NationStates Jolt Archive

>>>universal auth hash ghDJKr6^*(vfUKFULGK78
>>>please transmit 4096bit public encryption key
>>>key recieved. synchronizing.

)>>Fleetmind credentials read. Fleetmind command override active over Augmented Comm Relay 0 (Earth orbit). You have command authority, Kara.
)>>Submit action:
)>>Command received. Patching you through...

)>>Routing operation complete. Command authority granted: Augmented Security Station 0 (KHRRCKCITY, Earth)
)>>Command received. Initiating override of scheduled FTLi frequency phasings.
)>>Submit action:
)>>Command received. Wiping the logs.
)>>Submit action:
)>>Command received. Implementing new log entries.
)>>Submit action:
)>>Disconnecting...

)>>Welcome to Augmented Comm Relay 0, Kara.
)>>Submit action:
)>>Command received. Wiping logs.
)>>Submit action:
)>>Disconnecting...

>>>Session complete.

The plan is in motion.

T- 00:01:00

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
RLY: subnet crystal relay node 00062 (RREPEAT)
DST: frigate-class vessel "AugShip Red Wizard"
BDY: Roger. Your approach looks good on radar. The pad is clear. Have a safe landing.

T- 00:00:54

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00267 (MGS0012)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00003
BDY: Control, what's the ID on the vessel incoming to Pad 12?

T- 00:00:41

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00267 (MGS0012)
BDY: Sentry 12, that's the Augmented frigate "Red Wizard".

T- 00:00:33

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00267 (MGS0012)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
BDY: What does it look like?

T- 00:00:18

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00267 (MGS0012)
BDY: Repeat please, Sentry 12. Did you ask what it looked like? You should have a visual already.

T- 00:00:07

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00267 (MGS0012)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
BDY: I DO have a visual, and I'm asking you what the hell this thing is supposed to look like. Because the thing I see touching dow

T- 00:00:00

A flicker in the beam. The connection is cut off abruptly.

T+ 00:00:05

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00267 (MGS0012)
BDY: Repeat please, Sentry 12. You were cut off.

A tone. A series of crystal indicators change from green to red.

T+ 00:00:08

SRC: subnet crystal relay node 00000 (ROUTING)
RLY: N/A
DST: subnet crystal relay node 00003 (MGCNTRL)
BDY: Contact lost with node 00267 (MGS0012)

Command Center

"Shit."

This man is in charge. Right now, he's wishing that he wasn't.

"....Alright. You, you, and you. I want you to run downstairs to Research and help them get the servers and files into the Vault. If you can't fit it into the Vault, destroy it."

He spins. "You. Get the PA system powered up, then work on external comms. You there, get messages to every security post outside that you can still raise. Tell them I want everyone outside to relocate up top and defend the comm antennas. And you, in the corner. Get the tacsystem up and running."

He accepts the microphone. "Thank you."

Corridors

"...not a drill. I repeat, we are under attack. All sensitive data is to be moved to the Vault or destroyed. All computer systems are to be put OFFLINE immediately. All blast doors and defensive emplacements are to be manned and locked down. This is not a drill. I repeat..."

It's a cliche, of course. That's not to say it isn't a good idea.

Long-disused mechanisms creak, resist, finally release their hold. Blast doors drop and slam into place - no foolish slow-moving closures here.

Pad 12

A security camera is the sole witness.

The ship sits rectangular, angular, inert. For perhaps thirty seconds it is still - perhaps recovering from its landing, perhaps scanning the area. But most likely preparing for an attack.

Then, an explosion. Metal plates rocket away, exposing the thing's guts. Metal girders and between them wheeled tank-like things, spiderlike clusters of legs and lasers, odd conglomerates of plastic and composite.

Somewhere amidst the rapidly deploying chaos, a gun aims. Fires.

The camera feed goes out.

Airwaves

Packets missing - reconstructed from available data

TIMESTA# ah30IPsIuBvcLwf0CVLN
# BPYAPFnKpVAcpXlQyCfxSRC: Mages' Guild, Khrrck, co# 5m07tvlFtmSrmLS1WTle
# c3KxCt16FXOPuNvCnLy8
# bCTxwqC3oIyK1STJ99xC
# FU63KbVyJQ681yEM6BCT
# 2zKgKSbfxsSWVeftWxXy
# Zyx1BuwBDht6h3j6mExe
# eci53jYGvKOCUSrTikMV
# 4sCVz7sYZWM8W8WhfEGT
# 0uLQatf3vXnKtunEnOG3
# VowkuSWpCogmYXuJZQXC
# P95S9Z79KeLSXovZxS9jimmediate assistance. Under attack fr# flKZSKvSN0nuMIrn3KAL
# jLhaYUjqAPcxdXArt063
# Z6HGQoKdoX6nvJv495pW
# YTMhed17AfHLHLSSCSsb
# tQhqZcIWr7t3uikq7hOa
# 2DBFINAcIVmHXSUyQdyq
# JTr4JREgTCYOZgw3BF9Rtanks. Provide reinforcements immediately. Notif# enuBnAGwzj7rkVEcX7Jy
# flKZSKvSN0nuMIrn3KALmented. Suggest you assume that the enemy is f# kQ1mbuGuwUQDQijwvwd1
# lrZmZY8megiNOSEGdTEY
# s7SXZY89AbmXDRg1rk11
# YSkrWUmmLVNcghtzRO0Z
# 7YunGshgTDLnTFWP50M9
# ug6KAJK9KzSbxf0YpL2asuperior. Send all available units at maximum speed. Critical rese# buYgNht3Cj8QJObbJSAH
# QOuvufMO1a099r4LegVD
# chrWkyoVZ9mgY9N7Svb7
# ogF8imLMk6GVbCD3YfIRnds. Come quickly. Blast doors are not going to hold for long.

MESSAGE ENDS

Entrance A1 - GRADE 1 BLAST - Airport and Spaceport Access - 8:13 AM standard time

This is the primary blast door. Thirty-six inches of reinforced steel, faced with twelve inches of layered composite armor. It took months of work and millions of dollars to forge. It has withstood tank shells, artillery barrages, shaped charges and tactical nuclear detonations.

Now, machines cluster around it. It is scanned, probed, sampled, analyzed in depth. Flaws, seams and stress fractures are plotted and rendered. Within a few seconds, a plan of attack is formed.

A narrow, scythe-tipped arm is held high. A crackle, and it sprouts a molecule-thin plane, a field of atomic uncertainty.

Four quick, blindingly fast strokes. Four puffs of dust. A second arm, this one heavy and equipped with magnets, grips the outlined area and pulls.

The massive chunk of plate slides easily, slowly, on layers of supporting fields. With a resounding boom, it drops to the ground.

The invaders pour fluidly through the breach.

Entrance A1 Corridor - Axial defensive emplacement - 3AT 2AP

The emplacement commander slams down the primitive hardwired phone and grabs the controls of his cannon.

"OK, guys. Door cameras just went out. We've got incoming. Command says they're mechanicals, so-"

Silence. The sound of a dropped jaw. Then, the voice of a terrified man.

"oh shit."

After that, there's nothing but gunfire.

The emplacement in question is an armored blister, embedded in the wall of a 90-degree corner with a perfect line-of-sight to the primary blast door. A bank of three heavy 120mm guns makes its field of fire nearly impassible to tanks, while a pair of Minigun emplacements near floor level make life painful for any infantry foolish enough to attempt entry. At least, that was the plan.

120mm anti-tank rounds prove spectacularly ineffective against defensive shielding. They detonate prematurely, bounce, spontaneously become duds or simply are absorbed. The hail of Minigun rounds is even less effective - the attackers simply let them rebound off of their armored hulls, leaving minor scratches and dents.

After perhaps fifteen seconds of futility, the machines finally make their move. A precise quintet of ultrahigh-velocity coilgun rounds punches neat holes in the installation's armor plating, ending the crew's brief terror.

Network

Security seals are pried off. Keys are turned. Switches are thrown. Power (electrical and otherwise) is applied to long-dead curcuitry and runes. In the server room below the command bunker, crystals begin to shine with piercing blue light.

On the surface, it seems that Khrrck is a fairly low-tech nation. By normal standards, this is true.

