Ch. 111 - Get Fucked

  "Boy, there’s a time when fear gets so big it flips, turns right into anger. Happens when ya feel like you got a shot—like maybe you can fight back. Don’t always get that chance, but when ya do? It’s good. Real good.

  But listen, you gotta pay attention. Can’t let that anger take the reins, ‘cause it’ll run wild if you let it. Easy to hurt the wrong folk, thinkin’ you’re doin’ right.

  And when ya realize what you done? You’ll cry on your fight, boy. That’s a hurt that don’t go away easy.

  Seen it happen too many times. Is sad, it is."

  – Aunt 'Auntie Care' Carroll, giving advice to her young shadow, May 2056

  ***

  Explosions thundered a few kilometers away, and alien bodies were torn to pieces.

  I'd tried killing a Fourteen with the 75mm rounds, but I'd only blown huge, bloody craters into their skin. It'd be enough to destroy the fast transports eventually.

  We would've been surrounded by the time I would've gotten rid of the first half.

  So, Combat Command continued shelling the more opportune targets in the back before they would inevitably compound the problem, while I identified effective mine combinations…and took care of Leah.

  Relief beat in my heart at Leah's quick recovery, but also worry that she'd been so close to the edge again. I'd recognized those shadows in her eyes. The panic. We couldn't have afforded another flashback.

  Ypsi had successfully fixed the worst of the damage threatening our mobility, but the Fourteens were still only a minute or two away from catching up. And the Twenty-Eight turned towards us. Leah started hyperventilating again, but I kept petting her spine.

  "Leah," I said, lifting her chin so she'd meet my eyes. They were swimming with tears and I saw a lot of fear in the lines of her face. "We're okay," I whispered, "we can handle this. You'll have a big gun soon, and then you can smash shell after shell through that ugly fuck's face, okay?"

  "Y-yeah," she said, and I heard the echoes of her earlier crying voice. So I nuzzled her forehead and petted her, and kept reminding her that we were samurai and had the tools to deal with everything.

  Leah's clawing against the panic was a visceral energy. I wanted to stare in awe as she refused to give in. But I knew that she needed me to have her back, so I guided my attention back to the battle.

  We were getting more and more boxed in, with only minutes to go before we'd be caught.

  …

  Maybe risk the forest for a bit, to buy time? But it'd slow us down more than them. They have the mass and tools to run right through the trees and we…do not. Nah. Better not.

  Bombs it is.

  Pushing the list of specifications I'd developed through the Quanta, I said, "Tynea, can you spawn these inside the airlock so they'll fall out?"

  I can. Timed triggers, remote-controlled, or proximity detonators? Costs an extra point.

  "I've got Combat Command, let's do remote-controlled," I replied with a mental nudge to the bud, who sent me a happy salute. Cute. I was gonna be surrounded by adorable, wasn't I? Beset by lovable on all sides. I couldn't imagine a better world and the thought made me snort and grin. Leah snuggled deeper into the side of my throat.

  The metallic plink-plonk of pairs of oversized grenades bouncing through the airlock joined the general cacophony of the smaller cannons running through their magazines, and of the rolling thunder of the electrolasers cooking Ones.

  We dashed along at sixty miles an hour, ever closer to the edge of the forest, and the Fourteens hit the first mines seconds later. I sensed Combat Command sending detonation commands, and several bus-sized aliens disappeared into huge, off-white clouds of a foamy material that grayed out as quickly as it hardened.

  The second set of bombs went off beneath the tumbling voluminous shapes. Meter-long spikes of metal as thick as my arm shimmered into existence and lanced the cloudy-gray concrete stuff and stuck fast. As the Fourteens rolled, the impromptu spikes stabbed into the ground and pinned them, like needles through maggots.

  I almost laughed at the helplessly wiggling legs sticking out of the hardened concrete—or was it cement?

  The same happened to the remaining Fourteens with varying degrees of success, and Leah and I breathed sighs of relief. It wouldn't last long—the thinnest concrete cocoons were already cracking, but we'd gained a few minutes.

