Gene warrior

[Sham404 464]

Preface: I dont normally write scifi, and I havent written something this long in years, so feedback would be cool. Its inspired by me playing a lot of stellaris recently.

 

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The Ice-Dream repeats, repeats, over and over I re-live fleeting memories of my childhood. Memories predating the mortal lives of those around me, filtered through centuries of warfare and time on Ice. They end with shadows bundling me into a coffin, from which a new form will emerge.

 

I wake basking in the soft blue glow emanating from the sparse tubes of light that criss-cross the ceiling of the room. The casket pumps Heat into me, counteracting the Ice that coats my nerves, veins, and organs. The eyes are always the first to reactivate, the ocular system being the easiest to thaw, though other bodily functions are soon reactivated by the Cryo Casket. My ears come next, a slight pop followed by a rush of noise as the unnatural thrum of the transport ship is reintroduced. The sound soothes me, familiar after immeasurable years aboard the ships. The natural sounds that undercut the hum were equally familiar, as my brethren wake alongside me in the glow. The slap of flesh on flesh, on metal. Coughing, breathing, snorting and sneezing as the feeding tubes were forced in and then removed. My taste and smell returned at the perfect time for me to savour the warm plastic that snakes it’s way down my throat to deposit a nutrient load straight to my stomach, then coils back to its home in the wall of the casket. My first breath is slow and measured, as my lungs expand for the first time in… I am unsure how long. The air is sterile and dry, filters in the room labouring to purify our environment of bacteria and other contaminants - with them go most of the moisture. I exhale sharply through my nostrils, clearing them of leftover Ice to allow my second breath which sends me into a coughing fit as detritus is dislodged from my nasal cavity, to go tumbling down my throat. All the while the Casket labours, needles pricking and retracting as they deposit one chemical or another into my bloodstream, and my naked chest begins to feel the warm air of the ship. As the feeling spreads to the rest of my body, I also sense the rumbling of the ship. The vibration is ever present on these vessels, and is the source of the soothing thrum.

 

The process seems to take an eternity, I lay in the Casket shifting in and out of awareness as sections of my brain reawaken, though eventually I feel myself again. A voice from the casket asks for my attention as a holographic display asks me safety questions. 

 

What is my name? My planet of Origin? Species? The orange display begs for answers, and I oblige. Arentar Vod-Raka, Suth-Kasa, Suthari. The voice thanks me for compliance as the security of the casket deactivates, acknowledging my sanity and cognition. I recall in the past the safety procedure was far more in depth, requiring a five minute examination to get to this stage. They must have simplified the system even further in recent iterations, and I fear the day is near that there will be no check at all. The last man on my ship to suffer from Ice-Madness took four to hold him down, as a fifth snapped his neck. Even we were not designed to be put on Ice for so long, so often.

 

After giving the casket lid a moment to retract, I rise. A trail of crimson follows me as I pull out hypodermic accoutrements, leaving them to slither back into compartments of the Casket. I barely notice the blood, as the wounds quickly begin to clot. It does not happen fast enough to prevent the trail I leave behind as I cross to my storage closet, joined by dozens of my kin on either side, and hundreds more on other sections of the vessel.

 

Beside me is a large Suthari, his pale skin almost translucent in the blue light. I mark him as from the genetowers - spires of ice, inhabited by scientists who hack-job normal Suthari into beings like us, then ship them off to die. Usually they are recruited from penal colonies, offered pardons in exchange for service to the Empire. His hands shake as he dresses himself in the armor. Nerves? I wonder what crime sent him down this path, what he might have looked like before the genecrafters took hold of him. Now he has hands big and strong enough to crush Suthari skulls with ease.

 

“How long were we asleep for?”

 

His voice is deep, powerful. It fits well with the constant hum of the ship, almost blending with the background noise if not for the hoarse grating from lack of use. His eyes flit from his storage closet, to mine, to me. Him dressing slowly, seemingly still getting used to his new body. Me methodical, practiced, each piece in the proper place. It is perfect for me, though even inside it I only just reach his normal height. His is gargantuan, with gloves big enough to envelop my head entirely.

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

I grab my helmet from the closet as I respond, my voice equally hoarse. Pulling the armor onto my head, a soft hiss sounds from it. Airtight. I check the roster as my HUD flicks into place, looking for the pale man. Lortakan Vod-Tera, Suth-Hoka, Suthari. I do not recognise the planet, though with countless worlds and moons within the Empire it is impossible to keep track.

