Lost Numbers

Terran tales

(Art source unknown)

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Terran-Tuesday is here, my fellow Terrans!

Most of you already know that James Esparza R. H. Snow and my black armored self are having our inspirational indie stream today Tuesday evenings. You can find the previous episodes here,on James’s youtube page.

Enjoy and do not forget to join us on our stream!

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Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

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Chapter 4

Sudden storm

What minute glimmer of light there was up in the raped Avern’a sky still, the dirty, gray rain murdered it. Loresingers sang tales of days past when children danced in the rain, swam in the rivers, and played in the forests. They’d run for the pure joy of it and not because they were being hunted to extinction. People would travel the vast network of nano-tech augmented roads to visit a distant park, where they’d enjoy home cooked meals in the company of their loved ones.

Number 815165 would never be somebody’s loved one, for he was a dead boy who fought.

The eyepieces of his gas mask were unobstructed by the downpour since those who forged them in hallowed antiquity were workers of great knowledge. Such was their craftsmanship, that dust would stick on the eyepieces, and that was only because of age. A Loresinger once said, that some items still in use today were sang into being out of pure energy. Indeed, the child soldier was acutely aware that this was not some fanciful tale, for he had withstood the otherworldly power of a Unlife wraith long enough so his brothers in arms could beam this monstrum out of this plane of existence.

Jaern, he thought, were not as mighty as the specters and yet, they were much worse...

The Avern’a soldier quickly made mental note of all the temporary constructions of Jaern-make. Landed starship, containers and the like he saw clearly, despite the watery gale picking up speed. Without delay, knowing that weather could change in the blink of an eye, he proceeded with his mission. True it was what the three Jaern spoke of; their supplies had not been offloaded yet. There, near the southern part of their camp stood a longish transport shuttle, a single dedicated guard circling it, beamgun at the ready.

Indeed, as he continued scouting, the child soldier became aware that the enemy had less than a numerous force stationed at their base camp. There were token few patrolmen scouring a wide defensive perimeter, their fellow hunters temporarily replaced by auto-turrets. Perhaps the biggest danger was the large Jaern scanning array, its sensor spike towering in the near distance.

However, the molested weather of his homeplanet poured tears full of once deadly battle chemicals all over the place.

No matter the size of their guard force, these armored hunters who would’ve otherwise been capable of detecting him struggled to walk shin deep in a gray, muddy sludge, full of vacplastics, metal filings, and corpse dust. To make things worse for them, the Doom-weather was charged with ionized radiation, wreaking havoc upon their scanning equipment and energy shields.

Without the cover of this rain, Number 815165 would’ve been forced to move slower than the slugs as he evaded the patrols, hoping that the Jaern gave their massive scanner a few minutes rest. Which they were forced to, yet as soon as the storm abated, his mission would probably be over... one way or another.

The child soldier made sure his chameleo-cloak covered him well and, slinking into a rocky hole half-full of dirty water, activated the PDA. Any holo-light, however minute, would be safely shielded by the cloak and he proceeded to type a message, sending his reconnaissance report to Sirius three:

“Number 815165 reporting. Enemy base camp is lightly guarded. their supply is still in the transport and therefore, vulnerable. The armored shuttle identified as Blain GHK; an older model supplied by the Vaugn Matriarchy. Its cargo compartment can carry over two hundred adult sentients in stasis pods or forty Jaern hunters. Ship defenses are old and susceptible to electronic warfare. Camp perimeter is sparsely patrolled and by single hunters, only twenty-six in number. Patrol routes and their pace timing is marked in the file. Multiple exploitable gaps between them and their auto-turrets detected. Turrets are Taz’aran-made, twin snubgun model Trakon 3, produced by the TiaT corporation. Enemy scanning array tower, temporarily unusable. Mission complete. awaiting further orders.”

Just to be on the safe side, Number 815165 crawled atop a rock to change his position. Transmitted data, even as minute as these coded comm links, could be intercepted. Only a few steps above the ground, this rock was the perfect hiding spot for him since he was small. His chameleo-cloak and the dirty rain soon made him indistinguishable from stone and mud. Thankfully, the sky showed no intent of stopping and he waited, beamgun aimed and finger on the trigger button.

A couple of minutes later, as he continuously tracked the struggling to move hunters, the child soldier received a message paired with a tiny data-pack.

“Sirius Three operational. Utilize the stolen Taz’aran sec-codes and hacking assist algo we’ve supplied you with to create a distraction. Overwatch will remove the ship’s guard at your link, after which you are to board the Vaugn shuttle, secure it, and await further orders. Engage only in defense of the captives!”

Number 815165 did not emote, but immediately sprang into action.

Making sure to set the hacking algo, the stolen codes, and a short link for the Terr’aan Overwatch for easy use on his PDA first, before he crawled back on the ground. The very fact that his current leader gave such orders meant that something was about to happen. In his first year of soldiering, he had taken part in a number of surface raids and always, there was a marksman or two providing sniper fire. Thus, the assault and covering teams could operate with a much greater degree of success. Terr’aans called it Overwatch, the Avern’a Security, but in his soldierly mind, they were exactly the same.

