First Contact

Chapter 413+

Sixth Most High AKA Captain Cyba'armo'o stared at his armor as it moved on the cradle out of the wall and into the arming bay. It was sleek, black warsteel with the red of the Warsteel Herd on the edges. The faceplate was done up like the skull of a great Lanaktallan, with eyes that glowed red, nostrils that breathed steam from the heat sinks when the armor was at full operation. There were the hotplate firmpoints where powerful weapons could be attached on the flanks, the upper back, on the chest. The armor was as thick as a tank of the Great Herd, the armor was powerful enough to tear battlesteel like it was wet plant fiber.

The Hikken mechanic slapped the side of the armor, expressing pleasure with the way his ears and whiskers were set.

"This baby's ready, Captain," the Hikken, one Uxlurt, said. "Command believes that you will have almost 11% more protection, 23% more sustainability, and 12% more endurance wearing this new version."

Cyba'armo'o quivered slightly in excitement. "When will we be testing this armor?" he asked. His cybernetic interlock plugs tingled with anticipation and he could feel that the cybernetic linkages on all three of his hearts were keeping his hearts from beating rapidly. He blinked, all six of his eyes clicking and whirring.

"Soon. I've got the firmware and hardware updates for your side if you are ready," Uxlurt said. He reached out and pulled forward a complex braid of thick cables. "It'll be a rough one. Full synaptic overwrite in some places. New hardware too. It's all tested, but it's tested well enough for the Terrans to deploy on the battlefield, not like the Great Herd's testing system."

"Which is good, for I would have surely died of old age and have been forgotten before the Great Herd would have decided if the upgrades even actually existed," Cyba'armo'o said.

Uxlurt laughed and shook the cable. "Are you ready, Captain?"

Cyba'armo'o nodded. "I am ready."

Uxlurt smiled. "Excellent." He hit a button and a cradle moved out. It was open on one end, allowing Cyba'armo'o to walk into it. The forward frame had a ring at the top for his head to go through.

At Uxlurt's wave he moved into the cradle. Once he pressed his chest against the forward frame and pushed his head through the ring, the sides of the cradle folded around him, holding him securely in place.

One by one Uxlurt connected the cables to the warsteel plugs embedded in Cyba'armo'o's spine, joints, in the middle of the long spaces of his limbs. One by one Cyba'armo'o saw his system undergo maintenance lockout.

He recited his mantras and remained calm even when he was fully disconnected from his body.

He could feel the data flowing into him. Feel the thick warm honey feeling of the data streaming into his limbs, into his nerves, into his mind. He was able to examine it, look at the changes, examine the 'patch notes' of the update.

He would have increased tactile sensation. His limiters would disengage 38.83% faster, allowing him to enter full combat reflex mode even faster. He was 11mph faster when running. His reflexes had been increased. His combat reflex mode was faster. He now had dedicated warboi systems in his body to help him process all of the data of the modern battlefield.

His eyes reboot three times and at the end he noticed the increased clarity and color range. More than natural, more Lanaktallan than Lanaktallan. His hearing clicked on and off several times. Before it came back on he was made aware of the different modes. He worked through the tutorial program teaching him how to adjust the gain and filters for different sounds and levels of audio.

More than a few updates needed him to go through tutorials. The new implanted radio. The firmware patches to his non-combat reflex systems. He would now be able to eat normal food rather than specially formulated nutripaste. He could now enter water and be fully submerged for up to three hundred hours without any risk.

Uxlurt was busy, opening up panels and carefully removing pieces inside the body of the massive Lanaktallan. He would set the piece he had removed on the floor, take a piece from a box and place it where he had removed a piece, then put the old piece into the box and close it, moving it to his left before pulling a box to his right and opening it.

Cyba'armo'o saw a tiny green mantid, barely a foot tall, climbing up the cradle and sitting on an outcropping. The little green mantid, known as 82A, flashed an icon of a wrench.

"I am fine," Cyba'armo'o said through his mostly disabled datalink.

--will triplecheck after uxlurt done-- 82A sent back.

"That will be good," Cyba'armo'o said. "I am eager to return to wresting my people from the cold grip of the Precursors."

--heard rumor-- 82A said.

"What rumor?" Cyba'armo'o asked.

Uxlurt noted that Cyba'armo'o's datalink was exchanging data on the short range channel devoted the green mantid engineers and logged the numbers real quick.

--idiot fleet dropped in system-- 82A said. --admiral asking for volunteers--

"Sign me up. The ferocity of the Martial Orders appeals to me," Cyba'armo'o said. "They are who saved me, who gave me aid, who scraped me from the ground and convinced me to submit to their ripperdocs. I would gladly join their crusade, if they would let me."

