Lost Numbers
Terran tales
(Art by Fightpunch)
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.
Today I will present another story from my new Terran tales series. This one is different from the previous entry,
Hamster Kin, which you can find here. Lost Numbers will feature a different character, who, some of you will note after reading chapter 1, is not immediately shown to go guns blazing (or paws swinging), like our Hamsternator Bloop did.
Enjoy and do not forget to join us on our stream!
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6
Chapter 2
Reporting for duty
A dusty face beneath broken faceplate, in death the hero smiled at him. Not a shred of violent decomposition to be seen nor smelled, the noble Terr’aan now lay forever at peace. Beside the Human lay a rifle snapped in two and a short sword, its pommel and handle broken. From what little was left of the warrior’s armored suit, he could gather that a most violent shootout and a vibroblade duel had ended his life.
Even the ubiquitous bunker dust dared not disturb the hero’s final slumber.
Wondrous, the Terr’aan body’s incorruptible nature was not something unseen nor unheard of. The soldier had heard from a loresinger that those of iron soul and pure of heart, they went untouched by mother nature and father time. The Avern’a bowed his head before a man who bled and died for others, fighting in a war that was not his.
For the first time in his life he’d seen a real War Saint, body unmolested by the enemy, Unlife wraiths, or foul Soul Huntresses.
In terms of spare munitions there was a single jerry-rigged dual power pack, but that was exactly what the child soldier had hoped for. However, what made his heart sing was the fact that this warrior carried a set of masterfully crafted tools. These, he could use to a reasonable degree and refit his venerable beamgun with parts of the Terr’aan’s laser rifle. With some effort he could combine his decrepit dagger’s handle with the short sword’s pristine megasteel blade, thus acquiring a proper vibroblade.
More, the slabs and bits of the ruined armored suit, these could very well serve him, becoming part of his armored uniform.
The warrior carried no other gadgets except a beat up PDA, and Number 815165 immediately attached it to his forearm. This tired heart of his almost skipped a beat when the nifty device of Terr’aan-make began charging its capacitor. Finally the child soldier had something to rejoice! Though dying of hunger and suffering thirst, still, his Avern’a body produced enough electrical charge. He’d heard the Humans recharged their PDAs slower, though their bodies were colder on average which helped them conceal in the frigid cold of his bunker.
Following a number of excruciatingly long star-minutes, the silent PDA flickered back to life. True, the device was still in limited function mode, yet the longer he wore it, the more charged would it be. In a short hour, what was essentially a advanced combat version of the everyday, ubiquitous handheld computer, would be fully operational.
Though one could hack or project wireless networks at will, due to the nature of these devices, all similar actions were limited by time. Some integrated their PDA inside their powered armor, therefore enabling greater acts of electronic warfare, though Number 815165 was happy he even had such a device.
The battle and his fall down the crevice, vicious as they were, miraculously spared this warrior’s PDA. That meant the Avern’a could now have access to all files within, provided these were within his ability to decode. With careful, meticulous effort, he would be able to pick up Jaern wireless networks. If he could worm his way in, he may gain access to their comm links and scan-data, perhaps unleash a virus or two, ruin their day.
He held for a few moments and with shaking hands, a bar of survival candy and a hydration pack. The latter was a flat, vacplastic container full of electrolyte enriched, mildly salty jelly, but the food he knew, it was sublime. Of Terr’aan-make, this protein bar was manufactured on their homeworld, specifically by one company operating in a place called Bulgaria. The so called protein waffle was named “Wrestler” and neither the child soldier, nor any of his brethren, could fathom why would anyone invest good calories in pretend fighting when they could go out in space and slay real enemies.
The child soldier entertained a thought. What if they used this “wrestling” to train themselves, to kill their enemies quicker and with greater efficiency? In his beyond prudent mind, he immediately assumed that this was exactly the purpose behind that system of non-lethal exercises. Avern’a did not engage in pointless, time and calorie wasting activities.