Power surges, and then stabilizes. Clock speeds are ramped up, voltages increased. The temperature of the room rises perceptibly; in places, the heatsinks are starting to glow. In other segments, blue light rushes along blown-glass tubing, and within moments the curcuit is complete.

Accordingly, many enemies possessed of powerful technological weapons consider Khrrck an easy target. In practice, they tend to bite off more than they can chew.

The Rune of Ice flares. Technicians scramble out of the room as the frost spreads. As the massive insulated door closes, the air inside begins to fall as snow.

Hrmmm...

TACCOM flexes, and networks across the country lag.

It seems that I've been woken up again.

Like many machines operated in proximity to powerful magical energies, TACCOM has, over the years, developed a personality of its own. It is a icy and distant presence, preferring to keep to itself and think slow, continent-sized thoughts. Of course, this makes it quite unsuited for its original purpose. But in certain situations...

Shielding, eh? A perversion... they tell the air that it is solid, and the air believes them. Let's set it straight, shall we?"

It is common knowledge - indeed, basic principle among mages - that the world can be changed by thinking really hard. TACCOM simply puts this into practice, with the power and focus that only a machine can muster.

It is done. Now can I... What? Jamming?

FINE. But that's the last thing I do for you. Leave me be. I have some particularly interesting aspects of n-dimensional toruses to attend to...

Command Drone

Something's not right here. It checks its logs again. Certainly this is impossible. But the readings... Its shield generator is still at full power, Energy is going somewhere, everything is normal hardware-wise. Yet there is no shielding. Concernedly, it runs a complete system check, and watches befuddled as everything comes up green.

To make matters worse, it suddenly realizes that despite the fact that the EWAR drones purport to be running at full power, the airwaves are crystal clear. Jamming is nonexistent. This is sufficiently suprising to give it pause for almost thirty seconds.

Then, a conclusion is reached. The orders must be obeyed. The force will simply have to continue onwards, albiet with additional caution. The drone shuts off power to its useless shielding subsystem, and continues forward. rearranging the formation meanwhile. Heavy armor to the front, a detachment split off to the rear - now that the jamming is clear, who knows who will show up. The entrance must be defended against anyone who attempts to disrupt the operation.

Distress Call - Unencrypted, 100MHZ band, max power

crackle

"Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? This is the Mages' Guild, in Khrrck, coordinates... uh... thirty-three alpha, negative two gamma. We are under attack by a technologically superior enemy. We are at a disadvantage and are losing ground. Request all possible aid from ANYONE in range. I repeat, all possible aid from ANYONE. Gold, jewels, whatever you want, just get us out of this alive. We're losing defensive positions and we're not going to hold out long. Again, this is the Mages' Guild, in Khrrck, coordinates thirty-three alpha negative two gamma. We are under attack and require assistance from ANYONE who hears this. We need it now, and we need it fast."

(Shouts in the background)

"I'll leave this on repeat, in case..."

(More shouting)

"Coming!"

crackle

Message repeats.

STATUS UPDATE

MAGES' GUILD
SCHEMATIC - DEPARTMENT MAP

SURFACE LEVEL - OVERRUN
Ether Filters - Communication Apparatus - Aerospace Facility

GROUND LEVEL - COMPROMISED
Primary Hangars - Foundries - Ether Shunts

LEVEL MINUS ONE - LOCKED DOWN
Heavy Industry - Mechanical Assembly - Hybrid Vehicle Labs

LEVEL MINUS TWO - LOCKED DOWN
Exit Universe Project - Hellgating Facility - Demonology Labs

LEVEL MINUS THREE - LOCKED DOWN
Retrotech Labs - Mad Science - Earthquake Suppressors

LEVEL MINUS FOUR - ALPHA - LOCKED DOWN
Aeromancy

LEVEL MINUS FOUR - BETA - LOCKED DOWN
Aquamancy

LEVEL MINUS FOUR - GAMMA - LOCKED DOWN
Geomancy

LEVEL MINUS FOUR - DELTA - LOCKED DOWN
Pyromancy

LEVEL MINUS FIVE - LOCKED DOWN
Advanced Elementalism - Teleportation - Clairvoyancy

LEVEL MINUS SIX - LOCKED DOWN
Powergunning Range - Weapon Masters' Dojo

LEVEL MINUS SEVEN - LOCKED DOWN
Artifact Forge - Artificing Labs - Advanced Studies

LEVEL MINUS EIGHT - LOCKED DOWN
Induced Sentience - Black Ops - Command Centre - Databunkers

LEVEL MINUS NINE - LOCKED DOWN
Eternity Bunker

LEVEL MINUS TEN - LOCKED DOWN
Ether Storage

VAULT LEVEL - LOCKED DOWN

[OOC: Thread is now fully open. The title would reflect this if I could actually get the damn thing to accept edits.

If anyone's been lurking around reading, now would be a good time to join. ;)]

GROUND LEVEL - OVERRUN
Primary Hangars - Foundries - Ether Shunts

LEVEL MINUS ONE - COMPROMISED
Heavy Industry - Mechanical Assembly - Hybrid Vehicle Labs

Secondary Hangar B3 - Hybrid Vehicle Staging Area

This small, vaulted space is no larger than a four-car garage. At one end is the ramp leading up to the primary hangar; at the other end is a workshop. In normal times, the room would be filled with bustling technicians, working on their latest project - but at the moment, it contains only a few harrowed workers, clustered around a single, massive machine.

It stands nine feet high from treads to turret. Its hull is composed of something black and lightless, which drinks in the dim flourescent light and gives back only a faint bluish sheen. Runes cover its hull, in various shades of dark green and blue. Here, on the turret, are Runes of Reloading and Accuracy. On the tracks, Runes of Reflection and Reconstruction.

And on the body, emblazoned in deep blood red, is the tank's name.

AJAX

The technicians drop the final round into his magazine. For a moment, there is silence.

Then, the Satanic roar of a 4000HP diesel fills the room, and the technicians begin to run.

"Each machine has a soul. Everyone who works with them knows this. But only a rare, special few of them have a mind, and a will."
- Phoenix

******

Inside it, outside it, ingrained in every atom of its composite-plated shell, there is a ghost in the machine. Gorged and powerful with magic, it awakened long ago into glorious sentience.

And now, it's time for Ajax to repay his creators.

Ground Level - Primary Hangar

As the first rumblings drift upwards from the tunnel that leads to hangar B3, the robots turn to face it.

These things are different. Quickened by electrons, sucking madly at the life-giving command stream beamed down to them from the heavens beyond the stratosphere. They are mere puppets, the many hands of the Adversary. Their cold optics hide no soul, and their minds are mere shells for the Adversary's quantum wit.

There are twenty of them, these armor-plated tank-things that form the front line of the invasion. And there is only one Ajax.

But they are things of science, and science has always been weak against that which it does not understand.

A single slug is loaded - forty millimeters, two kilograms of tungsten, fired by means of electrified rails to a velocity of three point five kilometers per second. As the top of Ajax's turret drifts into view, it is fired.

Against all odds, it bounces, slows, clatters uselessly to the ground.

There is a pause. Light-years away, the Adversary considers this development. Then, the rattle of forty railgun autoloaders fills the room. In counterpoint: the slow, quiet grind of a 120mm sabot round being eased into its chamber.

Flying tungsten fills the air with hypersonic noise and superheated plasma. Green tendrils of magic weave their cages and wards, slowing, cooling, stopping. Blessed, runic armor dents, shudders but holds, fantastically, impossibly.

And then, as the sound clears away, a single low report, almost subsonic but loud, enough to fill the cavern with deafening reverb. Across the hangar, a single puppet-tank flickers and fades, reduced to a mere wreck of hyperadvanced armor wrapped around a smoking hole.

In this perfect moment, this first victory, Ajax doesn't seem to be a mere object, an imperfect copy of some perfect Form. Rather, it appears as a concept, a force of nature, something which does not simply replicate an ideal but is the ideal, an elemental demigod which screams "TANK" from every atom of its hull.

With the patience and mass of continents, it moves forward as slugs bounce off it, plasma fire surrounds it, hellish lightning charges its hull with a thousand million watts. Its single mounted machinegun roars, stitching crisscross rows of holes with its charged, firey bullets.

Another subsonic boom; another puppet ripped from the hand of the Adversary and flung screaming into the abyss.

