First Contact - Chapter [CLASSIFIED] - Councils End (2/2)
”Yet others believe in his divinity,” Casey said.
”Weak minded sheep. Bleeting. As they mill about. Looking for meaning for their. Lives. Meaning. That we can. Give,” the voice said.
”Insulting religion will surely turn me to your side,” Casey said. ”Insulting my beliefs will undoutably win me over.”
”See the truth. Warrant Officer Casey. Your religion. Your religious leaders. Merely used your belief. In superstition. To get you to do. What they wanted,” the voice stated. ”Your holy books state. To abide by the word of. Authority. To render unto kings what. Is the king's. To do what is. Right. In the mortal world.”
”First you deride my beliefs, then you attempt to use them to sway my opinion?” Casey asked, crossing the parking lot to the park. He slowed to a walk. ”Try to use an argument you find primitive and superstitious to attempt to get me to do what you want reeks of hypocrisy.”
”Then turn away. From the mission you seek. Whatever it may be. And. Join us. Join the winning team. Chief Warrant. Officer. Casey,” the smiling said. ”WE are the Confederacy. The real Confederacy. We would not. Have let your homeworld. Die. We can bring it back. Join us. And. Wealth. Power. Prestige. Fame. All of this. Can be yours.”
”What gain does a man stand to accomplish should he set aside honor and the duty to the Gods?” Casey quoted.
The smiling face seemed to snarl. ”Then die. And know. You could have been. On the winning side.”
”And how, agent of Ragnarok, wouldst thou have planned to kill one such as I?” Casey asked, closing his one eye for a moment even as he jogged forward.
”You may be. Powerful. Wrapped in that. Armor. But you cannot prevail. Against four. Of yourself,” the smiling face laughed.
The channel went out.
”Lozen, reactivate the command channel, override the signal, link me to the four others,” Casey said.
”If you're sure, beloved,” Lozen said. She paused a moment. ”We're in. They have to hear you now, my love,” she purred.
Casey slowed to a stop in the middle of an open field, statues behind him, a fountain ahead. The stones around him were laced with gold, thin tendrils of gold that sparkled in the light of the artificial star overhead.
”Brothers, stay thy hands,” Casey said over the channel. ”Parlay in the name of our liege Tyr. Come unto me and let us speak.”
There was a slight pause and the affirmative light blinked four different times.
”Casey, we can't take four of ourself,” Lozen said.
”Trust me,” Casey said softly. ”Main gun in storage and movement mode, close the covers on everything else.”
The heavy 66mm cannon raised up and locked into storage position. The shields closed over the missile launchers. Irises shut over flare and mortar ejectors and lighter infinite repeaters.
Less than two minutes later all four of the Novastar power armors exited from various points. They all came to a stop.
Casey slowly moved in a circle.
”Chief Warrant Officer Three Casey, raise your hand,” he said.
They all raised their hands, then dropped them, turning to look at one another, then back at Casey.
”How is this possible?” one of the newcomers asked.
”The enemy cloned us. Took our medical records and cloned us somehow,” Casey answered.
”Blasphemy,” one of him said.
Casey could tell they were younger, centuries younger than he was.
”Which is the original?” one asked.
”There would be no way to tell,” another said.
”Those who are not are nothing more than soulless copies,” another added.
”One of us will be the original, the one with a soul, but how do we tell?” the last asked.
Casey pointed at one. ”Tell me the name of your armor,” he said. ”No, wait, let her tell me her name.”
There was silence.
”She is not awakened,” one said.
The others agreed.
”I am Lozen,” Casey's armor said. ”And all who stand before my beloved and I are naught but dogmeat for the jackals.”
Casey heard a low, pained groan from one of them.
”Ranks?” Casey asked.
All of them stated Chief Warrant Officer Three, Ringbreaker Team One.
”Lance Corporal Casey, Telkan Marine Division, Confederate Armed Services,” Casey said.
More low, pained groans.
Casey activated his image, let the other four see his face.
”I alone know how my eye was taken from me,” he said. ”A missing eye, cleaved from my very skull in combat, would not be in our DNA. Reparing it, replacing it, would be blasphemy.”
They all nodded, their pictures appearing.
Casey could see they were all young, from during the Ringwars.
”They copied all of you from ancient records,” Casey said. He held up his hand, opening his fingers so that the sunlight glittered off the razor sharp fingers of the armor.
Pink sparkles flared.
”Your armor is not consecrated, brothers,” Casey said. ”As mine is.”
All of the others groaned.
”But none are beyond redemption,” Casey stated.
They all looked at him.
”You did not do this of your own volition,” Casey stated. ”Redemption can be found under fire.”
The others all nodded.
”I go to stop this madness. Stop the War in Heaven and the Blood War in Hell,” Casey said. He held his hand out. ”Join me, brothers, and we shall forge thee souls from the fires of war, shape them on the anvil of combat, and cleave to one another as blood brothers.”
The others nodded.
”Lets go,” Casey said. He took a deep breath and began moving forward.
”Let us serve the Mistress of Hell before the serpents coiled upon mankind's bosom,” Casey said.
The other four hesitated a moment, then followed.
-----
Speaks rolled out from behind the car, firing the battle rifle one handed, using his bladearm to steady it. High-Vee rounds punched through the other car before he got cover behind the engine block. He could hear the POK POK POK of rounds hitting the engine block and knew he didn't have much time.
He checked his ammo.
The battle rifle was out. He had two sticks for his pistol. Eight sticks for the other weapon still contained in the cylinder. He was out of grenades, his PPD was overloaded and overheated.
He glanced at the diner, checking his HUD clock.
The cake should be done, Speaks thought to himself. He reached out, opened the door of the car in front of him, and scurried into the seat, climbing to the door and opening it.
The windows shattered as high-vee rounds punched through the macroplas.
He scurried out the door, sprinting on three feet into the back of the diner.
High-vee rounds whistled through the walls as the android gunners tried to find him.
In front of the BobCo nutriforge was a pile of gear, the abdominal plating still steaming.
Speaks breathed a sigh of relief, hurrying to the pile of gear, staying low.
It only took a few minutes to strap on and Speaks grinned as he used the last of the battle rifle ammo to rip open a hole in the wall between the cooking area and the serving area. He dropped the battle rifle and hefted his newly printed Confederate infantry magac rifle, then scuttled through the hole, ducking low, and moved into the dining area.
The glass was shattered by the high-vee rounds which had finally stopped ripping through the building. Speaks ran and jumped out the window, rolling, coming up and running across the parking lot.
A large heavy black hoversedan slewed off the highway, smashing through the ceramacrete barrier and slewing to a stop right next to Speaks. The door flew open and Speaks stared at the large black Lanaktallan in the driver's seat who looked down at the black mantid.
”Do you need assistance?” Ru'udamo'o asked.