A distant, mighty crack of electrical discharge announced the Doom-weather was soon to move on. There was only a short time left; at best a little bit over ten star-minutes, at worst, under five. The opportune moment for infiltration would slip through his fingers if he was not quick. He slinked from one stone to another, making best use of his light weight, as the nearest auto-turret came into his PDA wireless range.

Since the hacking process could take time and its failure trip alarms, Number 815165 aimed his beamgun at the turret before initiating the probe. However, he was pleasantly surprised when the stolen sec-codes worked from the first time and gave him control over the TiaT turret’s fried or foe protocols. Of course, not even the dumbest soldier would create a wide network and link everything within. One of the elder soldiers, his instructor, he told him that those who first came to invade Avern’a naively used to fashion elaborate battle-links.

The boy uploaded all Jaern patrolmen holo-slides he had onto the turret’s optical targeting and quickly crawled inside the camp’s security perimeter. To the north, there stood one of his bunker’s main entrances and his trained hearing picked up the stomp of armored feet battling mud. Perhaps some of the hunters were coming back or the unproven, ordered to offload supplies. He had only a handful of minutes left and the mission always came first, therefore he was ready to wind-run.

Only a regular Avern’a soldier could. This was a special running technique using every bit of momentum provided by gravity or in this case, wind, to achieve maximum mobility. Since he carried nothing except a single rifle and a vibroblade, Number 815165 made his dash towards the transport ship when the hacked turret behind him opened fire.

Beams of bright red colored the night and since he made sure the auto-turret shot from point-blank range, the Jaern patrolman’s dying screams followed. Immediately, every guard on this part of the perimeter sprang into action. Alarms squealed their ugly cry and since the storm was already abating, the child soldier could see cloud cover gradually splitting aside.

One step and then another, followed by a short leap and he reached a line of empty containers. These were once full of TiaT light arms, munitions, and most probably the auto-turrets. If this was a regular raid, Number 815165 would either search them for leftover gear or plant an IED and blow them sky high. In this case, with all the momentum gained from his wind-run, unburdened by heavy combat gear, the boy easily leapt up and landed atop one.

There, he saw the transport’s guard who not only stood alert, but probably heart him run through the mud. Quick, Number 815165 sent the prepared link and aimed his beamgun just in case the marksman’s first shot did not kill the Jaern. Finger on the firing button, the child soldier slid forward using the slippery metal and assumed a prone shooting position.

Crack!

Something hissed through the air and found the Jaern’s back. A quick calculation told him that sniper fired from supremely far away! The crack he heard was actually the sound of this projectile hitting its target. Blown nearly to pieces, the hunter’s limbs flew apart, leaving only a gory mess where he once stood guard.

Removed, indeed.

The child soldier leapt and landed in the mud with an audible squish. As he ran past the dead invader, his trained eye picked up something and, body still energized by the Terr’aan survival candy, deftly snatched the severed arm. Looting the power pack from a bent beyond any use particle-beam rifle, he discarded it just before reaching the transport. Standing before its obediently opening rear cargo ramp, the Avern’a was once again amazed, this time by effectiveness of the hacking algo.

Whoever was this Sirius Three, he and his team were capable of real soldiering!

Newly looted power pack resting on his belt, the child soldier entered the ship ready for battle. Eyes quickly searching the gloomy space for traps and ambush by habit, in a few seconds he counted the stasis pods. Packed tight and stacked so high, some were secured on the ceiling or bulkheads by use of mag-cables, it immediately became apparent that there were a lot more than two hundred people stashed inside!

One last, labored gust of rainy wind squealed inside right before the ramp closed shut and it was then, when the boy noticed that he wasn’t alone. Awashed by tiny brooks of gray rainwater, the towering silhouette of a cloaked Jaern hunter emerged from the dimly lit cargo hold. Cloak fizzling, this warrior appeared before him, metal shield and vibroblade ready to do battle.

“I need no cloak to hunt you, tender food.” – announced the Jaern swordsman and the blade of his sword shimmered in the gloom.

It was the second hunter he heard talk with this hunting pack’s new Huntmaster, Godja. The child soldier did not speak nor waste any movements, for this could not only mean the failure of this mission, but spell the doom of all people around him. The tight space he and the Jaern would clash was surrounded on all sides with stasis pods, even up to the ceiling.

Each and everyone of them held somebody’s father, mother, or sibling.

Perhaps the Terr’aan commander, whoever he was, did not know Avern’a final protocols? Beamgun aimed, the child soldier steeled himself for what was probably his final battle. He had perhaps one, and it was a slim chance to shoot that exoskeleton assisted Jaern dead. The Avern’a knew full well that it was realistically impossible for a young regular like him to cross vibroblades with an experienced swordsman and emerge victorious. In the event that this operation failed, Number 815165 would not allow the kidnapped people to be eaten alive.

He breathed in one deep, muffled breath through his gas mask and switched his beamgun’s firing selector to maximum overcharge.

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