 

A klaxon blares, blue lights turning to red to cast a murderous light through the chamber. My boots click, locking me to the deck - this dance is one I am well familiar with, as mere seconds later gravity shifts, sending Lortakan and half a dozen others flying up in the sleep chamber. I grab a massive leg, suit enhancing my strength as I try to pull him back down, though he becomes much lighter when the gravity system fails. I save the man from his floating nightmare, and direct him to activate his magboots as well, and then help him with his helmet. Down the row of caskets, other warriors do the same to aid each other. I give a slight nod of approval, though none can see it.

 

The klaxon ceases abruptly, and red lights flicker out. I turn to grab what remains of my gear from the storage, though I manage only to grab my rifle before colour returns to my world in a fantastic display of lights.

 

The hull of the ship is ripped apart, exposing us to the void of space and the battle that rages not so far beyond. A million stars are drowned out by the rainbow of lasers and explosions that dance across the planet that we were sent to subdue. Sound escapes me once again as the air within the ship vents out, pulling with it an assortment of debris. I am accompanied only by my own breath within the helmet, and the clicking of my communicator as it tries to connect to a relay. 

 

II deactivate my magnets and am pulled into the void.

 

Lortakan follows suit, as do many of the others nearby - staying aboard a dying ship is a fast way to being blown up. Hundreds around me emerge from similar cracks in the layers of metal, expelling short jets of air from their suits to direct their trajectory towards the planet. Towards the ships that rage between us and it. A concussive wave brushes my back and I feel myself propelled forward, as the remains of our transport ship explode behind us, flashing blue and red, green and white. My communicator pings, indicating that it has connected to a relay, and I sigh in relief that I am not alone in the void as my ear is filled with commands, screams, and calls for assistance. I block it all.

 

As I accelerate, my mind is drawn to my childhood again, to things revealed in the Ice-Dream. There were tall tales told of a time thousands of years ago, when Suthari warriors wore metal armor not unlike what we wear today. They rode beasts to war, instead of ships, and hacked at each other with metal weapons that would barely scratch even the lightest of armors available to our forces. I wonder what they would think if they saw us now, seeds of destruction cast from the heavens to wreak havoc on the aliens below. Would they approve of our crusade against thousands of worlds, or wonder at our ways and condemn us? I shake the question from my head as another collides with me, limbs tangling. I push the man away, sending him spiralling towards another cluster of warriors.

 

The invasion was planned for us to land in drop pods, squads of ten, and unite from there as we carve chaos across the planet. That plan was a fantasy now, and we would be making individual drops toward the planet. Many would die in the process, though that is a price the Empire is willing to pay for results. 

 

Many more would die in the next few minutes, as we had to make it through the conflict first.

 

I continue to speed towards the battle. The transports had been kept back from the initial fight, and so we should have been safe from the destruction, but some fighters had split off the enemy fleet to ravage them. I can see them now, arcing across empty space back toward the conflict. Where was our escort? Make use of an airjet to spin, I saw her remains. The frigate hovered in two pieces above our broken fleet of transports, spouting blue into the void. I spin again just in time to avoid a shell storming towards me from the fleet below...I recognise the type. Railgun, nuclear, likely the same weapon that destroyed our escort. These aliens are more advanced than we were prepared for, perhaps a rival empire has been sending them gifts? No time for hypotheticals. I engage my evasive thrusters as we draw closer to the ships, dodging flak, shrapnel, missiles that have bypassed their targets and continued into empty space. No normal Suthari could survive these movements, or even enact them. But I am not a normal Suthari. The genecrafters of Suth-Kasa are galaxy renowned, and we of the third generation are one of their great achievements. Each of us stands almost seven feet tall, our skin resistance to the elements, enhanced bone density, muscles, nervous system. All to enable us to fight on par with the aliens that threaten our homeworld, to make us stronger, quicker, and tougher than whatever threats we might face in the void. Even in the Empire, it is known that Suth-Kasa is where boys are sent to become gods, for a hefty price tag. Of course military projects such as myself have only one directive when being modified - tactical asset. We are not modified as the nobility are, for beauty and politics and intrigue. Where they are made into works of art, we are made into works of death.

 

But the great minds that dictate our wars have moved onto more...indiscriminate methods of conflict. While we Suthari labour on the fringes of civilisation bringing Order to worlds forgotten, worlds lost, and worlds unknown, our cousins crush the legions of our enemies in the galactic heartlands. Cousins created by splicing the genes of the deadliest creatures in the galaxy, suitable only to be dropped upon the enemy to spread indiscriminate death. Now that I think about it, I suppose we are not so different. We are all created and launched to planets to bring death. And yet we have been cast aside like an old toy, while they are the pride of the expeditionary forces.

