Reunion

Reunion

NEG Military Headquarters, 2385

“Major Kalansky, good of you to come at such short notice,” Samantha Ardent said as she greeted the military officer to her office. Kalansky shook her hand then took a seat opposite her.

“Well, when the NEG Intelligence Division asks you to come and see them generally it’s not a negotiable situation.” Kalansky replied, failing to contain her lack of enthusiasm for the impromptu meeting.

“I’ll get straight to business,” Ardent said, picking up a small e-pad and activating it. The blinds drew across the window and a small screen appeared on the wall at the far right side of the office. The room lit up as the screen came to life. Kalansky recognised the display as being a map. “We picked up something coming down just outside Juneau last night. Initial intelligence indicates that it’s possibly a Mi-Go landing craft, however the weather has limited our ability to confirm that.”

“Okay.” Kalansky replied as she began to make herself familiar with the topography of the area. “What’s this got to do with me?”

“We’re sending your unit in to confirm our suspicions.” Ardent said. “If our intelligence turns out to be accurate then you are to report back and await further instructions.”

“We’re due shore leave.” Kalansky replied. “We’re been on active duty for eight months straight now and…”

“I’m fully aware of the status of your unit,” Ardent interrupted. “However, this operation has been flagged as top priority by NEG Intelligence and I have complete authority over this potential engagement, hence the reason I requested your involvement. Your dropship is scheduled to leave in two hours.”

****

Kalansky gritted her teeth – she hated it when the spooks took charge over the military; something always went wrong on jobs like that. As she made her way along the cold steel hallway in the pilot’s quarters towards the locker room she heard a door open behind her.

“Major Kalansky,” She turned – and saw the figure of Major Anthony Wright hanging out of the door of his quarters. His hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him and she could see the grey flecks at the sides. His brown eyes stood out against his pale skin - he was three years older than her and at thirty-four was one of the longest serving officers in the NEG Mech Unit. “May I have a word with you?”

“Of course Major Wright,” Kalansky responded. “I’ll be right with you.”

****

Kalansky slumped on top of Wright’s body – her skin tingled as he held her in his arms. There was barely enough room in the standard issue military bunk for them to lie side by side, yet after a few minutes of being in his arms she managed to slide off him and rest against him, looking at his face.

Publicly these two high-ranking officers were seen as the leading faces of the NEG recruitment campaign for Mech pilots. Kalansky and her Reapers were often portrayed as being in competition with Wright and his unit – called The Wreckers – to see who accumulated the highest body count wherever they were deployed. Privately they had become an item a year ago following the outcome of a particularly disastrous mission where the remnants of both units had been left to hold one of the Martian colonies for a week against a Mi-Go strike fleet until reinforcements arrived.

“I thought that The Wreckers were in Iceland dealing with an outbreak of the Esoteric Order of Dagon?” Kalansky said. Wright shrugged.

“We were – up to six hours ago.” He said. “We’re heading back out there tomorrow morning once we’ve fixed the Mechs – I blew out the control servos on my Broadsword.”

“You’re still using that? I thought you were going to switch over to the new Gladius mech?” Kalansky commented on his current choice.

“I tried it – it just didn’t feel right.” Wright said, catching a glimpse of the clock in the corner of his eye.

“Do those EOD Mechs still make that boing sound when then jump?” She asked. Wright laughed.

“Yeah, they sound like some Saturday morning kids cartoon.” He kissed her forehead, pulling her close to him. “When do you ship out?”

“Under an hour.” Kalansky said, untangling herself from his arms and sitting up. “Will you still be here when I get back later?”

“As long as it’s before oh-six hundred.”

“Should be,” Kalansky replied. “This is just some clean up job for NEG Intelligence.” Wright snorted, shaking his head at her assignment.

“Sure – I’ll still be here.” Wright replied. Without another word Kalansky kissed him, got dressed and left his room.

****

When Kalansky entered the locker room she found herself confronted with five familiar faces.

