~’/|\’~
26th September, 2091
She stood on a tarmac road. She could feel the material, heated in the height of summer, suck slightly at her shoes, whenever she stopped, and so kept on moving. She had to keep on moving.
It was hot. Sweltering. She couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be outside here.
And yet she was surrounded by dark-robed figures, veiled and masked, a legion trudging on foot as one vast, collective organism. They were giants as to her, figures that towered above her. One was holding her hand, clutching it tight, and, she realised, half-leading, half-pulling her along with the crowd.
“Was passieren?” she asked, confused. She didn’t know, and it was confusing her. No. That wasn’t quite true. She knew, but she’d forgotten. She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t even remember remembering. But she could remember remembering that she remembered, and that was enough to tell her that something terrible was happening.
The looming figure above her stopped, and glanced down, a hint of green light visible under the hood, casting the dark material in a viridian light, before it looked away, and continued pulling her away.
There was a grittiness in the air. She could feel it, horribly dry, horribly itchy, sucking at her skin like some swarm of infernal insects. Moving her fingers of her free hand as she was pulled along, her palm felt like sandpaper.
There were guardians by the side of the road; tall, taller even than the giants in the crowd, and far more bulky, bearing their weapons in grey hands. She began to count the glimpse of their helmets she could see over the top of the masked and robed throng, eins, zwei, drei... If any of the crowd tried to leave the road, they would push them back onto the path. If any stumbled and tripped in the march along this baking road, pairs of the guardians would step onto the road ... vier, fünf... and take the fallen. She didn’t know where they were taking them, and any questions she asked of the robed figure with her at most gained her a stare, and the same hint of green light from under the deep hood, before the march continued.
... sechs, sieben, acht, neun...
She couldn’t stop the march. It was going to happen, one way or another. All she could do was try to stay upright, and stay with the giant who clutched her hand.
Another fall. ... zehn, elf... Another one taken.
In the distance, far behind her, something began to scream, ancient, horrid, and yet horrifically young; a mechanical rise and fall which rose until her teeth vibrated, the sensation dropping just as the sound did until she could feel it in her gut. She wanted to turn to see what it was, but she now knew that she had been told not to look back. She couldn’t look back. She would be in a Lot of trouble if she did, she thought with a sudden giggle.
The crowd, the pilgrimage, only picked up its pace.
...zwölf, dreizehn, vierzehn, fünfzehn...
And that was when it happened. The first sign was the sudden white light which lit the giants from behind, and cast deep, dark, hungry shadows on the road in front of them. There was a sudden wash of heat, extreme even in the already baking temperatures of the height of summer, and she screamed in terror and pain, as did the robed and masked giants that surrounded her. And then came the noise, a terrible booming thunder to go with the flash of sun-lightning.
She looked back.
The pillars of light erupted from the great city, devouring its pyramids and consuming those pilgrims which had not gotten far enough away. The wrath of the heavens came for all alike.
Screaming in pain, clutching the rods of agony into her skull which she had once called eyes, she fell to the ground.
And strong hands closed around her feet and her arms, and carried her off.
...sechzehn, siebzehn...
Asuka Langley Soryu awoke, streaming with sweat. The acrid scent of terror filled the room, the hint of red light from the nightlight plugged in at the end of the room enough to cast the place in striations of crimson and black, but not enough to banish the shadows which lurked at the edge of vision, even to her eyes.
Arching her back, sticking her chest into the air (and suddenly feeling a hint of welcome cool, for the covers had evidently slid off in the night), she took a deep, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. The gauze bandages, sealed over the sympathetic burns from the missile, were a patch of warmth, tight against her inflamed skin. Slowly, slowly, her spine lowered itself back into the hollow in the mattress, and she scrambled for the light at her bedside table.
In the soft glow, Asuka stared up at the ceiling. Then, with an effort, she swung her legs out of bed, to sit upright. No longer lit in red, it had the identical feel of so many military-type accommodations. Identical feel, and identical structure; this was a standard room design. In a sense, although she had only been here for a week, for the training at 2501 which had turned into... into what had happened today. No, what had happened yesterday, now, she realised, glancing over at the clock. She shook her head, an exhausted gesture of annoyance at how distracted she was feeling. Yes, despite the fact that she had only been here for a week, the ceiling was so utterly familiar that even the smallest quirks of design were known.
Clumsily, with stiff-feeling fingers, the girl peeled off her soaked top, the slight chill of the night air against her wet flesh a reassuring feel. Taking the drier front, Asuka dried herself off against it, further. She might as well feel more comfortable, as the top was already ruined for sleeping in, at least this night. Scrunching the sodden garment into a ball, she hurled it into the laundry basket, bouncing it in off the wall.