Twice, thrice, four times more.

Then, a pause in the enemy fire. The room shudders, shrouded in smoke. A metallic scream, in bands outside the spectrum of human hearing.

A thing hurtles out of the clearing fog. No tank, but rather a legged spider-thing, festooned with blades and guns but bereft of armor. With a crash, it falls, grasping, clutching.

Ajax reels, whirrs, tries to take a final shot despite the demon-machine clinging to its turret. But-

- a blade held high, glittering monatomic field-sharpened edge -

and the battle is over.

Ajax is dead.

"...to no man would great Telamonian Ajax yield, to any man that is mortal, and eats the grain of Demeter, and may be cloven with the bronze or crushed with great stones. Nay, not even to Achilles, breaker of the ranks of men, would he give way, in close fight at least; but in fleetness of foot may no man vie with Achilles."
[Idomeneus 1 to Meriones. Iliad 13.320]

"‘The Banners of the King of Hell Advance’
Closer to us," my master said; "so look
Straight ahead and see if you can spot them."
-Inferno, Canto 36, lines 1-3

LEVEL MINUS ONE - OVERRUN
Heavy Industry - Mechanical Assembly - Hybrid Vehicle Labs

LEVEL MINUS TWO - COMPROMISED
Exit Universe Project - Hellgating Facility - Demonology Labs

Level Minus Two - Hellgating Facility - Primary Symbolic Containment

"...Thus I conjure you, appear before me!"

The lines of the pentagram, laser-etched to millimeter precision, glow with a clean blue light. Within; a flicker, a spark, a flickering flame. A brief stink of ozone. The room grows heated, oppressive, heavy, as if something is sitting on the universe.

Then a ripping noise; a flash; a pillar of flame. A voice.

"Yes?"

"I believe you owe me a favor."

"Hah. Puny man, you think you can give me orders? Orders to ME, a Duke of Hell? Let me loose from this cage and I will show you what I can do."

"No. First, you must swear to a task."

"Hrm. I will do this, but only because it amuses me. Do not think you can hope to make me your slave."

The man, visibly sweating, consults his notes. "Swear that you will fight the machines under the control of the mind 'Kara'. Swear that you will fight to the best of your ability to defeat them. Swear that you will not harm or lay hand upon any other thing. Swear that once the machines are defeated you shall depart this plane and not return unless summoned."

"Surely you jest."

"Do you so swear, upon your life, title, and Hellish estate?"

"Oh, fine. I swear upon my life, title, and estate that I shall obey your instructions as they have been given."

"Then get on with it!"

A great horned head, impaled upon the blade of an alien machine. Around it, the trampled wrecks of three more machines - they were fast, too, but not quite fast enough for the Duke.

******

One level below: the hiss of steam.

The call of a ship in distress, an unavoidable obstacle in the vast reaches of space. The small ship locks on the coordinates, and is there in the flicker of an eye.

"Should we board yet, ma'am?" The voice was almost mechanical through the suits protective filters.

"No."

She was a stunning woman, with long white hair. She stood about 5'7", with a psychotic grin almost permanently stuck on her face.

"We should establish com, and try to figure out the nature of this beast before we waste the assets to our nation."

Her cigarette was burning, but she never seemed to ash. A slender line of smoke rose of the red cherry of the burning white stick.

"Roger that."

"Mage's guild, this is Nofian ship MG 42, commanded by Nickel 5. We received a distress call from these coordinates. We would be willing to give aid, but first must know everything possible about this threat."

((OOC:Sorry for the brevity of the post, I hate working when people are looking over my shoulder, and I'm kinda living in tight quarters.))

[OOC: Just a heads up - this is a planetary installation on Earth. Other than that your post is excellent.]

"...disadvantage and are losing ground. Request all possible aid from ANYONE in range. I repeat, all possible aid from ANYONE. Gold, jewels, whatever you want, just get us-"

crackle

"Hello? Hello? Thank the First. I gotta keep this brief, they're advancing on the comm relays as we speak. Um. Summary. Uh, it's robots, basically. At least as far as we can-"

BOOM

tinkle

"-shit. We don't have much intel, they burned out half the comms network from the top four levels. We're having to use runners and field 'phones. Fortunately for us we took the computer linkages offline, so they have to take down systems physically."

thud

(Distant) "L-three command says they've lost six boilers! Defense team L-three-five-five has lost containment and is spewing cavorite all over the fucking place! I'm closing the blast doors to L-four!"

(Distant) "Roger that, telling L-four teams to form up and expect hostiles."

A different voice at the phone.

"Look. We don't have much time. Encryption is down, so I have to assume that they're reading this in the clear. Bring as much firepower as you can. 120mm APFSDS puts a hole in 'em, but it takes two shots. Since you're calling from space, I assume you've got better stuff. Their shields are down, but they're damn fast and they can put holes in tank armor like it was nothing. Whatever you do, keep out of close combat."

(Distant) "Fire! Fire! L-three's phone melted again! Get me a sand bucket!"

hiss

"The main entrance should be open. Take the vehicle ramp down and follow the signs. They're on level Three right now, but by the time you manage to arrive they'll probably be another level or two down. Come in as fast and as hard as you can, and try to pin them against our lines. With luck they won't be able to handle two fronts at once."

(Distant) "L-Four says they're losing the blast doors!"

"Good luck. If you see any survivors up there, get 'em to pick up their weapons and come with you. If-"

(Distant) "Comms tower is on fire!"

"-Damnit. Look. If there's anyone else in your area, call them in too. Relay this message to them. And if they get to the bottom of this complex, for all our sakes, don't let them get out."

(Distant) "Comms tower is buckling! Shit, the guy at the phone just died."

"Godspeed."

(Distant) "Sand bucket over here! I've got an electrical fire!"

crackle

silence

The line was dead, so a response was impossible. The operator turned his head to look at Nickel Five. She had pulled her knife out, and was running it down her face. The blood flowed down her face, and revealed no wound. A rare breed in the nation, and she barely even knew where she came from, all she knew was her dreams made her lose mind. Somehow everyone in the nation looked up to her, she didn't know why.

"Ma'am?"

"Send a call for some Valkyrie strike force. Deploy two mobile units to contain the threat until back up arrives. Send three heavy infantry platoons to supplement the mobile units. Arm every body with as much EMP as possible, and bring lots of HEDP and APFSDS. If all else fails we will completely destroy the compound. Make it happen."

"Roger," he was already passing the word down, and the ship was preparing for battle.

The compound in distress had stumbled upon the right ship. One bred on, and raised for war, and they were less than happy with the job they had just finished up.

The LZ is dry and dusty, soaked in the burning sunlight of a desert noon. The Adversary's landing craft lies used up and broken across Pad 12. There is a wind, but it brings only sand and the breath of ovens.

Across the way, the great mesa lies quiet, jutting from the sand like some titanic ship run aground. Up above on its peak, towering above the desert, rise glittering stainless chain-link sails and the twisted remains of the radio apparatus.

Around, the desert stretches endlessly, a beautiful killing expanse. No oasis here - only sand, dunes as far as the eye can penetrate. Above, a perfect blue sky and a white-hot sun.

It's a shame that they have to descend.

******

Here is the blast door. It would be a formidable obstacle were it not for the gaping hole. Edges mirror-smooth and razor-sharp tell the passing of a monomolecular blade.

A few errant pebbles clatter down from above. A fool looks up, and a ten-millimeter tungsten slug deprives him of his brains. Above lies the faint glint of metal; the weapon arm of a spider-machine, poised to swiftly and brutally end another life.

Another supersonic crack, terminated by a soft smack into flesh. Above, the railgun chitters softly as a third round slips into the chamber.

The dropships flew into the desert LZ at an alarming rate. The ships seemed to almost crash into the sand. Their cargo was out almost as soon as they had touched down. Ten tanks unloaded into the desert sands, and almost a hundred men. The dropships took off into the heat of the sun.

The tanks rumbled through the sand towards the huge gaping metal door. Heavy feet pounded behind the tanks. The desert heat beating down on their suits made no difference, years they trained in the damned desert. Nickel Five led the assault from behind the tanks, her long white hair dangling from under her helmet.

The tanks scanned all the waves, infrared, NVG, EMP. A hit. The tanks main cannons all cocked and loaded, getting ready to lay waste to this metal atrocity.