  I tugged the airlock closed with my tail, and looked at Leah. She moved her head to the side so my chin wouldn't knock her on the head.

  "Hey love," I said with a smile, once she'd met my eyes. "Think we can install your new cannon now?"

  "Mm." She nodded.

  The spider slowed down, but Leah suddenly got big, panicked eyes and started running again, at an angle to the forest we were rapidly approaching, panting heavily.

  "Aww, aww," I murmured, dragging her up so I could squeeze her properly. "What's up?"

  "C-can't stop moving! It'll catch me again!"

  Oh.

  I carefully smoothed the wrinkly fear from her face, peppering her with lots of little kisses.

  "Do you think you'd be able to stop if we seeded the area with tremor sensors?" I asked Leah with a gentle voice.

  She shivered, hesitated, but nodded again.

  "Okay. Let's see. Tynea?"

  The seventy-five millimeters are about to run out of ammunition. Shall I replace the grenade of the first shell of each magazine with the relevant sensors from your Class I Antithesis Lures catalog?

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  "That sounds like a plan, yeah."

  Understood. The final rounds of the current magazines will be used up in…five seconds, now.

  "Oh, crap!" I scrambled from the egg, carefully balancing a discombobulated Leah while the spider stumbled from her surprise, before placing her back inside the creche.

  I studied the gorgeous—if a little roughed up and unhappy—redhead for half a moment and nodded to myself. My tail flashed forward to weave a soft five-point harness for her while I stroked her cheek.

  "Leah, wanna equip your prosthetics?" I asked. The guns fell silent and needled me with impatient, digital pokes to be reloaded. But our pilot's wellbeing was just a little more important. "I think that'd be a good idea right now."

  She nodded hurriedly and her crash couch popped out so suddenly it almost knocked into me. I hopped to the side and laughed a little as I leaned in to give her a quick peck on the lips while the creche's robot arms re-limbed Leah.

  The reshuffling had done her good. It had broken the pattern again and forced her into the present. She looked a lot more composed now, even if she was still quite shaken. But the stress and sudden fear were leaving her, bit by bit, and that pacified my own anxiety.

  I smiled gently and whispered, "Be right back, love."

  She looked up at me, finding connection in my eyes.

  "Yeah."

  "Keep the spider stable for me, okay?" I asked.

  "Mm." She nodded with a smile. It was a bit weak, a bit jagged, but…a smile it was.

  I straightened up and braced myself against the low ceiling with one hand, before I looked around.

  Front-facing guns first, I thought, they need to prep the area we'll stop in. And Leah will be able to see me while I handle those. That's good.

  So, I stepped past the airlock and crouched down a little to fit into the tight space at the abdomen's front, careful I wouldn't smash my antennae into anything if the spider lurched.

  I knelt right next to the first magazine. No rounds inside, slot at the top.

  "Tynea?"

  I will teleport the rounds upside-down into the slot. Use your free hand to make sure they stay there until the conveyor has grabbed it and begun moving it.

  "Gotcha. Go."

  The first shell appeared, and I immediately pressed my palm against it. I had only split-seconds to notice the warhead's transparency, with some complicated machinery inside, before a claw whisked the thing away with a clunk, to travel to the gun's chamber.

  Something bouncy smacked into my hand just strong enough to knock it free from the slot.

  I blinked. That had taken less than half a second.

  "Huh."

  Next one.

  A cartridge with a slightly different tip appeared. Non-transparent, color-coded stripes. High-explosive fragmentation? Definitely a grenade, anyway.

  The spider lurched slightly and I hurriedly shoved the tipping round back into the slot.

  Whisk, bouncy smack, repeat.

  I got into the groove, and the entire magazine was reloaded in only six seconds.

  "Huh…" I said again.

  Mission Control sent a fire plan to Combat Command, and the first sensor went flying with a mighty thump from the cannon just beyond the spider's skin. The magazine clicked, and all the rounds hopped a slot.

  Tinea, I'd like to replace that shell immediately. Ready?