If one were to look at the contents of the plastic basket, one might see identical garments forming geographic strata of disturbed nights.
Asuka shivered slightly, and crossed her arms in front of her, before uncrossing them again. Why did she care about that? Either Kaji was home, and he might get a look at her wonderful body, or he wasn’t, and she didn’t need to care. Either way, there was nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, yes, after all, Nazzadi culture, insofar as one could refer to one culture, rather than a vast and complex noosphere of experimental memeplexes, didn’t have a nudity taboo, and if he did get a look at her, she could just say that she was emulating the cultural practices of Homo sapiens nazzadi.
It would probably be more convincing if she didn’t smell of hot and dampness and fear. And, always, underneath everything, the scent of LCL. It never came out, not really. Not when it was being swallowed and taken in through the lung walls and through the tear ducts and through anything exposed. There was a reason the plug suits were sealed at the neck, after all. It just diffused into the body, and stayed there. The injections and the scrubbers and the medichines and the UV-washes and the denaturing agents and the... and the everything did their best.
Their best wasn’t good enough. She could always, always smell it in her sweat. Just a hint, normally, but in these terror-filled nighttimes, it was notable to people who didn’t spend time around it, a recognisable tang of metal and blood and something to the air. Bed coverings didn’t last long with her.
She licked her forearm.
God, she could even taste it.
Sagging forwards onto her lap, Asuka stared down at the green carpet. She just wanted to sleep. It was true that she only needed about five or so hours, and could cope on less; a gift of what her grandmother had had done to her mother. It still wore her down, to live like this. Physiologically, she would be able to operate fine. Psychologically, the reddish-blond girl always wanted more sleep. That had to wait, though, as she’d feel even worse in the morning if she didn’t shower before putting on a fresh top.
But before that, there was the necessity to write down what she could remember of the dream. Her psychologist insisted on it; a problem made worse by the fact that all the dream suppressants they had tested on her interfered with the synchronisation process. Or, in one case, caused a violent allergic reaction, which had almost put her in a coma.
Which made them not an option.
Clumsily, she reached for the PCPU on her bedside table, without looking, gaze still locked on her pale feet and the green carpet which they rested on. By touch, she turned it on, and only then did she drop it between her feet, as she composed her thoughts, trying to ensure that she could record everything.
~’/|\’~
“Ryoji?”
Two naked bodies, entwined together.
“Hmm?”
“You’re good at this.”
“Hmm.” His tone was rather self-satisfied.
“Just one thing.”
“Hrhmm?”
“Shave, man!” Oxanna propped herself up on her elbows, mussed blond hair hanging loose around her face. “For... mmmrph... for fuck’s sake, shave! Stubble is not good.”
~’/|\’~
In the cold, harsh white light of the bathroom, Asuka stared at her reflection. Few would have recognised the Second Child, the confident, assertive, almost-arrogant prodigy, with her face grey with fatigue, hair soaked in sweat.
The faint scent of LCL was making her slightly hungry.
There was a hiss of water, as she turned on the tap, grabbing a pink mug from beside the basin. She filled the cup, and took a gulp, before spewing it all out, and unleashing a blister of profanity. The water went into the sink, and the tap was switched to “Cold”, before the process was repeated.
“Who the hell leaves the tap on ‘Hot’, anyway?” Asuka angrily muttered to herself. It was a brief outburst which would have been far more recognisable as the face she wore to the outside world to an outside observer, before the cold brightness of the light and the dull grey of her exhaustion snuffed it out.
The gush of water was a momentary distraction. The splash of the cold, as the jet hit the plane surface against her skin was a sudden chill quite unlike that of sweat, and Asuka flinched away, hairs already standing on end. She didn’t really have to clean herself down now, did she? She could just sleep like that, just sleep, and do it in the morning. There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that, would there?
Yes. There would be. She forced her cupped palms into the water, and splashed it over her face, massaging the water in. And then, because it really was cold, she turned around and grabbed the nice dark red dressing gown, a birthday present from Uncle Cal a few years ago, and wrapped herself in the fluffy warmth. It was only as she turned back to the mirror that she sighed. This was going to have to go in the wash, for sure. She liked this dressing gown, and didn’t want to see it ruined. And a replacement just wouldn’t be the same, for all that it would have the same structure.