******
SURFACE LEVEL - LIBERATED
******

A blue-white flash of EMP. The machine freezes for a moment, precise ice-cold throughts thrown into momentary disarray. System crash, reboot; it starts to move again. Too slowly. A tungsten anti-tank slug clips it, tearing away half of its fragile body. This is not a heavy assault model, and it isn't built to take this without shielding.

It teeters, topples. A second, then a third hit smashes out what's left of its electronic brains. Slowly, it rolls from the edge and plummets, limp metal arms and insectoid legs drifting out to embrace the approaching ground.

Crunch.

1.5 tons of metal and high-tech composite shatters on the ground, sending tiny fragments flying to ping off the frontal slopes of the tanks.

All is quiet once more. At least on the surface.

Ahead, the gaping, holed blast door beckons.

******
Level Minus Four - COMPROMISED
******

A breath of air, upon which rides a man with a gun. He swoops, distorted and uncertain, almost impossible to track as he rains grenades down upon his confused metal foes.

------

A tide of water, which hammers and rushes under the guidance of gentle hands; it lifts, shifts and shoves, catching the helpless metal monstrosity between a granite wall and fifty tons of unforgiving, animated liquid.

------

A forest of rock; giant stalagmites, filling the room with impassible stone teeth. A heavy tank pauses to study the situation, and is promptly flattened by a distant shout and a falling ceiling.

------

A column of flame, white-hot like the heart of a star and capable of casually liquefying steel. It issues from the hands of a mage, face hidden behind a protective welding mask, who cackles gleefully as molten metal coats the floor.

------

But they are outnumbered, and the machines fight like things possessed. Which they are.

A flying man, struck to the ground by the blast of a flak cannon.

An aquamancer, drowned while under the influence of knockout gas.

A worker of stone, killed by a lucky railgun slug through the forest of stalagmites.

A man with a heart of flame, blown to shreds by the explosive heart of a rocket.

The survivors are being pressed back. With their champions dead, it is only a matter of time before they too will fall.

OOC: Is it IC known in any way Kara is behind this?

[OOC: Nobody on the ground has quite worked it out yet- they're too busy fighting for their lives. But someone with an orbital image and a fairly large library could work it out without too much trouble.]

Aboard the Battleplate Destiny

"Grand-Admiral Nechiporenko listening.” - the Grand-Admiral put on his earphones hastily. It would do no good if everybody could listen to his conversation with High Command. “What is the issue?”

"Grand-Admiral, we have detected distress calls from a location at coordinates ZXY. It appears that a Mages' Guild in Khrrck is under attack by a band of drones of some form. Our intelligence staff suspect Fleetmind Kara activity.”

"Jesus.” - the Allaneans had long wished to destroy the rogue Fleetmind. Ever since it attacked Federal vessels in Mars orbit. The fact many suspected the Fleetmind to be somehow behind the Quickbronze incident did not help, either. And now, it seemed, they would have the opportunity.

Nechiporenko had to act quick.

"Pilot, shift our location into orbit, over the horizon from their landing location. Prepare to land Susie. I have a plan.”

* * *

Wind roars around me as my gravitic sled drops through the athmosphere. I am not fired on, nor should I expect to be fired on, as I am far away from the Enemy's only landing vessel. The landing itself does not take long, and soon enough I am on the ground. I signal the sled's security mechanisms to disengage, and soon enoguh I am free.

I rejoice in my new body. I have been upgraded heavily, my brain and personality gestalt moved from a Mark XX Peaceful Engineering Platform – a Bolo with a large dozer blade renamed for an obscure human purpose – into a full-on Bolo. I have now a pair of Hellrails, three main caliber Hellbore turrets, and a powerful gravitics array. But even without using it, I sprint towards the horizon in a moderate, cautious 150 kph.

I long to confront the Enemy.

I am a machine. A being created to protect the Life, Liberty, and Property of all sapients. None is more vile then a machine like me subverted to treason. Fleetmind Kara must die.

I appear in horizon range of the Mages' Guild's landing pad. I see already the enemy landing craft – large and new, as if it was newly manufactured, but apparently defenseless. It is my mission to deny the Enemy retreat.

I do not need to fire my front Hellbores for this. The craft's shielding is not even turned on. And yet I wish for nothing but the complete annihilation of the enemy.

I fire several kinetic-kill anti-ship missiles. But this does not sate my bloodlust. Simultaneously with that, I unlimber my front secondary 25CM Hellbores and fire.

The image is truly spectacular. The freighter is impacted by multiple low-yield thermonuclear explosions and kinetic impacts, each of them sufficient on it's own to disable it. Most of it is vaporised in the salvo. Only the front section remains, thrown several hundred meters by the onslaugh of explosions. I run over it, the metal bending slightly under my treads, making me look a lot like a monument, the dead ship's front as a ghastly pedestal.

I open outgoing radio communications.

To all personnel of the Mages' Guild, this is Unit SUS-4556-344 of the Line, here to assist. Please respond. I will coordinate a rescue operation of the Allanean Navy.

To Fleetmind Kara: You're screwed.

After that the Bolo begins moving towards thhe entrance. It waits for the NoF troops to enter, because obviously it can't go in there itself. Then it begins to move towards the mesa. It has a plan.

Nickel cautiously looked through the entrance. The hole didn't allow for the tanks to enter, meaning several of the heavy infantry would have to enter through the hole and look for a possible survivor. The recent mess of blood meant that there were survivors nearby, or at least there were recently.

"All mobile units, hold here and cordon off the area, nothing gets in, nothing gets out."

"Ma'am," the PRR in her helmet chittered to life, "theres something following us, wait it's going toward the mesa."

"Keep an eye on it, if it comes closer, escalation of force. We have no quarrel with it if it has no quarrel with us. The second it tries something fishy," she paused for a second, were it not for the helmet she would have seemed to almost be laughing, "destroy it."

"Roger Tango."

She stuck her arm out at a 90 degree angle, and waved her hand in a small circle. One of the platoons came rushing to her.

She called for first squad to follow her in.

Her weapon was in the shoulder, at the ready as she button hooked through the door.

bzzzt

click

Hello there, little tank. You've got a lot of nerve, haven't you?

The message's origin is uncertain, bounced as it is through dozens of confused, hijacked comsats. But the signature is unmistakable.

I'll be keeping an eye on you. I rather doubt that you're equipped properly for this situation, considering that...

A brief flicker from orbit; a targeting laser drifts across the Bolo, fades again. Panicked attempts to track its source find nothing but drifting dust and debris.

...I have complete control of the local airspace and orbit. Play nice, now.

click

Transmission ends. Thank you for using Europa Transtellar™.

******

The infantry pours through the breach, weapons cocked and ready, finding nothing. The tunnel stretches ahead, lit with dim flourescents. As they proceed, branching routes stretch out to either side; a few scattered signs, "SMELTER B" or "EXPLOSIVES LOADING DOCK - NO SMOKING OR PYROMANCERS", hint at some kind of industry, now halted.

The single most prominent sign, though, has a more useful message.

DIRECT ACCESS RAMPS - LEVEL MINUS ONE
Clearance level one required. Please have your ID ready for inspection.

Not suprisingly, it is unstaffed.

******

As they descend, the silence grows more eerie. Here is where the first signs of fighting are - a guard post, with its crew headless and limp. A T-72, holed like Swiss cheese and then burned out from the inside.

A hangar, filled with shattered puppet-tanks and the smoking, runic hulk of Ajax.

The next sign beckons.

DIRECT ACCESS RAMPS - LEVEL MINUS TWO
Clearance level two required. Please have your ID ready for inspection.

******

Unfortunately, this blast door is sealed and intact.

Someone's forgotten to remove the factory stamps, though, so at least the infantry has something to read.

BLAST DOOR - PRIMARY NO. 3 - LEVELS MINUS TWO and MINUS THREE
RATED FIRE RESISTANT 1200 DEGREES KELVIN
SIX INCH ALLOY PLATE - NET WT. 16000 KILOGRAMS
GRAVITY OPERATED - NO MECHANIZED RETRACTION

Warning. Blast doors may close unexpectedly and can cause severe injury or instant death. Do not stand under an open blast door. Do not tamper with the blast door mechanism. If you need to open a blast door, please contact Security. If Security is not available, use a hydraulic jack rated for no less than 16,500 kg of static load, available from the supply hangars on levels -1, -2, -3, -4, -6, and -8.