The Reapers were one of many small Counter Attack Units that had been formed out of a sense of urgency – following the initial stages of the war it had become clear that NEG tactics when it came to dealing with Mi-Go armour was greatly disadvantaged. Dealing with an opponent that could very likely be part of a greater hive-mind meant that many NEG outposts on the outer rim had been overwhelmed within days before reinforcements could reach them.

The small CAUs as they were known as were relatively autonomous, not dependent upon any direct command structure to guide their actions other than an initial briefing. Just point and click – let us deal with the details, Kalansky recalled her comments to their new CO back at NEG Central Command on the first time they had met three years ago.

Over the years the roster of The Reapers had changed, however there was one constant amongst them – Andrea Kalansky. Whenever she needed someone to fill out a spot on the team, Kalansky would personally choose the candidate from the Academy. Provided that smart ass Wright hadn’t swept in and grabbed them first for his precious Wreckers.

“Okay people,” Kalansky said to the assembled group. “We have one more job to do before we get to spend some time back home.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen the orders,” Gates said. “And it looks like some bullshit bug hunt.”

“Indeed,” Kalansky answered. “However, there’s no reason why anything should get fucked up as long as we’re careful and we do our job properly.” She looked at them. “Braberman, I want you in the Scimitar covering our asses; Gates and Ichikama – you’re taking the Rapiers; McEvers, you’ve got the Saber and Dasomy, you’re in the Eclipse.”

“I need an hour to fix the stealth camouflage on the Saber,” Hitomi Ichikama said. Kalansky knew that she was exaggerating how long it would take to complete the repairs.

“You’ve got thirty minutes Hitomi,” She replied. There was a groan from the assembled group. “Okay people, let’s get into our flight suits and get ready to go; the sooner were done, the sooner we’re home.”

****

Stealth is a relative concept when you’re encased inside a twenty-six feet tall walking tank. At least, that’s how I’ve always viewed it, Kalansky thought as they moved through the desolate outskirts of the town known as Ketchington, some thirty miles north of Juneau. Each mechanical walker was equipped with both electronic and optical camouflage systems, although everyone in the NEG knew that the optical camouflage was still somewhat twitchy when applied to the larger mechs. It burned up power like a bitch and caused them to overheat – so it was used sparingly.

The ground underfoot was brittle – crunching and breaking as they moved across it in their armoured bodywork. There was nothing standing over five feet in height – all the buildings in what had been a thriving local community had simply vanished.

“Looks like this place was glassed.” McEvers said over the open communications channel. “Orbital bombardment?”

“More like a localized blast.” Braberman said, towering over them all in his Scimitar. Kalansky looked up at the vehicle that stood a further ten feet higher than she did. The Scimitar had just one purpose in mind when it was designed – devastation. It’s shoulders carried two missile pods on them and one hand was replaced with a heavy beam cannon. The other fist was somewhat oversized and capable of crushing another mech within its grip. Kalansky knew that somewhere inside that behemoth, Braberman had a huge smile on his face.

“Yeah – after all, you wouldn’t want anyone to announce the fact that you’d arrived would you?” Kalansky added. The Pacific Northwest had been a particularly favourable place for the Mi-Go to attack, she thought, must be something about the damp atmosphere seemed to suit their particular physiology.

As she sat inside her Broadsword, Kalansky spared a thought for the newest member of the Reapers – the young Nazzadi woman known as Dasomy. As they waited for Ichikama and Gates to return from their reconnaissance mission in their smaller, stealth orientated Rapier models, Kalansky looked over at the sleek and lethal looking Eclipse class model and thought about the young woman inside it.

“Dasomy, you okay?” Despite her relative newcomer status, Kalansky knew that Dasomy was usually a chatty young woman and thought she had detected the spark of something between her and Gates in their down time. Up to this point, Dasomy hadn’t uttered a word, which was unusual.

“Yes…yes…I’m fine.” Dasomy answered. “It’s just…the Mi-Go…” Kalansky could hear the anger burning in her voice. Then again, I guess I’d be pretty angry if someone else had grown my entire race as soldiers in clone vats for a war I didn’t want to be involved in.

