Chapter 58 – Rescue Mission (Part Three) (Patreon)

Senior Legionnaire Tarzlyk watched the light chariot disappear into the dusky shadows and around the opposing hill’s crest. The demons of this place were weak and pathetic, but still clearly visible on the scout monitor. Two had been picked up coming closer to the encampment and a small squad had been sent to collect or destroy them.

He pulled out his small dust pouch and pipe, leaning back against the massive alien structure that dominated the top of the small plateau. The sound of the erratic desert wind whistled periodically along with the small gusts of chilly night air. It was joined by the small cries and whining of the small servants locked in the ground cages awaiting transport off the frontier world.

They would soon be processed and dispatched off world where their essence could be distilled for future use, but until that time their noises would have to be put up with. Still, Tarzlyk preferred their company to his fellow legionnaires. The gutterwipes that made up the puffed-up frontier Centurion’s command were made up entirely of low-caste and those who had failed the required aptitude and proficiency tests required for higher stations.

A Ferroin’s last stop before the refuse bins was said to be a frontier posting. Even their leisure port city that the Centurion prized so much had little in the way to recommend it. The whores were diseased; the drinks watered down with piss, and the food was the stale leavings of the inner realm’s rich food establishments.

And he had placed himself in the dung heap of it for what? One night in a Tribune’s daughter’s bed? If he had not been a decorated member of the Grs’tl’k that had seen real combat against the rebels, he’d have joined the arachnids for distillation cycles earlier.

His pipe flared with energy as he heated the base of it with a firestarter. Almost immediately after taking a puff, he could feel the tingling sensation provided by the dust branching its way down his spine and through his chest. The nearest servant let out one of its distressed shrieks in response, no doubt sensing the release of progenitor power coursing through him.

Tarzlyk chuckled and approached the cage that had been set into the ground. A sharp tipped claw darted out silently from the metal bars containing the creature, forcing him to dodge to the side. He stomped down on the black length of sharp keratin, pinning the arachnid’s leg and eliciting a pained series of shrieks.

“Woah there. You might have hurt someone acting like that,” Tarzlyk taunted. He held his pipe over the bars and dumped the spent dust out. It was useless to him now, but it’d provide just enough spark for the spider to feel the lack. Withdrawal from augmenting your origin would create a headache, although there certainly wasn’t enough to cause the creature true misery.

“Senior Legionnaire!” A young male voice called from behind.

Tarzlyk turned but refused to release the spider’s claw from his foothold. “What is it, soldier? Has the Cornicen returned finally?”

The young man explained rapidly, his eyes flickering between the pinned, shrieking spider and Tarzlyk. “There is something strange on the orb of seeing. No one knows what it is. The other Seniors asked for your expertise.”

“Tschk.” Tarzlyk stepped away from the cage in one swift movement, evading the spider’s reprisal with its damaged leg. “Incompetent rabble.”

Despite his disparaging remark, Tarzlyk couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. He’d had that premonition ever since the alien ship had fallen from the heavens, cut down by the progenitor god’s ire. The mission to excavate the resources and ruins of this world was of marginal importance, and the strangeness had only multiplied. The world should have been cut off and discarded as one of the fateful Fr’lk, the worlds abandoned by the empire forever.

There were certainly more rich and less strange worlds, available in limitless number. But the Centurion’s House was perhaps too poor and strained to afford a new transmission line without first exploiting every world they procured.

But he had heard the whispers among his comrades of the strange occurrences in the surrounding area—small machines moving on their own, the landscape shifting inexplicably. All had heard the frantic cries of the soldier that had returned from his exploration with his comrade that had bled out inside their light chariot, punctured by small metal shrapnel.

Tarzlyk let out a low growl that sparked a look of fear on the young soldier’s face, although it wasn’t directed at the greenhorn. The Cornicen should never have left the post to go out chasing orb ghosts.

A faint electric buzz filled his ears, but he dismissed it as the aftereffects of partaking in the dust. It wasn’t until after the greenhorn stopped he realized that it was coming from the nearby hills.

“What is that?” the young legionnaire asked.

“Nothing good. Go prepare your position and ready for battle,” Tarzlyk ordered.

Confusion and alarm filled the greenhorn’s face. “Uh…Senior how do I do that?”

Anger and resentment flared. The stupid frontier troupe had never seen a real battle other than against animals and servants, and there was much more to it than that on this gods-blighted planet. “Go tell the other seniors there is danger!”