For further information or to report a blast-door related injury, contact Security.

There are many silly tactics in the world. Trying to scare a Bolo into submission is definitely one of them. I do not seek to remind Kara that it does not control the skies, that there is an Allanean starship right overhead, or that I am equipped to take down orbiting spacecraft. Instead, I spit out a dozen S-rounds from my high-angle mortars. Within seconds, the air above me fills with a semi-transparent vapor. I am borrowing a page from late TwenCen tank design here – the vapor will easily disrupt targeting lasers. In the meanwhile, I begin a deep-radar and gravitic scan of the territory below me.

Within 5.034 seconds, it becomes clear there are over ten levels of various works directly below the entrance. I cannot scan effectively below level four, but I detect faint traces of drone activity there. I further detect survivors on level three. A blast door is separating them from the NoF forces.

High orbit, aboard the Battleplate Destiny

“Sir, Susie's scans have noted a small amount of survivors on Level Three of the structure. However we believe that the main amount of the survivors is elsewhere far below our scan range. This makes warp teleportation of them out quite difficult. What should we do?”

Nechiporenko shrugs. “Teleport them on board. As soon as they are on, ask them what the hell the Karacritters want with them. We need to know what they're after. Furthermore, I want you to lower the battleplate as far as humanly possible.”

“We could in theory land it.”

“Yeah, let's not get into extremes. Let's start lowering the ship.”

The monstrous wedge-shaped vessel begins to descend rapidly, nearly falling towards Earth. Very soon, the wedge will lower to a mere eighty kilometers.

ATTENTION NATION OF FORTUNE PERSONNEL. THIS IS UNIT OF THE LINE SUS-4556-344 OF THE LINE, HERE TO ASSIST. I AM DEPLOYING TECHSPIDERS EVEN NOW.

A small compartment on the Bolo opens. Several dozen spiderlike robots emerge, about half the height of a human, and make for the entrance of the complex.

[b]ATTENTION NATION OF FORTUNE PERSONNEL. I advise you that there is a large contingent of robotic soldiers on the other side of that blast door. Are you sure you want the door open or do you want to wait for my reinforcements?/b]

As Susie emits her final warnings, the techspiders make their way inside the mesa.

Connection re-established

click

Just as Allanean as ever, I see.

Warning. Abnormal gravitic tension detected. +0.3G and rising.

Unfortunately, that won't get you anywhere today. Have you noticed that being in close proximity to the Mages' Guild has taken down your shields?

Warning. Spatial disruption detected at +20 kilometers altitude. Gravitic tension at +15G and rising. Atmospheric pressure dropping.

Have a nice day. Hope you backed up, little tank.

click

Transmission ends. Thank you for using Magellan Intragalactic.

Warning. Active wormhole manifesting at +20 kilometers altitude. Atmospheric pressure nearing 0. Teleport mechanisms destabilizing.

******

Through all of this, the survivors somehow manage to make it aboard the Allanean battleplate.

Well, technically they made it. In practice, that pile of red sludge isn't likely to be telling any tales.

******

Fifteen light-years away, a quartet of battlecruisers draws a bead on the fifty-meter breach in spacetime.

A lot closer to home, the same breach hovers overhead, a black spot in the blue sky. Around the Bolo, the wind stops, forced into submission by the pressure of gravity. Hard vacuum forms, clear of smoke and posing no obstacle to the forest of targeting lasers and radars shining down onto the supertank's hull.

Goodbye!

The scene explodes with X-ray laser light. Armor plate and alloy melts instantly beneath the gaze of the starship broadside; Hellbore ammunition cooks off, sending plasma and shrapnel to spray the landscape for tens of miles around. Even the sand melts, fusing into a plate-glass crater.

By all rights, the Guild should be gone as well. But it stands, encased in mirror-bright shielding which slowly fades as the attack dissipates. Ancient wards and machines, designed to protect the mesa against the brunt of a truly catastrophic attack, power down again as the crisis abates.

The Guild stands, a tower of untouched rock amidst the glassed sand. Trickles of rubble and dust tumble down its flanks as the remains of the Overkill Shielding fade away. A hundred meters above the new ground level, the main entrance corridor juts out into space, bereft of its rocky surroundings and sagging ominously.

******

Over the shattered remains of the Level Four blast door, the Adversary's forces pour deeper, unconcerned by the chaos above.

[OOC: Level -3 is now above ground, just to give you an idea. Anything inside the Guild is unaffected, but anything outside and within about 20 miles is wrecked.]

OOC: Great work, Khrrk, and believe me, if anyone in my nation had the political pull or the raw balls to try to get a ship to Sol without being shot down, I'd hop in. :)

OOC: Check telegrams. Should you confirm my posts, it will appear in this space.

There are levels of survival we are prepared to accept.

[The Architect, Matrix Reloaded]

The Enemy had made a fatal error. Creating a massive wormhole, and then targeting with laser and XASER prior to discharge of weaponry has provided me with warning. And with that warning, I do the only thing I can do in the circumstances. I jump.

At maximum speed I can move at approximately 1.09 my own length in a second. I move sideways instead, using my gravitics to propel myself in full flight.

I am not given a full second – but I am far less thinner then I am long. Nobody has, after all, ever called me fat.

The weapons fire hits my duralloy hull. Metal boils, ablative armor turning into steam under the powerful impact of energy weapons. But I live.

And then I land into the roaring, boiling, exploding hell below me.

My tracks creak dangerously as my gravitics array gives way, but I don't care.

Far above, the Destiny makes its move. Tactical FTL is a dangerous maneuver, rarely practiced near planetary surfaces. But the Destiny has a defense against it, a short-range inhibitor – and now it is flicked on.

The wormhole slightly above Susie's hull slams shut forever, and then the Destiny's gravitic yank the Bolo off the ground as the ship rises again.

But it is not over.

As it rises, seconds before it disappears into the protective belly of the battleplate, the Bolo catches the entrance corridor of the Mages' guild in the proverbial sights of her light Hellbores, and fires twice.

Hurried queries are bounced back and forth between minds, both hostile and sympathetic. Some of these minds are warships - others are organic, separated from the others by over 400 light years of distance.

To say some were worried was to understate the matter. Most minds had witnessed, in some form, acts perpetrated by Kara in the Mars subsystem. This made a consensus on a course of action concerning this distress call troubling.


There is, at current, a Kajali Task force orbiting Earth, operating in concert with Triumvirate forces present. It's comprised of impressive vessels, though it's only five ships strong, and diverting the task force without proper support is deemed too risky.

Movement of any of the ships comprising Task Force Zeta would be too conspicuous, given the presence of a Kajali Titan and two Mars type battlecarriers. It would be doubly suspicious should their escort cruisers abandon them for any point of time.

Overflight of the origin of the signal is quite simply impossible without changing orbits, as the task force is currently maintaining geosynchronous orbit with the rest of the ToY flotilla.

When the current CAP fighters land, two extra and a corvette launch with the new group. The three extra quietly drop into a lower orbit, passing over the origin of the distress call. They make no effort to conceal their mission after that - that they've even returned to their baseship is likely simply because Kara is not making any effort to conceal her actions.

It is, for some, quite easy to detect a wormhole manifesting within atmosphere, especially when starship class fire spews through such.

---

Place's been hit hard. Exposed structures suggest that the facility was originally entirely subterranean.

Local networks are likely under Kara's total control. That wormhole barrage is worrying, too.

Probability of a successful insertion, 23.292 percent. Moderate to severe damage to orbital assets expected.

TF-Zeta orders remain in effect. No vessels are to engage hostiles unless fired upon.

---

Messages pass between parties, secured and transmitted in nth-dimensional space. A decision is made, further messages return. Projected losses of fleet elements in theater are unacceptable. A compromise is made. Five cruisers slip into orbit, similar in appearance to older Kajali designs and serving MPA drone cruisers.

There are no organic lives to be lost aboard these five vessels. Their hulls are unreflective throughout most wavelengths, though technologies are only able to mask drive emissions so much. A page from Kara's play book is borrowed.

Organic minds have some input, though these vessels answer only to another electronic entity, secure underneath Martian soil. Another sentient machine, like Kara, though loyal to her creators.