  "Oh, yeah. Sure."

  And in it went.

  The next magazine's just behind you.

  While I busied myself getting all the magazines reloaded, I got to thinking.

  These seventy-fives were very cheap weapons from a Class I catalog, sure, but the moment that I left Daddy-Long-Legs' insides to do battle, Leah would need to disengage every few minutes to reload these secondary weapons.

  That wasn't really practical.

  Hmm. Well, that's really up to Leah, isn't it? Her mech, her choice. Heh.

  I still shot her the idea.

  "Mm." She nodded, hugging me after I'd finished my reloading trip. "There's an add-on for those magazines I can let Ypsi install to automate them fully. She'll do that along with the one-oh-five."

  "Speaking of which, we've got the sensors prepared. Ready, Leah?"

  She shuddered a bit, but nodded determinedly.

  "Good," I mumbled, nibbling on her shoulder to give her something else to think about.

  ***

  Leah was hyper-aware of her surroundings as she slowed Daddy-Long-Legs from his mad dash.

  Sharp cracks and dusty crunching pinged her microphones as the Fourteens struggled to free themselves. Mud splashed as thousands of single-digit Antithesis sprinted and broke the ground with their claws. Far-away trees splintered beneath the weight of larger double-digit models closing in on the battlefield.

  And worst of all, that which ratcheted up her need to get away, the heavy stomping of the Twenty-Eight as it slowly picked up speed from a mile-and-a-half away.

  Heading right for her.

  A cold bead of sweat sent shivers down her back. The tip of her nose felt numb and her lips trembled, but she clenched her teeth against the rising panic and shoved away the bleak helplessness.

  "I'm fine. I'll be fine," she whispered to herself, flushing slightly when Tinea smiled at her. Ypsi's voice floated through her brain.

  There's no need to be embarrassed about a bit of panic. Tinea's, um, a good girl, and she gets it. She's no dummy.

  "Mm."

  Leah drew a deep breath, and brought the mech to a stop. She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe out again.

  Every slight tremor under her feet made her twitch, but she clamped down on it, even as she compulsively kept checking the sensor readouts.

  Still clear. The vibrations were from the Twenty-Eight stomping along, and from an army churning through the mud. Not something about to tear her legs off from beneath.

  Hot panic flashed through her and Leah wheezed with it. But then a ripping, raging anger pierced the veil of fear and her metal fist hit the edge of the pod with a clang that had even Tinea flinching. Leah was pissed.

  I'm not a fucking victim. Get off your ass, Leah!

  "Okay, Ypsilon. Go," she growled.

  Yes, ma'am! said the AI cheerfully, and Leah felt her stressy and tumultuous whirl of emotions corralled by her virtual partner's playfulness. It was as if her friend had said fuck it, and tossed a pool of blasé bouncing balls at her. Leah snickered under her breath as her shoulders dropped and her head fell back against the cushions.

  Knowledge blinked itself into her brain; certainty of how to use a big gun downloaded and installed. She was the pilot, and as per Warforge Technologies, the pilot was part of the machine. In her mind's eye, fed by the piloting implant, a multitude of slots and hatches opened across the top of the spider's thorax. Between one blink and the next, the mean-looking shape of the one-oh-five autocannon and its turret settled onto the mech.

  Daddy-Long-Legs flexed under the additional weight. Leah shifted and twisted her body, and found the balance to be…just a little marred by the missing leg. Not enough to matter, regardless of how much it stoked her panic.

  She breathed past it.

  The weapon embodied the Warforged aesthetics. It was the elegant dance and the brute brawl combined in an uncanny, fuck-off package of impossible blacks, golden curlicues, and misting highlights.

  A deep hum went through the mech as a heavy shell jumped from the ammunition storage within the thorax directly into the new gun and a pair of coils energized to give the exotic projectile the spin it would need to wreak its violence.

  Yeah.

  Leah focused all of her anger, all of her fear, and all of her stress at the Twenty-Eight that had hurt her so.

  Get fucked.

  ***

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