Tarzlyk turned and jogged to the nearest weapon locker near the prisoner cages and pulled out the heaviest plasma caster he could manage on his own, before strapping a brace of plasma orbs onto his belt. The electric thrum reached a crescendo when a sudden crack echoed over the area. It wasn’t like anything he had heard before. Another panicked soldier that had been tending to the cages rushed over to him with a worried expression.

“Senior, what’s going on?”

Tarzlyk grunted and pulled out another plasma caster and thrust it into the man’s arms. “The nearest trench, gutterwipe.”

The man stared blankly at him, and Tarzlyk grabbed his shoulder and yanked him around to shove him forward. “Go! Now!”

A missile from one of the Grach’mar suddenly lashed out from its container, slicing upwards in a plume of smoke before arcing downwards more rapidly than was normal. Before it could slam into the hillside, a stream of small lights flashed upwards to meet it. The anti-air missile exploded as the tracers connected with it.

A snarl erupted from Tarzlyk’s throat, but his eyes were already tracing the path where the weapons fire had come from. In the distance, he could see a team of half a dozen soldiers literally rushing down toward the encampment faster than he imagined even a terrified greg’nok could run.

Before he could raise his weapon to open fire, a high-pitched whistle filled the air. A glance across the rest of the camp gave him a bleak picture; dozens of greenhorns were standing about, still staring at the cloud of smoke the exploding missile had made. Even their minders were shocked stupid by the display, still trying to determine what had caused the Grach’mar to fire.

“What’s going o—”

Tarzlyk shoved the junior legionnaire into the trench, sending the man flailing into the dusty embrace of the earth. He jumped down to join the man. The trench hadn’t been built for defense, but as part of the channel for the arachnid cages. There was no shelf for standing and firing from cover, and the embankment was to wide. There wasn’t anywhere closer, though.

Tarzlyk had heard that sound before, and a shiver ran down his spine. When the entire world around them exploded, he wasn’t surprised other than at how high-pitched the greenhorn’s screams became. Wind and pressure slammed into him, but he let out a growl and pulse of his own, energy coursing through his body, suppressing the overpressure wave.

He prepared for a second round to land, but slowly realized that the barrage was finished. He used the flailing recruit as a stool-step to look out at the encampment from inside the trench. As dust slowly fell back to the surface, the chilling realization of why hit him.

All the enemy shells had landed at the same time.

Everything on the outer perimeter was ruined, all three defensive lines had been smashed, and he doubted many if any units had retreated to the trenches. All the shrel’loks had been standing out in the open, fat and stupid.

The previous electric whine hit him as he released his spark, causing him to turn toward the incoming sound. A small flying machine cruised down a hillside toward the crashed star-vessel. Tarzlyk grabbed his plasma caster and set it onto the earth for support. He took careful aim and fired.

The green orb flashed through the air and struck the thing square in the chassis. What looked like a dozen infantrymen leaped away as the machine plummeted like a rock and smashed into the ground. The attackers were no invincible, they just had the element of surprise, because the rest of the Cohort were a mass of ignorant shrel’loks.

As the dust settled and Tarzlyk surveyed the damage, he realized that despite the destruction, there was still a chance to put up a fight. The enemy had caught them off guard, but they had obviously held back. The areas around the quarters crashed star-vessel, and the prisoners had been left mostly unscathed. There would be plenty of terrified greenhorns still inside, and from the numbers he had seen from the enemy, there weren’t all that many of them.

A chariot’s auto-cannon roared, spewing out deadly rounds in a desperate attempt to hold back the advancing enemy forces. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning plasma, as swathes of super-heated energy seared through the night, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

“Get up, you lazy maggot!” Tarzlyk barked at the terrified junior legionnaire cowering in the trench. “We need to regroup and counterattack. There will be other survivors who can fight.”

The cacophony of auto-cannons opening fire and plasma blasts tearing through the air served as proof that others were still resisting the onslaught.

The junior legionnaire hesitated for a moment, his eyes wide with fear, before nodding resolutely. Tarzlyk shoved him forward, urging him to reclaim his weapon and join the battle. They sprinted toward the prisoner cages, intent on using them as cover to reach the earthworks adjoining the research module.

As they raced across the battlefield, a trio of the strange enemy soldiers appeared before them as they leapt into the trench with a heavy thud. Their features were obscured by shadows, but unmistakably not Ferroin. Tarzlyk and the enemy soldiers raised their weapons simultaneously, each intent on taking out the other.