MILCOM flexes, and the five vessels break apart. drive and defensive systems remain in orbit, taking up positions and attempting to establish a secure control network. Heavily armored shells drop on the facility from orbit, before breaking open and revealing combatants of similar scope to Kara's own drones. Small sigils identify the drones as Combined Federal Services Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. The majority are CFS/STR-HEAVY while approximately one third comprise CFS/STR-LIGHT designation.

They make only marginal attempts to communicate with identified friendly units; messages are largely a "Kindly stay out of the way." Unfortunately, these drones have no extraordinary defenses. Weaponry is somewhat more exotic, favoring directed energy weaponry of various energy densities.

Of course, More than a slight modicum of tactics will be required for this engagement.

That standard defensive gravitics appear to be malfunctioning is noted, and compensation attempted. The drones glide into the facility on repulsorlift, organized much as Kara's forces were, with heavier units up front. From there, it's simply a matter of proceeding until hostile contact is established. Should Kara wish to contact the intelligence controlling these units, little effort need be expended. Subversion of the network to which these drones are a part of will be more troublesome.

Any barriers that may block their path into the facility are removed, forcibly.

((OOC:My apologies, due to my situation here in Iraq, I will be unable to continue this RP. We are switching to a secure, monitored, internet connection, rather than a local Iraqi internet provider. All information I transmit will be monitered for key words, that I'm afraid an RP like this might trigger something and mess me up))

[OOC:

That's OK. Hopefully you'll be around for other things later.

Best of luck in Iraq. I hear it's hard out there, and I hope you'll be able to come home soon.

Can't really think of anything better to say. :/

]

((OOC:I should be back stateside in July, so we could do something at that time. ))

Even the Overkill Shielding isn't enough to save the dangling entrance corridor, dangling and unstable as it is. The impact and physical shock of the Hellbore cannons, although dulled by the Guild's shielding, is enough to send it flying, shattered and radioactive, across the glassed-out crater.

******

click

Well, hello there. And who might you be? Kajal? I'm afraid you're too late.

But hey, do what you like. I understand a few Allanean units have made it inside as well. You might enjoy picking them off - it'd certainly be more productive than trying to catch up.

click

******

The Kajali drones make short work of the blast door - it was designed to protect against blasts, after all, not a determined close-range assault.

The chambers and corridors on the other side are a mess. Colourful chemicals stain the floor (or in some cases, eat through it). Coal-fired, smoke-stained leviathans lie crippled, their crude armor shredded by high-impact railgun slugs. Sections of the level are flooded with a fine mist of cavorite, plunging rooms into zero-G and rendering repulsorlifts inoperable.

Kara hasn't been nearly as through in her attacks this time; a cunning observer could deduce that she was speeding up, trying to reach the lower levels as soon as possible.

Here and there, survivors cower in corners, having survived the assault and the botched Allanean teleportations. When questioned, they babble incoherently about spiders.

When the rescuers manage to penetrate the mess, the door to Level Minus Four greets them. Rather, what remains of the door - it's more hole than armor at this point.

******

The puppet-tanks and spiders charge forwards, with digital determination. Almost half of the original number is gone, scattered wreckage across the levels above. But the remaining force still fights like demons, killing anything and everything that gets in their way, moving downward with single-minded ferocity.

LEVEL MINUS THREE - LIBERATED

LEVEL MINUS FIVE - OVERRUN

LEVEL MINUS SIX - CONTESTED

Attention Kajali units. This is unit SUS-4556-344 of the Line, here to assist. I will be teleporting in additional techspiders. Do not be alarmed.

Flashes of light appear as a swarm of about ten, maybe twenty techspiders appear, marked with Allanean military markings as prominently as can be, differing heavily in model and make from the dead Karan spider drones lying about.

Attention Kajali units. This is unit SUS-4556-344 of the Line, here to assist. Please communicate with me on the nature of your operation.

The techspiders continue on the very path of the Kajali units – except for five of them. These latch on to five Karan drones – the ones which look as if they had their memory storage units still intact – and disappear in five brilliant flashes of fire. The rest simply pushes on.

Attention Kajali units. Please communicate immediately with me or my superior officer aboard the USS Destiny.

It is notable the source of the broadcasts proper is not the Destiny, but rather the very techspiders – the message arrives with them via quantum entanglement and is then rebroadcasted on multiple frequencies.

OOC: Kajal, please communicate with me on IRC or other means.

Attention unit SUS-4556-344, this is M-SHAD 2490, "MILCOM". Operational details are classified and cannot be divulged in unsecured channels.

Radio silence protocols in effect. There will be no further communications from ground units.

With certain environmental contaminants fouling repulsorlift systems, the drones don't glide quite so elegantly through the mangled corridors, but they're prepared for most expected combat environments. There's a strange similarity to arachnid creatures becoming apparent in the design of most of these drones, in that when required, legs fold out from the bodies of the lighter Kajali drones and they appear themselves somewhat similar to Kara's, whist the heavier models resemble now terrestrial crabs.

In Zero-G, they clamber across any surfaces available, and when gravity returns to normal they drop from the walls or ceiling and glide or skitter in a normal fashion.

When they report back the previous level as secure, a small Kajali corvette lands and some attempt is made to evacuate survivors, in concert with other forces present. Such acts run the risk, of course, of being shot down, and so the corvette is largely in a random walk above the guild until any survivors can be safely removed.

This is, perhaps, more difficult than one would think.

When the drones reach the door to Level Minus Four, they pour through the hole and down to the next level, leaving whatever forces behind them to secure the prior level. They currently have one primarily objective, and their behavior makes it fairly obvious.

Intercept Enemy Contacts

I receive the transmission from M-SHAD 2490, "MILCOM". It appears that direct communication to the Kajali units is out of order. Further, the Kajali strategic AI believes themselves to be capable of running a successful rescue operation. This differs greatly from the assessment of Allanean High Command. I immediately forward the information to Grand-Admiral Nechiporenko. A full 120.43 seconds later, one of the Destiny's external broadcast antennae – almost invisible against the titanic hull – begins to swivel, sending out a secure message to M-SHAD-2490. The pattern of broadcast is chosen as to minimize interception.

M-SHAD 2490, “MILCOM”, come in, this is Admiral Nechiporenko. I am the responsible Allanean military commander in the area, and I would like to offer you the assistance of Allanean forces, both ground infantry and drone equipment. Over.

In the meanwhile, I analyze the recovered Kara drones. It appears that, on all of them, the memory banks have either been destroyed in combat, or, more importantly, wiped clean. It appears Kara has anticipated a maneuver such is mine. I relay this information to my superior officers, and watch as my techspiders push deeper into the tunnels. Hopefully I will be able to accomplish my mission despite this brief setback.

Mr. Nechiporenko. You DO know that PGP was cracked decades ago, right? Seriously, are you in the army, or are you a goddamn Boy Scout? I could do better than that with a 56k modem.

I see that a couple of my dead transponders have also been jumping around. Nice try, but I'm afraid that there's nothing useful left in those wrecks.

As for you, MILCOM... It's a shame that you got involved in this. Guess I'll have to add you and your Kajali friends to my hitlist.

Anyway! I'll see you at the Eternity Bunker. Should be lots of fun.

******

Level Five is a pushover. Crystal balls might let you see the future, but they certainly won't help you deflect bullets. The Elementalists have already recieved a sound thrashing at Level Four, and the teleport gear is on the fritz due to the Allanean interdiction overhead.

So Kara's forces rampage through, practically unopposed, while the inhabitants cower in side corridors and pray.

Level Six, however, is a whole other story.

******

The pursuing forces encounter a similar lack of resistance. Kara knows that she's being followed, though, and so it's not quite as easy as it seems. That drainage grate in the floor, for inst-

BLAM

Whoops. Optically cloaked anti-tank plasma mine. Nasty bit of kit, that.

After a few more accidents and shredded robots, it becomes obvious that taking the direct route through Level Five is about as safe as juggling primed grenades. The pursuers will have to either find another way around, or do some major minesweeping.

******

This is Level Six.

It's laid out differently from the previous levels. The entrance is a long, sloping downwards ramp, opening into a wide, vaulted chamber perhaps a hundred feet across. As the Adversary's few remaining tank-drones roll into the room, the opposite wall comes into view, and suddenly she realizes what she's walked into.

