We split the bunker in half, my forces clearing left, the Tulverians under General Splendeur clearing right since that side has three passageways. I want to object but one look at my supply counter ends all argument. Ten soldiers are all I currently have, plus a handful of lings, and a surprise.

  18 / 24 Biomass (Hygieia’s pool of available biomass)

  334 / 2000 Courier Ship Progress

  10 / 62 Mechanized

  1 / 1 Protochronian Artefacts

  2 Nanofactories

  400 biomass waiting to be collected

  “Alright, have fun General. Kill the techs, but don’t forget why we are here. Capture the base. Start at the main computer, then capture the factory without damaging it!” I call, jogging away to avoid Splendeur’s longwinded reply.

  That man lives to talk, probably an ambassador who stuck his tongue in the wrong outlet and got sent to Syrak as penance. Sweet silence greets me, without any hint of a felonious accent.

  To add insult to injury, Alaea’s managed to adjust our suits to good old American! Specifically a deep male voice with the barest hint of a southern drawl. So masculine I can picture his jawline, and hallucinate the scent of fresh walnuts and roses.

  I check my sensors, making sure someone didn’t slip hallucinogens into my air supply. A few moments later the ‘all clear’ alert pops up, in that same masculine voice…

  “Okay… Look, it’s better than the aussie. Just leave it alone for now.” I order myself, heading down the larger of two tunnels.

  Ling1 is already a mile ahead of me, mapping tunnels despite the pure darkness. A few emergency lights flicker hither and thither like dying fireflies bear testimony to the catastrophic EMP which fried almost every circuit including air recyclers and standard lighting. We have to spread out and trail something against the walls to find doors. Except for Kerrigan, the queen of using her hardware.

  She flips suit lights on, acting as a beacon for us all. Not the wisest move as it makes her a target, Barker looks back at me, then activates his own lights to provide a second target. He -unlike Kerrigan- can be reincarnated, and knows exactly how I treasure her.

  Thanks Barker, you’re a better man than Hygieia meant you to be. I think, flicking on my own lights and spreading out to illuminate the tunnel fully. Like the trench outside this passageway is wide enough to fit an armed juggernaut, taller too, with a gradually descending incline, just steep enough for water to run downhill, with channels cut in the walls and ceiling to condense water. A low tech way of collecting necessary fluids albeit highly efficient.

  We slow to scan ammo rooms and crates full of supplies, from a hundred different alloys in dust form (ready to be welded by a nanofactory) to replacement blast doors, this bunker has it all. Sometimes piled along the central corridor and sometimes stacked from floor to ceiling in connected supply rooms, this bunker has everything we need to build an army worthy of Mordor Montana.

  I can see it in my mind’s eye. Wraith fighters attacking unsuspecting Collective bioships from the safety of cloaking fields, their weakass lasers replaced with Juggernaut plasma plasma cannons. A hundred vikings working together to bring down a Technocracy sphere, but the Azhurai… No Starcraft design seems able to combat that particular race. Maybe Protoss void rays could concentrate firepower but we lack the technology to emulate the Firstborn’s advanced tech. Tempests would work splendidly, but I repeat myself.

  I swallow, knowing their fortress is next. I’m about to get a crash course in Conglomerate warfare, real warriors, and not the sculpted scouts of their drone spam.

  “Work the problem.” I repeat, focusing on the present challenges.

  Our squad is starting to scatter more than I like, Kerrigan jogs ahead, maintaining pace with the lings but distancing herself from us.

  “Hey Kerrigan, be careful alright? You are the only one I can’t replace. Why don’t we let Helen take point for a bit.” I tight beam, wondering how many miles of tunnel are down here.

  “Pfina, I hear them.” Whispers Kerrigan, increasing her pace once more.

  She’s jogging now, running into the darkness faster than the Lings.

  “Kerrigan! There is at least one tank left down here! Slow down.” I shout, chasing after her.

  Barker easily passes me, ridiculously fit beneath his armor. Helen takes a few moments longer to catch us, and hangs a few paces behind me. Not wanting to overtake the boss. Or because she’s a coward who somehow passed that trait onto her symbiote. If Kerrigan weren’t frolicing through the death star’s trench, I would have contemplated what a host being able to influence their symbiote implied.

  It never occurred to me that Helen might have read Kerrigan’s mind and has every reason to be scared shitless.

  “Barker, keep her safe!” I shout.

  “Yessir!” He calls back, not remotely out of breath.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  In fact I can hardly tell he’s been running. The soldier is so thoroughly within his element one could mistake him for enjoying a garden traipse! We pass dozens of cubbies and storage rooms, some with dead technicians, more without. That’s odd. For Technocracy HQ we should be seeing a multilayered fortress with thousands of occupants, not a dark hole with sporadic victims of a single headshot. Dirt alone shields from EMPs once you go deep enough, a proof we see in the growing number of functioning lights. Base power is still operational. Which means the defenses are still active.

  “Kerrigan! Ah- Slow down!” I radio, panting for air.

  We’re already three miles down the tunnel, were the length purely depth, we’d be further below ground than airplanes dream of flying above ground.

  “Base power is on! Ah- Enemies! Ah- Not hit with- EMP!” I shout, my voice falling on deaf ears as the lings bolt. Ling1 and Lingling2 recognize Kerrigan as a packleader and follow her at full speed, rocketing ahead in every sense of the term ‘meat missiles’. While Barker manages to catch Kerrigan, drafting off her wake.

  She’s leading us deeper into the bunker, past turn offs and branching hallways. Any of these rooms could be a barracks or checkpoint filled with combat specialists not the technicians we are familiar with.