The green orb of Tarzlyk’s plasma caster washed over all three opponents, engulfing them in a ball of fire hot enough to melt steel. Projectiles whizzed by his face and side before cutting off. The junior legionnaire beside him crumpled to the ground, blood gurgling from his mouth as a trio of massive holes riddled his chest.

Tarzlyk grunted in frustration and broke into a run, his heart pounding with adrenaline. The enemy had closed the distance to the trench far quicker than he had expected.

The cacophonous shrieks of enraged arachnid servants filled the air around him, their shrill cries attempting to mask the sounds of combat that had begun to rage all around.

***

Ferroin Lexicon:

***

(Possible spoilers, but also a lexicon for those who need more context.)

Ferroin Lexicon:

Plasma caster - A heavy infantry rifle, built for anti-vehicle and anti-infantry usage. Fires a extremely potent orb of plasma that detonates at a pre-programmed time, determined by the weapon’s automatic targeting heuristics.

Greg’nok - A Ferroin herbivore that is often hunted for sport. They are quadrepedal and ahve sensitive hearing that helps them flee predators quickly.

Grach’mar - A four tubed missile battery, built for anti-air defense for fortified positions. Sits on its own trailer and is lightweight enough for a light chariot to tow.

Shrel’loks - A type of creature that is considered extremely stupid. It will stand still when startled and let any creature walk up and slaughter it. Often bred in captivity for their furs and meat. A derogotry insult.

Light chariot - A light vehicle, often armed with a rear mounted high potency plasma rifle that can lob concentrated plasma orbs a considerable distance.

Chariot - Any type of armored vehicle employed by the Ferroin. On frontier worlds these are often outdated and might even use chemically propelled projectiles for their main weapon to save costs on full sized plasma weapons.

Dust - A prized resource left behind by the progenitor’s and their activities. Highly valued for its energetic properities and ability to enpower the abilities of the Progenitor’s descendandts when consumed.

Gutterwipe - A derogatory term often used by military personnel on those they consider inferior. Originations on the Ferroin homeworld, where it is often used to demean those who live on the lower city levels with spark bearing servants.

Centurion - Lowest noble rank in the Ferroin Empire. Often comprising only a single lord and his direct family, and a single populated holding. The rest of their lands are often barren frontier worlds that do not have proven resources or value.

Century - The domain and planets of a Centurion. Consists of up to one hundred worlds of varying value that are connected via the progenitor gate network.

Fr’lk - Planets that have had their connection to the Progenitor gate network cut forever by manipulation of the progenitor command network.

Servant - Any of a multitude of non-humanoid races that served the Progenitors. Often used as slave labor or harvested for their ‘spark.’

Cornicen - Ferroin military ranking, commander of a planet’s military forces, often without their own rank and serving at the pleasure of a Centurion or Tribune.

Grs’tl’k - A decorated combat unit that has fought and achieved victory for the empire in a recognized campaign under the command of a Tribune or Legate.

Ferroin - Ascendant and highest ranking race after the disappearance of the Proginetors. They took over their technology and destroyed or enslaved all the other client races.

Optio - Leader of a group of Senior Legionnaires.

Orb of Seeing - A progenitor radar unit, tuned for detecting traces of sparks and other progenitor technology.

Altar-world - Host of a tetrarchy’s divine mandate.

Technicus - Isolated Ferroin engineers that have culturally diverged from the primary group. Secretive and well versed in the technology of the Progenitors.

Precursors - AKA, Proginetors, Ancients, etc. The race that built the gate network spanning multiple galaxies across the universe with advanced technology. Created many different client races of different species and are credited with seeding the universe with life.

Cohort - A group of approximately 70-100 infantry. Might contain Chariots and Light chariots based on type.

Tribune - A high ranking noble who has ten to one hundred Centurions under his purview. Decideds the allotments of military equipment and budgets to his vassals. Requires cyclic tribute. Subordinate to a Legate.

Rebels - Forces of Ferroin and other races that fight against the Empire, often using subversive tactics due to a lack of military strength and little control over the gate network.

Flashfire - A common occurance in dust mines where the entire underground region suddenly ignites the energetic particles that have built-up in the air, often incinerating everything flammable.

Cerxxus - A planet containing one of the oldest, and largest dust mines in the Ferroin empire, and a possession of the Imperial Family.

Low-caste - Non-Ferroin humanoid races that are marginalized in the society of the Empire. Treated better than Servants but hardly as full citizens. Exceptions can be made to raise high-performing Low-caste to full citizenship and status.