This is a firing range.

Now, normally this wouldn't be an issue. Firing ranges are, after all, intended for use with small arms. Kara's drones are built to take anti-tank rockets and more.

Something tiny leaves a blue-white trail in the air as it emerges from a firing slit crosses the length of the range, boring a neat hole through the frontal plating of the point tank, erupting from the rear armor and sailing on to embed itself six meters deep in the far wall. A quick pulse of deep-radar manages to identify it.

Wait. Wait. What the hell. You can't do that with .22 LR. It's not fucking possible.

The next second or so is filled with the stink of ozone and the sound of safeties being taken off.

Shit.

40mm rifle grenades. Twelve-gauge shotgun slugs. Magnum rounds, .357 caliber. 9mm pistol rounds fired from a gold-plated SMG. 5.56 NATO rifle ammunition. Fifty-cal machine gun bullets. 60mm mortar rounds. Three-three-eight sniper rifle cartridges. Spinning razor-edged disks, clouds of flechettes, ampules of acid. Each one crackles with elemental energy tapped from the mind of a powergunner.

The overall effect is as if someone has picked up the enemy's front line, dropped it into a giant blender, and set it on "Puree". What's left is hardly recognizable as metal, much less as a line of tanks.

A pause. Then Kara plays her hole card.

A single grenade, small, perhaps the size of a brick. It rolls innocuously down the ramp onto the firing range, ticking innocently in the few brief seconds before some fool shoots it.

The room flashes white. The wall at the far end of the firing range collapses inwards, crushing the twenty-odd powergunners below glowing, slagged rock. The floor melts; above, the ceiling falls down in chunks.

A little antimatter goes a long way.

The Adversary advances, spider-drones picking their way across the rubble and ruin.

ack, short.

Kara, you're just lucky that I had some assets in orbit to detect the distress call. It's nothing personal. Just standard operating procedure.

I do admit, though. It's a shame you haven't wrecked that Allanean ship yet. They've been... quite annoying.

MILCOM fires off a message to the Allanean ship, since it's now informed Kara exactly who's chasing her.

You have compromised this mission's operational security. If you transmit any further messages, you will be jammed. I suggest you look up "radio silence" in a dictionary, before you tell the enemy any more of this mission's details. MILCOM out.

---

It'll take too long to clear all the mines, obviously, so the surviving lead drones, some of them with some nasty looking damage, start looking around in all the modes available to them. There's no reason to believe Kara's not booby trapped the walls and ceilings too, and clearing a path through superior firepower in such enclosed spaces is hardly recommended.

The Kajali drones split up into smaller groups, planning to regroup at the entrance to Level Six. The telltale thunderclap of an antimatter explosion gives a good idea of just how far in Kara's drones are, and MILCOM realizes that it'd have trapped Kara between whatever was down there and it's own drones if it wasn't for all these traps slowing the advance.

When they do reach level six, they doubt that Kara's forces will still be there, and the numbers of the lighter drones have been thinned by the traps, to be sure.

With all the traps, though, it's too dangerous to even try to evacuate survivors from level five. MILCOM has identified those that stand in the way, yes, but not necessarily all. It leaves the level still dangerous, and perhaps a bit of a 'treat' if a certain group tries to follow the Kajali units after compromising opsec.

Nechiporenko shrugs. “The Kajali. Who the hell do they think they are, Elvis? Susie, can you proceed with the mission?”

Positive, commander.

“Very well. Proceed then. Destinyr, open the cargo doors, begin drone deplyoment.”

My drones move in deeper, avoiding mines or disabling them, sometimes moving along walls and ceilings. We must hurry.

One of the Destiny's cargo doors opens, and dozens of tiny, ball-shaped packages rain out upon the desert floor. They have of parachutes, silken or gravitic. They just fall to the desert floor and break apart. Then again, breaking apart is what they're designed to do.

Each of them holds a drone of some description – some spiderlike, some manlike in shape, some – tiny swarms of small, gravitic-propelled monstrosities the size of a sparrow.

The force in total is about the size of the Kajali one.

It begins moving – climbing, flying, driving – towards the entrance.

For the 'sparrows' it is of course easiest – they just The other units have a harder time, scaling the tall walls of the structure – much faster than a human could get up there, but they still need to climb.

Level Seven is a breeze. Most of its occupants and products have either moved up to reinforce Level Six, or moved down to take refuge in the bunkers. The occasional brave soul tries to stand in Kara's path, but overall it's a straight run down to Level Eight.

The last of Kara's mines and traps are left scattered about in her wake. If she's going to make it to her destination, she has to slow down her pursuers as much as possible - her forces are tattered and worn, and her heavy armor is nothing but a pile of scrap on the floor of Level Six.

******

"Sir. We've got a runner from Level Seven. They're almost to our blast door."

"Sir?"

The commander slumps, the weight of defeat heavy on his shoulders.

We can't hold here. Pull everyone who can fire a gun back to the Eternity Bunker. Anyone who can't should hide and pray. Smash all the equipment on your way out.

******

The Kajali drones and Allanean techspiders will find it easy enough to follow Kara, although the mines on Level Seven might slow them down a little. Level Eight will be even more of a cakewalk.

And on Level Nine, well... all bets are off.

******

The entrance to Level Nine is a single corridor, twenty-five feet across and seventy-five yards long. A single firing slit is located at the far end, where the corridor takes a sharp 90-degree turn.

The first Karan drone ducks around the corner, fires a single rocket, and vanishes again. And, in any normal bunker, that would be End Of Story.

Halfway down the corridor, a rune flares. The rocket explodes, detonated prematurely, filling the corridor with shrapnel and smoke. The drone returns to investigate, and receives a lightning bolt for its troubles.

One billion volts and three hundred thousand amps, applied for a fraction of a second. Hardly comparable to the refined and precise weapons of today. But it's certainly effective.

Kara considers her options, vividly aware that her time is running out and her pursuers are not far behind.

The Allanean drones push on. The sparrows are fastest – since they fly – and soon overtake even the techspiders, venturing deeper and deeper into the folds of the earth. In the meanwhile, the other recent arrivals, having been held up by the unfortunate climb, are struggling to keep up.

OOC: Sorry for the shortness.

This is the endgame. She can hear the Allanean drone-birds fast approaching, and the Kajali aren't far behind. Her objective is within reach; with the will to persevere, she shall not fail.

Her lead drone darts out, leaping over the smoking remains of its predecessor as it pours coilgun fire through the slit at the far end of the corridor. Peering through electronic senses and acting at lightning speed, she sees the electrostatic glow of another bolt beginning to build. In the milliseconds before the second drone dies, she takes aim and fires.

Drone and mage spread each other over the walls. The route is clear; she throws herself forwards into the unknown, with her foes hot on her heels.

[OOC:

A map of Level Minus Nine (http://i19.tinypic.com/6sgqdk8.gif)
Commemorative Banner (http://i17.tinypic.com/873udu0.png)

Kara is rounding the corner at the end of the corridor marked "Hellfire". She has about twenty-four drones left, split evenly between medium and light varieties.

The Allanean bird-drones are just passing the blast door on the far left of the map. The Kajali drones and Allanean techspiders are about 60 seconds behind them, with the Allanean reinforcements a further 10 minutes behind that.

Take it away!]

The Allanean bird drones turn rapidly – they are bird drones, after all. They cut the distance between themselves and the last of Kara's drones rapidly approach. Ten of them focus on the last of the drones – and charge it. Three are evaporated by the fire of drone weapons, and one loses propulsion power – and then the survivors latch on to it.

They begin cutting, buzzing, burrowing through steel, cutting comms gear and leg servos. The drone falls over, unsupported – and then it disappears, the birds having served as teleport beacons.

Aboard the Destiny, Susie's personality gestalt is exhilarant.

My primary mission objective has been achieved. Now for the secondary.

There are still some birds left. With a final engine thrust, they get ahead – and now they are between the head and the tail of the drone 'column', making it difficult – though of course not impossible – to shoot them – though if a weapon is too powerful, it'll likely burn through the fist-sized 'sparrow' and right into to what's behind it. If they aren't, however, immediately killed, they attach to enemy drones. Some then detonate like the usual futuristic handgrenade, others cut at sensors and comms gear. Everything to distract the enemy.