  “Kerrigan! Slow- Down!” I shout again.

  No lights are extinguished down here. The EMP’s effects never reached this deep underground. Our suit lights automatically dim then switch off, no longer necessary. Kerrigan is too far ahead, not listening. I touch the collective’s mind, specifically reaching out to Barker alone.

  ‘Too deep! We’ll be ambushed at this rate. Can you stop without harming her?’

  ‘Yes sir! I’ll tackle her legs and bring the suit down then dog pile with the lings sir. Might catch a shiner but she’ll be no worse for wear.’ Answers Barker in perfect old-school English. Like a particularly fit John Wayne.

  I couldn’t help it. Laughter crippled my run, howling at the man whose so verbally illiterate we named him Barker, yet possesses a mind capable of thinking so eloquently. Legs falter, forced to move by the power armor. Uncomfortable but necessary to avoid tumbling.

  I’m about to order the tackle when Kerrigan darts sideways, planting both feet and skidding to a halt before staggering back to a door she just passed. A closed door. Until now most rooms didn’t have any form of door or gate. Sure the flammable munitions had a closed and sealed blast door, but that was a rare and labeled room. Nothing out of the ordinary there. This door was raw. Unpainted and sealed. A keypad and screen are set into the side console, so mundane yet a glaring oddity in a bunker without any doors of its kind.

  Its just not their style, locked doors should have two data ports for technicians or engineers to enter their suit’s tentacles or data jacks and identify with a verbal pickup to provide secondary authorization as required.

  Purple light pours through Kerrigan’s faceshield, so bright the shield darkens to pitch black, outlining her face. Almost as if someone drew on her visor with chalk. Ironically giving Kerrigan the appearance of the first profile picture I unlocked in Wings of Liberty. She presses the buttons in sequence and the door hisses open. Air rushing out due to positive pressure. Before I can stop her both lings jump after her, Barker too, and the door begins to slide shut.

  “Kerrigan! Don’t leave me behind!” I cry, sprinting for the door.

  But her lead is too great. Seconds tick by, the blastdoor closing faster than I can run. The inevitable severing of our bond closes and latches shut before my eyes.

  “What’s the code!” I tight beam, then swear.

  We have no visual relay. The only requirement of tight beams. If I want Kerrigan to answer I’ll have to go active on the transmission and hope it's strong enough to penetrate this blast door. If anyone is alive down here, they’ll see me light up like a christmas tree.

  I’m about to blow my cover when Helen taps my shoulder, rifle in hand. She’s pointing down the corridor towards an advancing skimmer. Antigrav keeps a half dozen Technomancy soldiers afloat, each armed with a flechette pistol, shoulder mounted mortar, and most terrifyingly a medium railgun. Slow to fire but effective against all targets.

  A brown camouflage pattern coats their armor, the reason why I didn’t notice them earlier as they visually merged with the tunnel’s undied walls. Tremorsense failed to detect the antigrav sled, which really is my own failing. I’ve been overconfident. Too trusting in borrowed tools.

  “Aw shit, play it cool Helen. Let’s not start a shooting battle.” I hiss, lying through my teeth.

  Kerrigan is gone, the only ally not bonded to me by total mind control.

  What did I do wrong?

  My finger moves into the pulser’s triggerguard. I can certainly kill one of the advancing foes before the others respond, if I’m lucky the shot will cause them to bunch up and I can score a second kill. But those railguns, they’re made to penetrate medium armor. Guaranteed to pierce half my suit and probably blow out my back too. In a straight gunfight I don’t stand a chance. Helen will die, but that feels like a relief rather than a dread.

  “Please just pass us by.” I mutter, not realizing how conspicuous two soldiers with alien rifles standing outside a locked and keypadded door is.

  The sled slows, angling towards us. They’re onto us. My rifle won’t work but a grenade might, especially if I wait until they’re close and warp it under their sled. I frantically begin searching the warp HUD, so focused that I never see the six railguns rise to point in our direction, nor do I notice the door open behind me. A gauntlet closes on my shoulder, yanking me sideways as the stealth hunter pounces.

  Helen’s voice leaks into our collective mind, not angry, nor energetic, in fact it’s the cold intonation of a bored woman.

  “Oh shit.”

  She dives away from me, bringing up her rifle and unleashing a full auto maelstrom at the combat troopers. A beam of blue plasma vents from her rifle, distorting as she cloaks and rolls. Bright blue, so radically hot it burns red afterimages into my eyes, flings across the Novan soldiers like silly string. Armor melts under temperatures that belong in the sun’s core. Two soldiers are cut in half before the stealth hunter’s teeth finds prey.

  Active camouflage breaks with speed, revealing a many limbed tiger. Crystalline plates sparkle instead of fur, with chitin and elongated claws. Lightning arcs from predator to prey. Glass shatters, weakened by the electricity coursing through six soldiers at once. Six railguns fire in unison as all fingers lock shut on their guns. Teeth clench, backs arch, and I see the stealth hunter for what it is. A Wings of Liberty Predator complete with lightning field and cloak, finally living the dream of being useful.

  Saberteeth punch through a faceshield, yanking it back before the head darts into the opening, one clawed paw pinning the HELP system so the hunter can feed. Diamond teeth close on the man’s head biting through bones like a soda can-

  -Blastdoor seals in front of me, concealing the fight.

  I look back and see Kerrigan in her armor, dragging me into a painfully bright room.

  “I won’t leave you behind.” She whispers.

  Looking around the room, part of me wishes she had.

  [+6 dead and heavily damaged Novan Marines]