“It’s okay Dasomy, everyone is nervous.” Braberman added. “It will all pass when…” Everyone saw it inside his or her armoured cores. Two small blips appeared on their scopes, advancing towards the ravine – and their target location – that was several miles away from within the woods to the east.

“Engage optical camouflage!” Kalansky barked the order on impulse. “What are they Braberman?”

“Nazzadi.”

“NEG?” McEvers asked.

“Nope – they aren’t squealing on the same frequency as NEG mechs should.” Braberman said.

“Shit – we have to assume they’re hostile then...” Kalansky replied. Everyone heard the soft humming noise – and in the blink of an eye, the Eclipse mech housing Dasomy had taken off, heading in the direction of the two contacts. “Dasomy!”

“Boss, I read two Whisper-class mechs inbound.” Braberman said, feeding his commanding officer with information. “She won’t stand a chance if…”

“You two stay here and wait for Gates and Ichikama,” Kalansky barked, turning and powering off in the direction Dasomy had taken. “I’ll go and get Dasomy before she does something stupid.”

****

Except from New Earth Government Intelligence report submitted January 10, 2365

…It is now clear that continuing conflict with the Nazzadi will result in defeat for NEG forces and ultimately surrender is projected as being the only viable option before the end of the decade.

Recent developments from the NEG Bio-Tech division have yielded a surprise result though. Doctor Westbridge believes that the theories proposed in the third volume of the Pryke documents (see Miskatonic University archive ref. 19042035) concerning Mi-Go abductions and experimentation on human test subjects during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries may have been the genesis of the Nazzadi race.

Subsequent analysis of genetic compatibility reveals that – excluding skin pigmentation genes being wholly absent in Nazzadi DNA due to their unique ink-black colouration and an artificially induced enzyme inhibitor present in their diet – Human and Nazzadi genetic structure is one hundred percent identical. Doctor Westbridge and her team assure me that, statistically speaking, the odds of two races evolving on different planets with identical genetic structures are nil.

In addition to this, interrogation of subject zero one has illuminated an interesting aspect of Nazzadi culture. The concept of murder is alien to the Nazzadi – they see the killing of their own kind as barbaric, which explains their tenacity when engaging with NEG forces. It would also appear to indicate that the majority of the Nazzadi have no inclination of their true heritage – they really do think they are from a planet orbiting Alpha Centauri.

If we can utilise this cultural concept in conjunction with the genetic results that we have discovered, we may be able to turn the tide of the conflict against the Nazzadi in our favour. We may even be able to negotiate a truce on favourable terms with them, especially considering their technical superiority.

Of course, that still leaves the Mi-Go.

****

Dasomy’s heart burned with a mixture of fear and anger; fear, because she knew she’d acted without thinking, allowing her emotions to take over; anger, because she knew she was about to encounter something that has been a matter of public record and shame for the Nazzadi ever since they had been accepted by their genetic brethren on Earth.

The humans referred to them as “old-school”; the Nazzadi had a more succinct name for what she was about to encounter – Race Traitors.

Despite the evidence that had been presented to them by the NEG – and subsequently confirmed by Nazzadi scientists – there were still some of her race that believed what the High Council had initially told them.

The Grand Lie – that’s how the Nazzadi referred to it. The myth that they had been a race exploited and brutalised by humanity as slaves. Her mother and father had been told that there was a great rebellion, forcing the humans from Nazzadi Prime and back to their own system – and the High Council had ordered the extinction of humanity from the cosmos.

Had they known it was all a lie to begin with? And why support the Mi-Go in their genocidal desire to wipe out humanity? Dasomy had often pondered that question. Once they were presented with the evidence that there was no real difference between Terran and Nazzadi they were then forced to acknowledge the truth – they had been exploited and used. Some Nazzadi remained loyal to the Mi-Go, refusing to acknowledge the truth even when it was proven that there was no Nazzadi Prime orbiting Alpha Centauri. Most switched sides within a week, pledging to aid the NEG to repel the Mi-Go from the Sol system.