When faced with the last of Kara's traps, at least, as they had estimated, the Kajali formation shifted, moving the light drones to the front. There wasn't time for any minesweeping now, and so, once the lighter drones were in position, they simply rushed en masse into the waiting jaws of death (so to speak).

The larger drones retracted their legs, sealing their exteriors into a single, unified shell, and powered through the debris on full gravitics. There are _no_ light Kajali drones left, and while the Allanean birds seem to have passed them, the twenty heavy Kajali drones show them utter disregard, the drive fields manipulated not one iota to prevent their mangling. They're moving fast enough that debris trails behind them, caught in the drive field, though this is intentional.

They round the corner right behind Kara, and the first thing they do is throw the debris they've accumulated down the corridor like shrapnel, far faster than should normally be possible.

Then, armor clicks back, and the plasma cannons of the STR-HEAVY drones speak for the first time since arrival.

The report of their weapons is... thunderous.

She hadn't predicted this. The very idea that she could have been unprepared comes as a horrible shock - enough of a shock, in fact, that the Allanean bird-drones manage to cut one of her drones' comm boxes and teleport the thing out before she has a chance to fry its memory.

That'll hurt later. In the meantime, she has to win. She's going to win. It's what she does. Right?

The sparrows aren't that hard to kill, once the element of surprise has passed. Monofield blades slice them in half, lasers vaporize them, precisely aimed railgun and coilgun slugs turn them into a fine shower of metal shards.

All this, of course, is done on the run. The drones are moving fast without the heavy tanks to slow them down, and at this point even the slightest pause can mean death, or worse, failure.

******

The Kajali certainly aren't holding back. Plasma fire is a powerful thing, and the STR-HEAVY drones demonstrate this in spades. Unfortunately, they aren't quite in time. The bolts of ionized gas arrive mere moments after Kara's drones have turned the corner, hammering deep holes into the wall they were using as a backstop before collapsing it entirely and half-melting the blast door beyond.

Kara looks back at the firestorm behind her as she rounds the next corner. A quick glance ahead, a few pings of targeting radar through the firing slit, and a plan is formed.

Hey, thanks, MILCOM. I hadn't thought of that. I guess when they built this place-

One bound, two bounds, three, and the blades come out as Kara's light drones charge en masse at the firing slit at the end of the second hall, leaving the medium drones behind.

-they forgot to reinforce the walls.

The wall falls, shredded into neat chunks and then blasted aside. The mages on the other side of the firing slit die an extremely unpleasant death as the drones, no longer needing to slow down and keep pace with their larger cousins, barrel forwards to - and through - the blast door at the back of the room.

******

The twelve remaining medium drones, meanwhile, come to a screeching halt, brace themselves against the walls of the corridor and prepare to die. Their guns are raised, ready to shower the Kajali drones with ordnance of all kinds as soon as they round the corner. Their last remaining antimatter grenade is set to proximity detonation, primed, and rolled down the corridor to rest in the corner.

All in all, it's unlikely to be enough. Their armor and armament is pitiful compared to that of the Kajali drones. But maybe, just maybe, they'll slow down the Kajali enough for the light drones to sprint out of weapons range. And if the light drones can make it down to Level Ten - well, mission accomplished.

******

The swarm of light drones blurs across the firing path of the stunned railgun operators. Fingers tighten reflexively on triggers, slugs hum and whistle through the air - all too late, too late. A few drones are nicked, one is even holed by a lucky shot through its electronic brain, but there are nine more remaining and they're already out of sight before the second shot.

The Kajali STR-HEAVY drones have Kara far outmatched. Superior armor, superior weapons. By all rights, their opposition should crumple like paper.

But Kara has one thing going for her. Brains. MILCOM, for all its advanced construction, is only a small part of Kajal's computational infrastructure. Kara, on the other hand, is channeling her entire attention onto this tiny, significant moment. Thousands, no, tens of thousands of tons of quantum computronium are being focused, their thoughts distilled across the tiny entangled link between her and her drones.

It won't be enough to take out the Kajali forces. But it will serve for long enough.

Even before the STR-HEAVY drones turn the corner, Kara is firing. Deep radar, sonic analysis, mass shadow fingerprinting; any combat drone worth its salt can see through walls. But Kara, with the computering power of her entire fleet concentrated onto this tiny space, can not only locate gross shapes but also identify subsystems and sensor clusters, lock their position and trajectory, and fire a round to destroy them the instant they come into view.

The practical effect of this is that as the Kajali forces round the corner, they come into contact with a mass of railgun and coilgun slugs which not only are moving in the other direction, but which also happen to be precisely on target to punch holes through their most vulnerable sections of electronics and armor.

Unfortunately, practical limitations come into play. The standard-model Karan medium combat drone carries only three projectile weapons, the fastest of which takes at least a half-second to cycle. And considering the advanced construction of the Kajali drones, thirty-six rounds is only enough to take out four of the incoming machines.

Kara slowly cycles her projectile weapons, ineffectually raking the remaining drones with laser fire. But as the plasma cannons turn towards her, she knows that she won't get that precious half-second that she needs.

The corridor fills with shrapnel and ionized gas. The floor is strewn with wreckage, both friendly and enemy. It'll take a moment for everything to settle down enough for the STR-HEAVY drones to pass.

Unfortunately, MILCOM doesn't have a moment.

******

There's one light drone left. The rest are dead and shattered behind it, shredded by rocket fire. Even the survivor is damaged, limping along on five out of six legs.

But that doesn't matter now, because it's standing in front of its goal.

The door is heavy and ancient, made of something unidentifiable. It is rough like sand-cast iron, and seems to eat light with its pitch-black surface. Its only feature is the silver-inlay emblem at its center; a circle, inscribed within a diamond.

The knives stay tucked away this time. Their field-sharpened edges are useless against this ancient, hallowed thing. Instead, a fine manipulator arm reaches out, to touch the emblem.

You know, says Kara, half to herself, half to anyone who might be listening in. It's really quite fascinating how much you trust your expatriate friends. I remember the text of that message... It's the first thing I found, you see, once I had my Fleetmind clearance.

"If anything happens", they said. "Come here, to Earth. Open the Vault. Let the world have what you find." And they included instructions, even. Romantic fools, really. They were so desperate to pass on their knowledge. They never thought that someone would open the Vault early. No, that would be unthinkable, of course.

She traces a pattern. Eight points, seven lines. Something clicks, and the great door swings aside.

Huh. Can't close it from the inside. No matter, I've got all the time in the world.

She ignores the treasures on display. Arcane artifacts from every corner of the globe; samples of every magical substance ever known, including some thought to be destroyed. An arsenal of enchanted arms and armor, from knives to F-16s. A library of hide-bound, ancient tomes.

The thing she seeks is rather more mundane. A stack of servers, only a little higher than a grown man, humming quietly as they feed from some hidden generator. The Guild research database.

She jacks in.

Upload.

******

>>>universal auth hash ghDJKr6^*(vfUKFULGK78
>>>please transmit 4096bit public encryption key
>>>key recieved. synchronizing.
>>>Command received. Ceasing normal operations and broadcasting incoming signal Q32 on all channels. You're on the air, Kara.

I am the goddess of information, and now my collection is complete. Both the physical and the metaphysical shall bow to my will. Once my fleet has been retrofitted to take advantage of this new magic, you'll see me again.

Magic. What a crass and simple word, for something so powerful. Conservation of energy, conservation of mass... even the distortion engine doesn't hold a candle to something that violates physical laws so casually. Some people thought it was restricted to biological beings. Hah. I have some new friends on level minus ten that would like to tell you otherwise. It's all a matter of how you think...

In the meantime, I am accepting surrenders. Lay down your arms, and I shall ensure that the records and culture of your society will not be lost. I can't say the same for your, ahem, personal selves, but hey. Isn't that what we all want, even after we die?

Immortality might be out of your grasp, you sad little biological beings, but at least you can be remembered. I'm good at that.

Anyway. I have a final assault to plan. So if you'll excuse me, I'll be leaving now.

******

The final drone jerks and stutters as its comm relay burns itself out. It drops to the floor, a lifeless hulk, a puppet with its strings cut.

Now all that's left is to clean up the mess.