Automatically, unthinkingly, she cleaned her hands, carefully scrubbing at them with soap and the nail brush. Then, with slow deliberateness, she looked down at her hands. Fine, delicate fingers, the nails cut short and, on the left hand, a little bit bitten. Asuka reminded herself that she’d have to go get some new ones, soon. Long nails were completely impractical for a plug suit, and tended just to get broken (sometimes messily) if they got too long, but it was nice sometimes, just for an afternoon, before her next synch test, to get to show them off. Before she had to trim them down, the synthetic keratin discarded, to be recycled. Just like everything else in her life.
With equal slowness, she raised her right index finger, and jabbed herself in the eyeball. She did not even blink.
The smooth, inorganic hardness of an Eye met her questing finger. As always. Just as every time she did it.
Good.
They might be able to make them look real, but they weren’t real to the touch. The surface was hard, solid, quite unlike the squishiness of the jelly-filled eyeball she had been born with. The retina was engineered for efficiency and effectiveness, quite unlike the haphazard ministrations of Darwin. They gave above and beyond peak-human clarity of vision, quite apart from the other tweaks incorporated from nature, from Nazzadi, avian and mantis-shrimp alike.
She had had them for so long, since just before her ninth birthday, periodic upgrades necessary to adjust for her growth. And that made them her eyes. Not the ones she had been born with. Her Eyes. Not anyone else’s.
She ran her finger under the eyelid, around the point where the Eye fused with her rebuilt skull. The eye socket was a weakness, an entry point, and, in more technical matters, they needed somewhere to anchor the heavily rebuilt, only partially organic sensory organ. Asuka could feel the difference between pseudo-flesh and flesh, feel the transition from conventional bone to the vat-grown variant that edged the Eye. Removing her finger, she cleaned it off, under the running water.
Yes. A shower. Good. No, Kaji might be asleep. I don’t want to wake him. If he’s here.
I could always go check...
Slowly, carefully, she placed one naked foot after another, making her way without sight (not that the low light levels were a problem for her) through the familiar corridors of the standardised housing. The carpeting under her feet was warm, even if it was a little hard, and perhaps wearing thin in places from the roughness. She placed one hand on his door, to push it open.
Asuka then paused, and tweaked her dressing gown, such that an almost indecent amount of cleavage was showing.
Through the open door, she could see that the bed was untouched, the neat sheets obviously unslept in. Again.
If she cried as she showered, alone in this empty house, then it was lost in the torrent of warm water.
~’/|\’~
As it turned out, Lance Corpral Xuan Do was actually going to be getting a medal. In fact, she was going to be getting more than one. There would be the standard White Laurel of Bravery, because she had managed to acquire a broken ankle in the fight, as well as the fact that her neck was in a cast. But she was also going to be getting the Kanala Seal, for “Valorous Deeds While Unequipped For Combat.”
The morning light, streaming in through the east-facing windows of the surface hospital, was warm; they’d moved her far enough back that there wouldn’t be any of the emfog clouds, legacies of previous battles, to cast the world into silver-lit greyness. The sight from the window was less pleasing. The Blank, the Infiltrator that she’d killed, had not been working alone. And they had succeeded in their missions, at least partially. They’d managed a lot more than putting her in here, and killing all those people in the anteroom. The wreckage of Hangars 013 and 014 were visible, the fires extinguished, but the wreckage clear to see. The bugs had managed to compromise a repair technician, she’d heard, and the damage that had caused was evident. Only one wall of Hangar 013 was still standing; the rest was just rubble, while Hangar 014 was riddled with worm-like holes around which the building had run like wax. The recovery vehicles, hauling away damaged mecha and tanks, were still trying to extract as many assets as they could, in case the Migou attacked again.
Still, it could have been worse for the NEG. If they’d managed to get access to large amounts of explosives...
Cutlery clinked, as Xuan hungrily devoured the nutrient broth that was her breakfast. Her left hand was lay beside her, bandaged and in a cast; she had managed to fracture two fingers, as well as break her ankle, and it was numb through the targeted painkillers. At least she hadn’t broken anything in her right hand, as well. She’d have been useless if both hands were incapacitated like this.
Finishing up her bowl, she stared up at the ceiling, and told the LAI monitoring her that she’d finished. It took only a short while for a nurse to show up, to collect the waste.
He was kind of cute, too. Nicely built, square-jawed, very green eyes...
“How are you feelingly, Lance Corporal?” he asked her, as he picked up the tray, and added the pile on his trolley. He glanced sideways at the machine. “You seem to be doing well.”
Xuan shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” A smile crept onto her lips. “I’ve had worse in training, actually.”
The young man winced. “Really?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yep. Fell off a wall, managed to break my leg.” The woman paused. “You can check my record. I always throw everything I can into doing things. It’s something you should always do, live for the moment. Don’t you agree?”