Calm yet alert, he consumed half of the protein block, slurping the hydration pack as he slowly chewed tiny bites. He did not waste that time though and proceeded to run a search through the PDA’s files, looking for useful data and tactical info. Immediately he bumped into a coded firewall, which he knew he had only two tries to bypass. With great care, as he consumed the life-giving food, Number 815165 employed his every bit of computer skill.
Surprisingly, the Terr’aan warrior had laid in another layer of protection— adaptable guard bots. These were nifty algos, capable of sniffing a hacker even if this one attempted to move slow or covertly probe the firewall’s strength. In stark contrast with the Huntmaster’s PDA, this one had no stealth subsystems and emitted a soft greenish glow in the bunker’s gloom. For once, the child soldier was happy he was deep in some hole where little of what he did could even be picked up by a hand scanner. Even the invader’s big sensor array would suffer great trouble pinpointing a low-yield hand computer so deep inside the bunker’s maze-like corridors.
For a couple of minutes he fought the bots until there was a breakthrough. The child soldier understood that they were not as simple as he thought them to be. These had determined he was Avern’a, by analyzing his stubborn determination and hacking infiltration strategies. These, he was keenly aware, were uniquely of his people, for only someone of his kin could think like this. It was a nifty backdoor, which gave him access to part of the data and as he explored it he bumped into another test.
No, this wasn’t something like a password, but appeared to be a SimGame. Once more, the child soldier employed what he lived through, including things about what the Terr’aans did here, only known to someone like him. He finally understood that the warrior made extra sure that, had his allies found him, only they could recover the PDA and not the Jaern. Even if they would actually hack the device, this would give them nothing of the really well coded data-packs, nor, as he instantly discovered, the secret comm link attachment.
The Jaern wouldn’t have gone to such lengths in order to fashion a trap like this one. Besides, they knew well that the bunker was theirs. His singular presence would not necessitate forging elaborate digital snares, but numerous patrols and perhaps a couple of thorough scan sweeps. That he would be hunted down and killed was an eventual inevitability, for he was alone. The only question was how many of them he’d be able to unalive before his fall.
First, the soldier gathered all intel stored within the PDA. He swiftly screened all files, making sure to memorize important details from holo-vids and slides, so he could recollect them without relying on the device. The warrior’s personal logs were short, to the point, and mostly discussed future plans for better supplying the Avern’a resistance. Grandiose was the word which the child soldier thought of when he skimmed through these. Forming entire armored or mechanized battalions, outfitted with top-of-the-line vehicles, was a thing coming straight out of the ancient tales of his bunker’s Loresingers.
Nevertheless, when the soldier found an intriguing note, he made sure to read it again and again, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating:
“Sirius Three, though our mission was not a resounding success, others were. Many thousands of women and children had been smuggled off planet. They live safely away from cannibal hands and will one day return to claim their birthright! More, entire hunting packs have been slain to the last muncher, their soul huntresses including. Thanks to our edge in comms, the enemy was, and still is unable to hone in on us.”
The Avern’a was overcome with happiness. A regular, he was not given access to secret information, yet he and his brothers knew full well that the Terr’aans came here to help. If the enemy caught even the slightest whiffs their precious “food” was being evacuated under their very noses, they’d go star craving mad. Just to be sure that whoever this “Sirius Three” commander was knew of his situation here, the child soldier sent a short message:
“Number 815165 reporting for duty from Shelter 2021. Current operational status of this unit is approximately 51%. All Terr’aan and Avern’a combat personnel lost. My bunker is under the complete control of a reinforced hunting pack, outfitted with brand new combat gear. At the moment, they are receiving supplies and foodstuffs.”
Having had some rest, he proceeded to disassemble his venerable beamgun, chipped vibrodagger, the Terr’aan-made laser rifle, and short sword. In the next two hours, using the nifty toolkit, he was not only able to repair, but augmented his own weapons. First he jerry-rigged a good vibroblade by combining his dagger’s hilt and the short sword’s blade. Next, he reinforced his beamgun with parts of the Terr’aan laser rifle, replaced its aging heatsink and power distribution systems. The brand new rifle sling of durable vacfoam he used as intended since his own was quite uncomfortable; a thin rope made from dirty rags.