Those Nazzadi who denied the truth – who retained their faith in their inhuman masters and swore blind loyalty to them – were declared traitors and were to be executed on sight. That the Nazzadi had been breaking the principle tenant of their artificial culture at the behest of their creators was simply another twist of the cultural knife they had been stabbed in the back with.

And once they embraced their genetic heritage, the Nazzadi took to murder like a duck to water

That’s how Major Kalansky had described it to her. Her father once told her that there were depths to which a Nazzadi should never sink to, yet Dasomy was about to take that step.

And she was looking forward to it.

The first Whisper broke from the trees and paused for a moment. The machine seemed to be sniffing the air around it as its counterpart came into view. Both of the constructs stood nearly twenty feet tall – giving them something of a four-foot size advantage over Dasomy in her Eclipse. They were basically biped in design, yet without a discernable “head” other than a small protruding lump in the centre of the torso.

Each of them carried what looked like an over-sized tube on their right arm that had a plethora of cables running away to the rear of the machine. However she noticed that these were much older machines of war, probably left over from the first Aeon War between Man and Nazzadi.

This gave Dasomy the element of surprise. She sprung free of the cover of the tree line, disengaging her optical camouflage at the last second and slashing at the rear of the nearest Whisper. She knew that with the camouflage engaged she could defeat them easily, but she wanted the pilots to see who was attacking them.

Her attack yielded success as she saw plumes of white smoke billow out from severed pipes at the rear of the mech. Its torso spun around, small blobs of super-heated plasma spitting out of the cannon attached to its right arm.

The ground and the trees sizzled as the blasts struck them exactly where Dasomy had landed after her initial attack – yet she was already on the move before the pilot had pulled the trigger. Her lithe, agile Eclipse was no match in a straight fire fight with the heavier Whispers, yet she knew she could dance rings around them with her superior manoeuvrability, something she exploited to it’s fullest.

Her fist lashed out again at the second Whisper, acid-edged claws tore through servos located in the leg housing, severing them and effectively crippled the pilot’s ability to move. Dasomy then ducked – just avoiding another plasma blast from the first Whisper that succeeded only in destroying his companions left arm. The force of the impact sent the twenty-foot mechanised walker crashing to the ground.

She rolled across the muddy surface, her mind and senses feeding off the adrenaline of the fight and Dasomy felt alive in ways that she never did when encountering the Mi-Go. Maybe it’s because they think like me? I can understand what they feel right now, the fear, she thought as she raised her right arm and activated the compressed rail gun within it. It took her a moment to lock onto her target and fire, giving the first Whisper no time to react to it.

The blasts smashed into the area she knew housed the cockpit of the mech. It stood there for a moment, wobbling unevenly on those thick steel legs, before it fell to the ground face first. Dasomy stood upright, surveying the grounded mech before her. Her sensors danced across the prone form – any life signs were rapidly diminishing.

Her attention was suddenly drawn back to the second Whisper by the sound of metal grinding against metal. Dasomy turned – just in time to see the pilot aiming its heavier plasma-based weapon towards her. She realised that she had just seconds to react.

The rattling sound of the mini-gun cut through Dasomy’s thoughts. The burst of gunfire ripped into the cockpit compartment in the centre of the downed mech’s chest, shredding metal and flesh with equal abandon. The right arm fell to the floor, discharging into the ground.

“Never turn your back on them until you’re sure they’re dead.” Kalansky’s voice came through clearly over the comm-link. She stepped out of the trees, looking down at both chewed up mechs. “Are you okay?”

“Yes…yes…I’m fine.” Dasomy asked. “I’m sorry…”

“Forget it,” Kalansky cut her off. “I understand; but if you ever do that again without my permission I’ll personally tear out the heat sinks on your mech and leave you to freeze to death inside it.” Dasomy nodded, grateful for Kalansky’s tolerance of her behaviour. “Come on kid, we’ve got some bugs to kill.”