Nikki? Nikki, are we linked up?
The voice was in her head. For a moment she thought it might be Gavin and elation filled her. But the voice held a different accent, sounded older. It was not her Pilot.
“Connection is green. Nikki, call sign: Beast, awaiting orders.”
Maximus Ishikawa, call sign: Shogun, assuming Pilot Chair. What is your status, Beast?
She recognized her Pilot as soon as he stated his name. Lieutenant Ishikawa had piloted Ryoko throughout the training. “I am five-by-five, sir. I encountered an unidentified Tango seventeen minutes earlier. Tango was threat level red; it killed Sergeant on Post and came at me.”
Where is the Tango now, Beast?
“Tango neutralized, sir. I subdued it with an improvised trap of old artillery barrels and then decapitated it with an industrial plasma saw. As the Tango was unknown, I quartered it and inspected its internal structure to ensure death.”
You cut it into pieces?
“I had to be sure, sir.”
She could feel his laughter in her head.
Beast, I will upload all the intel we have. The higher-ups are still crafting your mission parameters, but here's the situation: as far as we know, the base is overrun. We have little intel on the attackers, and that’s the problem. However, the drones keep all recorded info and reports on a shared data cloud. If you can make it to the hangar bay on the top level, there should be ships with AI on board who have access to this data. That’s your way out, Beast.
Nikki finished gearing up and returned to the recycling bay. No other creatures had entered yet. “Sir, all I can tell you is that the enemy is incredibly dangerous and its internal makeup is biotechnological. Sending you images now.”
Nikki looked through what remained of the creature. Through the Neural link, her Pilot uploaded the feed from her eyes into the computers at Central Command.
Beast, right now we must assume the WASPs will never break free from this glitch that keeps them from recognizing the Tangos. If there are any survivors up top, they are not equipped to defend against something like this. I will upload the mission parameters as soon as I have them. For now, I want you to locate weapons — anything you think will be effective against these things, and button up. You're going into combat.
Sergeant Lancell checked on what remained of his staff as a few of the heartier engineers worked on the barricade at the only entrance to the Human Resources office. His secretary, Private Fialto, lay across a cot, her left leg shredded from the ankle halfway up her thigh. The painkillers helped, but every time Fialto glanced at what was left of her leg, Lancell could see the havoc it wreaked on the private’s mind.
“Why aren’t the WASPs firing?” Lancell looked up into his subordinate’s frenzied eyes. Though numbed to the pain, she gripped the side of her cot until her knuckles whitened. “They just floated there, Sergeant. That thing sliced Renfro right in half then came straight at me and tried to filet me like a damn halibut… the WASPs didn’t do a damn thing. I thought they were supposed to protect us.”
Sergeant Lancell gripped her shoulder but he had no answers.
He stood and looked around at the others. When he spoke, he kept his voice just loud enough to be heard. “I need someone to take inventory — anything and everything we have available. Prioritize tech and communications… we need to find out who else is out there.”
“Sergeant, uh… shouldn’t the Colonel be giving the orders?” Private Holiday had been in his office for sporting a non-regulation Mohawk when the invaders hit.
Lancell straightened and took another look around. A female in an officer’s uniform sat along the wall, staring off into the distance. On her collar was a subdued black bird with spread wings. Amid all the chaos, he had not immediately noticed her.
He walked over to where she sat and stood at attention. “Ma’am, it appears you are in line for command—”
“I’m not, Sergeant.” The woman cut him off and broke out of her stare to look up at him. Her eyes held as much fright as Private Fialto, if not more. “I… can’t. You, Sergeant… you’re doing well. Please, whatever you need to do… you’re in command.”
Sergeant Lancell nodded. He did not bother with a salute and, considering the combat zone they found themselves in, figured he could argue his decision if needed.
He turned from her and made his way back through the cramped office. “I need some kind of communication, soldiers. Get me something I can reach out with.”
As if on command, a voice drifted from near the back of the office, near Private Holiday. “Beast to Home Station, calling anyone up top.”
Sergeant Lancell snapped his gaze to where the voice emanated. “What is that, the intercom? Private, find it and drop the volume, now.”
Any of the survivors who could still walk crowded around as Sergeant Lancell took control of the comm link and answered. “This is Sergeant Lancell; I copy. Who am I speaking to?”
“Call sign: Beast, Sergeant. I am currently in the Recycling Bay. Give me your coordinates and I will make my way to you. Over.”
“Someone’s still alive in the Recycling Bay?” Sergeant Lancell looked over at the green Private. “That’s deep below us; at least a thousand feet.”
Sergeant Lancell depressed the comm button. “Negative, Beast… whoever you are. Topside is overrun. I say again, topside is overrun. For your own safety, stay put and do not rely on the WASPs; they are on the fritz.”
The voice came back, cold enough to match the attitude of the invaders. “Sergeant, if you want to live, you will tell me where you’re at and then keep radio silence until I reach you. Do you copy?”
Sergeant Lancell glanced at the other soldiers gathered around the comm link. They all wore puzzled expressions. If this were a drill, they would laugh their asses off at the jack-ass who had watched too many action movies during R&R. Whomever spoke on the other end of the link seemed to know they were under siege and by something sinister, yet they still insisted on emerging from what had to be the safest place on base.
He depressed the link once more. “Soldier… who are you?”
“It doesn’t make any sense. Why females?” Max could hear Minister Dawn’s drone hovering behind him as he fine-tuned the synaptic calibrations to strengthen his link to Nikki. They had wasted too much time talking already, but the Minister still worried about his corporate interests and would not let his skepticism rest. “You make men for combat; anyone knows that.”
“We tried males first,” Max said. “The genetic treatment kept causing them to process protein incorrectly. They naturally bulked up too much in training, which caused their mobility to plummet.” Max finished his work and launched himself into the Chair. “The females did not have this issue. Since we were, at the time, warring with Fundamentalists, we also speculated the enemy would underestimate female soldiers… as you just did.”
“Well, it doesn’t appear this enemy goes easy on either gender.” Minister Dawn’s drone glided over to the uploaded photos of the alien creature and the man on the screen shuddered. “She’s a hell of a killer, I’ll give you that much, Lieutenant. But if she had a time with just one of those things, what can she be expected to do against a dozen?”
Max fitted the cranial controls into place and stared forward, bracing himself for the link. “Find a good seat, Minister. I’m about to show you what an ASH Soldier is capable of.”
A sword?