When he was done, Number 815165 undressed and attached all usable armor bits to his ragged uniform. One comfortable underlay of beam-resistant mech, brand new gloves, plus a pauldron for his right shoulder, and a number of small, interlocking megasteel plates to cover his chest and legs was all he could do with the tools and materials available. To waste not the blade of his old dagger, he used it and other materials to craft a simple booby trap. He even sewed some of the ripped seams in his patched chameleo-cloak, therefore improving its efficiency. When all the updates were done, he tested his augmented armored uniform, and wrapped himself in the chameleo-cloak.
Duty to the fallen had to be fulfilled, thus he proceeded to wrap the Terr’aan’s body in what was left of his clothes and buried it under a pile of stones. He was so tired after that he fell asleep, awakened in a few hours by the vibrating PDA. Miraculously, someone not only read, but actually replied to his message!
“Sirius Three assuming command of all combat units currently residing inside Bunker 2021. Number 815165, your new mission is to evade detection and supply intelligence on Jaern movement, numbers, gear, and supplies. Navigate the bunker, locate and map the Jaern main camp. Pinpointing the location of enemy prisoners is of the utmost importance for continuous allied operations! Avoid engaging in combat unless absolutely necessary to ensure your survival and the completion of your mission.”
Number 815165 took a deep breath and, making sure his gas mask was properly attached, slung the refurbished beamgun on his back. The new vibroblade ended up securely sheathed in the Terr’aan’s magnetic sheath and on his left thigh, easy to draw. He had half a protein bar, knew where the cleanest bunker moss grew and how to filtrate the dew into drinkable gulps of water. With measured breaths, the child soldier began his careful climb up the jagged rock and back into the bunker proper.
On his own, he would’ve engaged the enemy with prudence and waged war to the best of his ability. However, Number 815165 had orders. He would sneak his way across the bunker and if possible, avoid killing the Jaern unproven. Yet what his orders did not prevent him from was unaliving the enemy by way of traps. Avern’a child soldiers were well trained in asymmetric bunker warfare and being a regular, Number 815165 practically excelled in it.
He knew exactly where the still operational traps lay and would plan his route accordingly. Whenever possible he’d recover and place them strategically, so that as many of the unproven Jaern hunters suffered injury or death. To maintain stealth, he would not touch those slain by his traps otherwise the enemy may become too aware of his presence. If Number 815165 could fashion enough confusion while navigating the old lines of combat contact, there was a chance he may loot more supplies from undisturbed corpses.
With barely disturbed breath, the child soldier slinked out of the rocky hole. Slowly, he sneaked around the intersection, noting the unproven left many and deep tracks in the dust. Without a second thought, he proceeded to half-step on his predetermined route, leaving his trap behind. He set it up in such a way, that not the first but second pair of feet which touched the tripwire, would trigger it. When the three came back, they’d find navigating that part of the tunnel a quite deadly affair.
One with the bunker’s dusty shadow, Number 815165 became a barely noticeable, moving patch of deadly gloom. Fed, reasonably rested, and no longer thirsty, he proceeded to swiftly recover traps, blade snares, and small IED’s, placing these exactly where the unproven hunters and their commanders had left their tracks. Thus, not one hour later, the brutal cacophony of rusty blades finding flesh, olden grenades and mines seeding their limb-goring shrapnel, followed by a score of wounded Jaern crying for aid, echoed in the dark...
Fellow Terrans, if you are willing and able to support my work here on Substack, grab a book!
I want that hamster!!!!
This child is very brilliant. I still feel sorry for his lost child hood. He should be playing video games not living one where his life could end any minute. I am hoping he will be able to survive and take out many of the enemy.