“Can we fix them?” another general asked.
A pallid man in a technician’s uniform straightened and cleared his throat. “The base is too far away to force a data link without someone on site reciprocating, and no one has done so since the attack. We have no information on the enemy and without knowing what’s blocking them we can’t know how to fix the error.”
General Stinson leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “We still have a few human units, mostly Spec Ops, as Quick-Reaction Forces for this scenario. We have absolutely no info on this enemy’s capabilities. Our boys would be going in blind.”
“What about the soldiers inside? They have a whole base at their disposal for Christ’s sake.”
General Edgers laughed and shook his head, motioning toward the screen. “Engineers and technicians. Hell, we barely combat train them in Basic anymore.”
“General Einhart, do we have a more immediate plan?” The drone carrying the minister’s face hovered in place as the front-mounted cameras panned the room, likely using advanced facial-recognition software to gauge the room. No one in the room flinched, such was their comfort with the perverse mockery of human behavior by the robotic sentinels. “If not, we need to think about… we need to consider the possibility of writing this one off.”
General Einhart shook his head. “Sir, you don’t understand. When we say we have nothing on this enemy, we mean it. We cannot destroy them with no data collection. What if this is not an isolated event?”
“I need to contact the President. We need to call an emergency conference to consider our options.” At the other end of the video feed, Minister Dawn stood, preparing to end transmission. “But the only options I see are sending in men or sending in ordinance.”
“I see one other option.” General Edgers turned his eyes on Max.
Nikki shook off the impact and got to her feet. She had not taken a hit like that since her first day in the Recycling Bay when she got confused and let a crane slam a steel beam into her from behind. The pretense of being a normal human was impossible for her to maintain after that.
The creature scurried down the side of the bay wall and dropped to the floor like a cockroach. It did not hesitate or act confused by her survival. It sensed only prey and did not overanalyze the situation.
Nikki reciprocated.
It moved like a bullet, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Nikki dove out of the way as razor-like claws sliced the air above her. The tail came next, following up the attack with a stab meant to impale her like Sergeant Kaminski. She parried the blow, but the force was enough to stagger her. She dropped to her ass and scrambled back, sliding out of the creature’s reach.
Nikki halted right next to the closed-arch plasma saw, a high-grade steel cutting tool that resembled a flaming chainsaw on a lever arm attached to an 800-pound, mobile surface that she used to cut through old tank barrels.
As the creature charged, she ripped the saw from its hinges and fired it up. She took the enemy’s fingers with the first swipe. As it retreated, the tail came at her again. It did not learn quickly; Nikki did. She dodged the strike, and her left hand shot out, grabbing the tail as it passed. The blade blazed through the steel-like armor of the monster’s tail like a dry twig.
Nikki over-extended and the creature’s reflexes rivaled her own. The swipe caught her from behind, slicing into her back and sending her tumbling across the floor. She still gripped the saw, but the creature bore down on her with the frantic haste of an imminent kill.
Instead of getting to her feet, Nikki pushed herself backward and swung the saw above her head. The tool cut halfway into the sturdy pylon, but it was enough considering the weight atop it. With a loud groan, the metal gave way to drop the front end of the shelf.
The monster paid no heed to the shelf above; its focus fixed on taking her while she was still prone. At the last second it looked up and tried to reverse its momentum, but the rack of saw-cut artillery barrels rained down on it like a volley of quarter-ton arrows.
Nikki climbed atop the pile of steel tubes and looked down at the insectoid head of the creature. It focused on her and tried to move, but the wreckage had mangled its body. Nikki flared the plasma arch on the saw and bent to her task.
“I’m sorry, but… what on earth is an ASH Soldier?” General Stinson glanced around the room, flummoxed.
“Advanced Synthetic Humanoid.” Max pulled out a data card and plugged it into the table, throwing a general outline of the project up on the screen. “Genetically engineered and trained from birth to be more human than a human. Then, before seeing her first battle, we replaced her with the WASP and sent her to an outdated munitions surplus to be a glorified janitor.”
“The WASP has saved countless human lives, including those of your obsolete abominations.” Minister Dawn had taken offense to Max’s statement, as expected.
Max did not back down from the argument. “68 dead, Minister, all by suicide. Seven remain. Is that what you mean when you say you saved them? We nurtured them into warriors from conception. When we took that job away from them we took away their reason for living.”
The minister smirked, the drone camera focusing on Max even as the image on the screen remained facing forward. “Then I guess they weren’t as tough as you say.”
Max clenched his fist. “If any of my girls were on Ishtar 4, you can bet your damn company they would be fighting these attackers, not hovering overhead in indecision.”
“Actually, Mr Ishikawa, your statement is about to be put to the test,” General Einhart said. “There is a single ASH soldier stationed at Fort Preston. She works deep under the surface, away from the public.”
Einhart slid a photo of a pale, athletic woman with short, crimson hair onto the screen and Minister Dawn scoffed. “That Amazonian stripper is supposed to be some sort of super soldier? She belongs on a stage at a porn club that caters to freak fetishists, not in the field.”
“Nikki… the Beast,” Max whispered as he stood and stared at the girl on the screen.
“Was she yours, son?” the Commander General asked.
“Lieutenant Ishikawa piloted Ryoko, the Death Angel; the only ASH to see real combat.” General Edgers slid a dossier cover sheet into the lower corner of the screen. The picture was of a black-haired, East-Asian woman with a scar over her nose. The letters MIA were stamped over her face.
Max flinched at the sight of his ASH soldier. “Sir, I can pilot Nikki… if there’s still an operational Chair and we can form a connection. With a Pilot guiding her, we might turn this from disaster. If she’s there, in that hell-hole, I guarantee she’s already fighting.”
Nikki ripped her bed from the brackets that anchored it to the ground then slammed the forty-pound sledge into the wall behind it. With her adrenaline still spiking from the battle, it only took a few seconds for her to smash through the concrete. She reached into the hole and pulled the sturdy cargo chest free from where it slumbered. What remained of her combat gear was still serviceable. She wished she still had her tech or some of her weapons, but at least they’d allowed her to keep the Aerolite knife she was issued upon maturity.
She stripped out of her maintenance overalls and stretched the snug, polymer combat suit over her legs. The green and slate material reminded her of training and her skin tingled as she zipped the front over her breasts and up to her neck.
Without warning, Nikki's body locked up and an intense pain washed over her with dim familiarity. She could barely remember what it felt like to experience a forced link. The neural connection was no longer strong; a muscle she could not exercise to keep it operational. She fought her brain's reaction to the foreign Pilot and tried to relax.