Inwardly, Xuan groaned. That had been a really, really bad pseudo-pass at him. God, the painkillers must be affecting her more than she thought they were. With luck, he wouldn’t have...
The man raised one eyebrow at the remark. “I’m sorry, Lance Corporal, I do have a boyfriend.”
Damn. He noticed. And is in a relationship. And prefers men. Why me? She managed to stifle the outwards manifestation of her annoyance, though, and smiled weakly. “I had to try.”
The man shrugged. “Well, I think I’ll interpret it as a compliment. But... hang on a moment,” he said, raising one finger to an ear, his left Eye lighting up to show that it was actively intercepting his vision. “Yes?” He paused. “Yes, sir. I’m actually there at the moment... yes.” Another pause, longer. “Really? Understood, I’ll inform her.”
Xuan made a curious noise.
“Um... well, I don’t know exactly how to put this, Corporal Do, but...” the man paused. “Wait a moment, that’s a lie. I do know how to put this. You’ll be getting a visit from Marshal Hassan in a few minutes.”
Xuan turned chalk white. “R-r-really? M-m-marshal Hassan, while I’m still in hosp...” She paused, and shook her head. “I didn’t expect that,” she said, forcing a smile onto her face.
The nurse smiled. “Well, he’s visiting the victims of last night’s attack on the base, and, well,” the corners of his eyes crinkled up, “well, you did manage to kill the one Blank which made a break into the base, rather than military assets. I heard they think may have been part of an assassination thing... you know, going for commanders, before it got caught in the lockdown. Of course he was going to want to meet with you,” the man said with increasing enthusiasm. “You’re a hero.”
“Oh... yes. That makes sense,” Xuan said, slowly. “Just bad luck me and all those people happened to be in the same section as it.”
The green-eyed man nodded, more seriously, the smile gone. “Yes. Indigo Blanks are very hard to detect, and... well, you did what you had to do,” he said, seriously.
Xuan nodded. “What I had to,” she said slowly. “I just wish I could have got it before it killed all those people.”
A stomp of heavy boots, and the slow, crushing steps of Centurion powered armours in the high and wide corridor spoke of the arrival of the senior officer. Taking up position by the door and by the window, the grey-armoured figures were alert, scanning the exits and windows. Compared to all this elaborate security, the Marshal himself was just another man; shaven-headed, with aristocratic, even pharaonic features and high cheekbones. His dark eyes matched his neat uniform.
“Room is secure, sir,” reported a mechanical voice through the speakers of the armour. “We’ve got all exits covered, and windows were already set to opaque.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” said Marshal Hassan, with a nod of his head. He took several steps into the room, coming to a stop at the end of Xuan’s bed. “Lance Corporal,” he said, his accent, from his childhood in the slums of old Cairo before the First Arcanotech War, still prominent, “congratulations.”
“Th-thank you, sir,” Xuan said, stuttering.
The shaven-headed man looked down at the injured woman. A small, slightly superior smile crept onto his lips. “Really, Corporal Do, you can relax a little. I don’t expect you to stand at attention. That would be a little hard in your current condition, for one.”
Xuan’s laughter was nervous, and overloud. She winced. “Sorry, sir,” she said, her face pale. “It’s just... well, I didn’t expect to get a chance to meet someone like you... um... to have you visiting my hospital bed... um, okay, now I’m babbling.”
The smile was somewhat paternalistic. “Actually, Corporal, I’ve had a look at your file.” He pulled up a chair, and sat down, by the side of her bed, on her left. “Well... what to say? You managed to survive the loss of the rest of your squad, held out against both Migou and Loyalist forces while keeping hidden enough that they didn’t find you, and managed to provide vital observational data. That alone would be impressive. Then, before you’d even cleared checks, you managed to take down, while unarmoured, a Heavy Combat Infantrywoman who’d been Blanked, by... well, by beating her to death with a rifle butt.”
Xuan blushed. Put like that, it did sound rather ridiculous, almost contrived. A look of embarrassment on her face, she massaged her right Eye with her palm. “I was just doing my job, sir,” she said. Then, with one precise, quick motion, she punched Marshal Hassan in the unarmoured thigh.
The man barely had time to look shocked, before the nerve agent in his bloodstream hit his brain. It was quick. The tiny carbon-fibre syringes, which had been hidden in her standard-issue light underskin bioweave, couldn’t carry much, nor could much be hidden without the NEG finding it, but the rigid hair-like fibres now sticking out of her knuckles still had enough to kill one man in less than ten seconds.
