Chapter 651: The Spoked Offensive (2/2)
Fleet Admiral Shyp'fyter nodded slowly, then nodded at the recording, which had been taken four days ago.
The Terran was pacing back and forth, waving his arms, reciting what the battle had been like to free themselves from the Atrekna. The Terran had said repeatedly that they were led to the dropship so that the Atrekna could get rid of them.
He was bright purple and his hands and down his spine kept going white.
The Admiral stopped the video playback and turned to Glass. ”Any diagnosis over the the last four days?”
Glass nodded slowly. ”Physically, he's in top condition. He heals rapidly, phasic biofeedback cellular reconstruction. He eats roughly twelve-thousand calories a day and backs it up with extensive exercise.”
Cyba'armo'o nodded, he'd watched the Terran work out in the gym.
”He's got the phasic levels of a Warrior, easily, maybe even a Speaker,” Glass stated. ”I ran phasic level comparisons off of old battlefield footage and, well,” she paused a moment to clean her antenna. ”I can tell you, it took everything I had not to run screaming,” she gave a slight giggle, took a minute to take a sip of water off of a magnetically held droplet. ”The Terrans blew a hole through our psyche just like many other species they have fought.”
Cyba'armo'o reached out. ”May I?”
The others nodded.
Gym footage appeared. The Terran working out on the equipment. Cyba'armo'o pointed out several things. ”The Terran is capable of bench pressing literal tons of weight in high gravity. He's capable of running thirty miles in a breather mask, two miles in complete vacuum and still be capable in a fight. But, most of all, watch these strikes.”
To everyone watching it looked like he was just striking the heavy bag. The Tukna'rn and the Putimat were watching closely. Every time a spurt of sand flew out of the other side.
”Now, look under phasic recording,” Cyba'armo'o said.
Each punch, the lemur went completely white. More than that, the impact of the fist brought out a bright flash and a lance of phasic energy blew through the bag.
”It is about to get worse,” Cyba'armo'o said.
The Puntimat stepped up to the bag. She did several breathing exercises, then took the strange close armed stance. She stepped forward, striking out quickly, sometimes straight up and down, other times crossing her hands so that she raked the bag in an X pattern, other times lashing out to the side of the bag and either striking or pulling toward herself. She kept circling the bag, sometimes rolling under it or rolling off to the side. Turning around from it and striking behind her after taking a quick, snapping look.
Every time bright red phasic energy followed her strikes, sinking deep into the bag.
Next up was the Tukna'rn. He didn't go for the fancy strikes. He planted his feet, which made his feet, legs, and spine go red, then waded into the bag, slamming strike after strike into the bag. Red phasic energy levels exploded from the bag.
”Not only is he extremely phasiclly active, he's able to instill it in others,” Cyba'armo'o said. He clicked again, showing the Terran climbing an ice cliff with his bare hands, snow and ice whirling around him, dressed only in a pair of pants, no shoes, gloves, or shirt. Then using the exercise machines under various harsh conditions. ”Is this standard for Terran combat training?”
Everyone looked at Glass, who shook her head.
”No. Terrans don't use phasic energy anymore,” she said.
The Terran was fighting hard light projections, moving fast and showing a lot of power in his blows.
”He's fighting Vormaktin,” Glass said softly, shaking her head. ”They've been extinct for just over two thousand years.”
”What happened to them?” Cyba'armo'o asked.
”The Wemtarran Dominion happened,” Glass said. ”One of the reason they got 1%'d.”
”Oh,” Cyba'armo'o said. He shook his head. ”I have a small question.”
Glass nodded. ”All right.”
Cyba'amo'o played the video, showing the Terran fighting against multiple opponents, mixed opponents. ”Here is fighting against Type-II Atrekna Dwellerspawn.”
”All right,” Commander G'vrawk.
”Why does he do this,” Cyba'amo'o asked, pausing it right as the Terran slapped himself in the chest.
Everyone looked at G'vrawk, Chief Bosun of the Marine detachment.
G'vrawk cleared his throat uncomfortably. ”It's an uncomfortable subject.”
The Admiral gave the Bosun the patented ”Admiral wants answers” look.
G'vrawk shook his head. ”I had to ask BOLO Blackrazor for the information and even he was loathe to give it to me. I have the general specifications, but it's locked data now.”
”Did you ask ONI?” the Admiral asked, referring to Naval Intelligence.
G'vrawk nodded. ”Blackrazor won't give up the data merely on ONI request. It's bad, real bad, just from the tight specs,” he nodded at the video. ”He's reflexively slapping a induction switch that should pump his body full of chemicals, oxygenate his blood, and have a chunk of cyberware stage his physical performance up.”
G'vrawk looked around. ”Nobody's made any since the Glassing, after the Combine fell.”
”Why not?” Cyba'amo'o asked.
G'vrawk tapped his fingers for a long moment then switched the video.
The Terran was pounding on the bags, the Tukna'rn and the Puntimat on either side of him, all of them slamming blows into punching bags. Phasic levels snapped, peaked and exploded, rippling back and forth between all three beings practicing.
”Because it was an ugly thing, for an ugly time,” G'vrawk said. ”Maybe better left in the dark of history.”
Cyba'amo'o paused it and looked at everyone.
”The Atrekna are here, from the darkness of history,” he pointed at the Terran. ”It is an ugly time.
”Perhaps we need ugly things.” Cyba'amo'o said.
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Natraya sat down next to the lemur, Carter, his name is Carter, and set her tray down. Without speaking she began to eat, shoveling the food into her mouth rapidly. On'trak sat down next to Carter, on the other side, and did the same.
Afterwards came the running. She could run nearly a mile without stopping at a fast pace, nearly two at a slow pace. On'trak could run nearly five miles at a slow pace, less than a half mile at a fast pace. While On'trak and Carter kept running, Natraya went over to the pegs on the walls, shaking her arms out.
She took a peg in each hand, jumped up, and slammed the pegs into the bottom of the two columns of wood with holes down it. She reached up, tensing, and put the peg in the next hole and, straining, pulled herself up and put the next peg into the next hole.
Then came working on the bags, working in high gravity, wearing a face mask to make it hard to breathe and running on a treadmill.
She could still feel the anger inside of her.
The rage.
Still see Her Ladyship spit on the Atrekna, defiance in her expressionate, compassionate eyes.
Never again. Never will I lay helpless while another dies.
Never.