 

A smattering of kinetic arms sprinkles my armor and brings my attention back to the now. I scold myself, as losing focus may mean death in this situation, but I see we are almost through the battle. Ahead of me are dark clouds - I will be landing in a storm. I check my HUD roster and see that of the ten thousand warriors brought for this assault, almost half have been lost already. Some to Cryo-lunacy, more to the destruction of their transports, and more yet to the salvoes fired between ships. I thank the stars for the shielding technology that prevents our small suits from showing up on scanners. A few hundred years ago we would have lost many more to AI powered targeting algorithms, though now our main threats are explosive munitions and the odd sharpshooter

 

The big man lives, somehow still close to me in the fall. It seems I have made a friend. I check the roster again, checking ranks. Damn.

 

“Arentar Vod-Raka taking command of drop.” I grit my teeth through the message, relaying it to the capital ships that rain fire not so far behind me. A nonverbal confirmation is received from command - too good to speak to the likes of us, it seems. I know the Admiral of this endeavour despises gene-modified Suthari in all forms, so it comes as no surprise.

 

The gauge on my HUD flashes a warning as the suit begins to seize up and my visor is covered, creating a ten foot missile encased in all manner of shielding as we begin to burn into the atmosphere of the planet - I don’t even know the name. Whatever ground defences the planet has will stand no chance of killing us in this state, encased as we are. I doubt it will stop them from trying, though the worst they can do is send us off-target. Likely some of my brethren will drown. It shows how insignificant these aliens are to us, that their greatest threat is a puddle of water.

 

Within a few moments my HUD displays that we are under the cloud cover. I wonder how the weather is, now I have entered the storm. One display flashes - I was struck by lightning. Then the salvo begins, as the planetary defences kick in. Shells explode, kinetic arms deflect, all do nothing to our shields as we descend, like vengeful angels from on high. 

 

One minute of high intensity shielding, one minute for us to reach the ground. The display ticks down as I plummet. 3...2...1…I barely notice the landing, I am so well cocooned.

 

A happy ding sounds, alerting me to my success as the armor unlocks. I make use of my newfound freedom to look around me as the visor recoils, and as expected my landing alone has brought death beyond measure.

 

I stand in a crater surrounded by alien and machine in various states of destruction and dissection, fresh blood and flame the primary marker that this did not happen more than a moment ago. Nothing moves among the debris as rain falls around me, already mixing the blood and mud to hide the evidence of my coming.

 

Markers show that I am one mile from the closest of my comrades, and checking my coordinates I find myself far from my intended landing zone. The lightning must have sent me off course...perhaps I was too cocky in choosing to drop through the storm.

 

Reaching for my rifle...of course. Somewhere between exiting the ship and falling to the planet it had dislodged from my suit.

 

I glance around the charnel house. If I take a xeno weapon I mark myself for execution, and my suit likely will burn out on power before our business is done - had we landed conventionally, I would not have to worry about that, but the HIS systems are incredibly taxing on power. Hand to hand combat it is, then. Casting around, I select a suitable weapon from the debris - a simple metal rebar.

 

At the edge of the crater figures begin to assemble, hefting various weapons as they prepare to try and kill me, the invader. I recognise a number of species in their ranks already, all of which have been marked as undesirable. Hefting my newfound weapon, I set off at a sprint toward them.

 

All things considered, I am doing them a favour here. If they survive the invasion, they will all be ground down to fuel the machine that is the Sutharian Empire. Some will be processed into food, others sent to the genecrafters for dissection, while those who escape both fates will find themselves executed, or sold as slaves to our neighbours - of course, slaves have no place in the Empire.

 

As the small arms fire begins to assault my armor, I reach my first victim. The alien is short, standing only a few feet tall. Horns adorn it’s head and bare arms, with huge yellow eyes that stare up at me in fear. The weapon it wields is primitive, a simple laser rifle charged by solar energy. A swing of my rebar obliterates the head, sending pink blood flying onto his companions, and on to me.

 

As I engage in further carnage, my body automates, recalling muscle memory to send these creatures to whatever afterlife they believe in. I can only think of the Ice-Dream. How different would my life be if the shadows had not taken me from my pathetic existence? Would I still have a chance to serve the Empire as I have for so long?

 

One mile, filled with lambs to the slaughter. Hopefully the warrior there managed to grab some of his gear before exiting the ship. Already I am covered in a dozen types of blood, and when my armor fails things will get extremely messy.

 

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Edited October 29, 2020 by Sham404