each time the lemur took a half step to the right or left, back or forward, completely avoiding the ripple through the air. Turning his body so he presented his profile to the ones firing the crushing psychic blasts. He made it look easy, simple.
The last one fwooped out and he thrust one hand out. Sparks flew and the cone shattered, blue and purple sparks showering out around his hand.
”I fought a rogue Mantid Speaker who'd turned to piracy. His psychic domination was thicker and sharper,” the lemur said, his voice remote and dispassionate. ”Again. Faster. Harder. More precise.”
The Dwellers tried again, this time floating to one side or the other to try to get a better again.
”I can see your pupils. Only a few microns wide, but I can still see them. They glow purple before you fire. You open a hidden third eye slightly and your brow wrinkles right before you fire and the third eye stares at your target area,” the lemur said, his voice sounding bored and remote.
FWOOP! the Dwellers tried again, alternating their attempts. Natraya noted they were getting oily looking.
The lemur repeated just stepping out of the way of each conical blast, his hands behind his back. For the life of her it looked like he was just wandering around the middle of the room.
”You guys have the pattern recognition of a politician with a cratered head wound,” the lemur said. He flexed his arms, extending his fists down past his waist, his elbows slightly bent. It made the muscles on his shoulders, back, chest, and abdomen flex and ripple.
Natraya noted that the black glittering floor flexed slightly, the same with the ceiling.
The Dwellers stopped, watching carefully.
The lemur made the slow motions with its arms again, the blue nimbus surrounding his hands and leaving trails of faint blue energy that dissipated within a heartbeat. He set his feet, stopping his arm motions and holding out his hand with the other at his waist. He curled his outstretched fingers twice, quickly.
”Again,” the lemur said. ”With feeling.”
The spawn and the robots screeched and charged as the armed Dwellers opened fire with their rifles and pistols.
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Shandaar drifted down the hallway, seeing the lights pulse and hearing the grating buzz of the alert. Young Ones floated by, some holding weapons in cold excitement, others with their hands inside their sleeves and folded at their stomachs, coldly anticipating showing everyone that the lemur was nothing more than an aberration that they, personally, would defeat.
I, who has the exact same powers, abilities, knowledge, and biology of the others, who might as well be a clone of everyone else, will surely succeed where the others have failed, because in my mind, I'm the Chosen One and the hero of the story, she snorted inside her own mind. Surely, I, being the pinnacle of Atrekna, shall prevail over an unevolved simple lemur where all others have not.
Another group hustled by, followed by a wave of servitor collectors, all of the crystals glowing blue to signify that they were full of harvested brains. They clacked and whirred, their sharp ended legs clicking on the phasic tiles, their pinches clacking, their tentacles flailing, and the saws buzzing.
Yes, I am sure he will be impressed by basic harvester units, she thought. There is no chance that he will just kick them across the room like a discarded food carton. Instead, he shall surely be overwhelmed by such awesome and powerful machines containing the full power of a single unevolved non-psychic brain.
She floated through a chamber where Atrekna were slicing open the membranes on top of stasis pools containing dangerous slavespawn.