82A thought about it. Cyba'armo'o had been an infantryman with the Great Herd. When others had deserted, he had continued to fight, continued to deny the Precursors their desires. He had fought for nearly three days, alone.

When the soldiers of the Dark Crusade of Light had found him, his one remaining limb had been an arm, and his sole hand held tight to a primed grenade that he intended to use to take one last Precursor machine to Hell with him.

The ripperdocs of the Dark Crusade of Light had healed him, although Cyba'armo'o knew not many of his people could have withstood the torment and agony of the Dark Crusade of Light's medicine. He had demanded, and the Dark Crusade of Light had acquiesed, to help defend a city. He had fallen there, half of his chest torn away, holding tight to his rifle.

Again, the Dark Crusade of Light had healed him.

Again and again he had fallen in battle.

Each time the Crusade had healed him.

He had been there when the Warsteel Herd had formed from those that the Terrans had saved, had taught to fight, had armed and equipped.

Cyba'armo'o had been the first Lanaktallan 'Full Conversion Cyborg' in recorded history.

Cyba'armo'o had considered the fact that he had always been told that his body was too evolved, too refined, too superior to accept something as crude as cybernetics to be the height of amusement and irony as piece by piece his body had been replaced, his limbs replaced, and more and more cybernetics had been implanted in his body.

He had been the proving ground that had resulted in others being saved. He was the first, ensuring that all those who came behind could be healed with metal rather than cloned flesh if they so wished.

Yes, there had been agony, there had been terrible pain, there had been time when he had wished to die, had wished that he had been killed upon the battlefield rather than turned over to the cold surgical blades of the ripperdocs of the Dark Crusade of Light.

Now, he had no fear of the blades and saws and nerve stitchers of the ripperdocs. He had moved from the dark science of the ripperdocs to the cold chrome and warsteel science of the Terran Confederate Armed Forces.

To the arms of the Cybernetic Organism Collective's surgeons.

For nearly two years he had fought on planet after planet, side by side with the heavy warborgs of the Terran Confederacy. Marched through fire, smoke, radiation, and fear to wrest each planet from the cold metal claws of the Precursor machines.

Now the Warsteel Herd had ships of their own. Reconfigured and reconditioned Lanaktallan military vessels, true.

But reconditioned and refit by the Mad Lemurs of Terra.

Cyba'armo'o was in the bay of the Terrible Freedom, a Warsteel Herd Armored Assault Troop Transport.

A wholly Terran idea. Where Lanaktallan and Great Herd troop transports were thinly armored, if at all, the Terrans armored them as if they were battleships, armed them like a cruiser, and sent them into close orbit.

On the bridge of the Terrible Freedom Ship Most High/Admiral (Upper Deck) Harnix Burgerking No'ome'erci stared at the deep hologram of space in front of him. There were nearly thirty of the baroque and ostentatious Dark Crusade of Light ships near him, all hanging apparently motionless in the space between stars.

On the holotank in front of him was a massively armored male Terran on split screen with a heavily armored female Terran. Both wore heavy ornate armor, scarred from battles past. Below them were two more figures, one male, one female, both Terran. While their armor was shaped the same it featured more spikes, more skulls, more chains, and dripped blood. The top two were obviously living, the bottom two had the gray pale skin and black veins of the dead.

Admial No'ome'erci turned his head slightly so his XO knew he was looking at the Rigellian female.

"What are our current standing orders?" No'ome'rci asked, his artificial lung wheezing.

"To hold in position until command determines where we are needed," the Admiral (Rear Deck) stated.

"Alert the fleet," Admiral No'ome'erci ordered. "We will interlock with the Dark Crusade of Light, our brothers and sisters in warsteel and fury."

"Are you sure, Admiral?" Admiral (Rear Deck) Shwarkaki asked, more for the record than anything else.

"I am sure. As they have succored us, we shall assist them. Alert Warsteel Herd Command that we ride in warsteel and chrome with our brethren in fury," No'ome'erci ordered.

"As you command," Admiral (RD) Shwarkaki said, saluted.

No'ome'erci turned to the holotank, staring at the Terrans he had come to appreciate. "We ride together, brothers and sisters, in fury and chrome."

Down in the heavy assault cyborg mechanic's bay, Cyba'armo'o felt the deck begin to tremble, felt the strange vibration in phantom bone marrow of FTL drives warming up.

He smiled, sending a smiling emoji to 82A. He looked down at Uxlurt. When the mechanic looked up he gave the best smile he could with the artificial hide of his head pulled back.

"At last. Again to war."