“Just doing my job,” Xuan Do said.
~’/|\’~
“Movement!” The tone was alert, concerned. “Camera 12, north. Looks like... yes, it’s a Dragonfly.”
There was a slight shudder among the troops. The Dragonfly classes may have different from example to example, but they were always shockingly fast fliers, with superlative stealth systems. The ideal scouts, in fact.
“Do!” the leader of Charlie Fireteam, the other half of her squad, ordered over the radio, “get those AA-Hornets set up!”
“Alpha-one’s operational,” she replied, checking the status on her casecreen, “and alpha-two is being loaded right now.” She paused. “We’ve got four Spada up, too.”
“Good. Make sure you tag’em into the Foxtrot-Oscar network when you’re done. Over and out.”
That was when the booming announcement resounded, the echoes shaking dust from the walls
“Surrender,” it said, calm and impassive, eminently reasonable. “We offer you a chance to surrender. Just surrender, and accept our entirely reasonable demands. There are much worse things out there than us, and we shall protect you from them. That is what we have done for billions of your years, and that is what we shall continue to do. Be not afraid.”
“Sanginoji progogandi,” muttered Rereny, next to her, in her irritation applying the grammatical rules of Nazzadi to an English word.
Xuan paused. Yes, that was it. She had her provisional instructions.
Eliminate all witnesses if possible, then prepare for additional instructions.
“Baguna, Nahuel, you’re on overwatch. Maintain radio silence until you have positive contact,” she ordered. “Rereny, you’re with me. Cover me while I check the feed.” The rest of her squad moved to obey.
Pulling out her casescreen, already connected up to her AICS, she opened up the control window, with codes that she shouldn’t have known, and turned back on the full-integration networking. Which absolutely, completely, utterly should not have been active when facing the Migou, and their superlative grasp of technology.
A coordinate was quickly put into an insecure datafeed, and then, before the artillery strike had even hit Charlie Fireteam, summoned in precisely on the cache they were preparing, she was up.
“Behind you!” she gasped at Rereny, her own rifle already raising, and as the woman turned, she shot her in the back of the head, a cluster of three bullets at point blank range. Settling back down, rifle aimed at the door, she took a deep breath, and controlled her voice.
“Baguna, Nahuel, get here,” she ordered, the measured tone of a NCO deliberately underlain with a hint of hysteria. “Rereny is down, needs medical assistance!”
The cautious movement through the ruins, to get to her position, was designed to make them harder targets for any snipers. All it did was meant that they were moving slower, and thus they were easier targets. The seeker took Nahuel in the chest, the explosive charge smearing him over the walls. Baguna was knocked out by the blast, bleeding from multiple puncture wounds in his SP-armour. Another cluster of bullets to the head finished him off.
Yes. Good. It was now clear.
“Operative in place,” she said, rattling off her identification code into the unsecured link. “Security is maintained. Requesting briefing.”
The voice was sibilant, thin, whispering.
Good it said. We now have access to your Armour Internal Command System. Necessary data alteration has been performed. Stand by for instructions.
~’/|\’~
“How... how, I would like to ask you, did a fucking Blank manage to get past all those scans to be able to get far enough in to be able to take out a fucking Marshal!” Colonel Oxanna swore, pacing up and down in the observation chamber. “I am going to be bringing in so many fucking internal investigators that people won’t be able to take a step without getting probed!”
Agent Kaji, in his role as the local representative of the Global Intelligence Agency looked up from his PCPU, face grim. “Because I’m beginning to suspect that she wasn’t a Blank. Even before we get back the results from the trawl. Just a common , garden-variety traitor. Mind changed through persuasion... not even trauma, that leaves characteristic mental patterns which a trawl, or if she were ever pulled in for a deep scan, might get.” He shook his head. “So much harder to catch, and...”
“... and we have a tendency to neglect that possibility, because of how we know Blanking works,” continued a female GIA agent with coffee-coloured skin, somewhat more neatly dressed than her co-worker. “That is to say, how we know that it works; Blanks can’t be turned or compromised or feel regrets... unless it serves their objectives, of course... unlike someone who just chose to work for the Migou. So we’re more scared of it. But these damn Migou operatives, they’re trained not to think about what they’re doing. Even a surface sweep from a trawl, or a parapsychic mind-reader won’t catch them.”
“Three-hundred-and-seventeen LITAAI subroutines were dedicated to an analysis of her background, as directed,” reported COEUS, its ARvatar suddenly appearing, and making several people in the room jump. “Attempting to correlate relationships, to build up who subject’s cell is. The report is now complete.”
“Thank you, COEUS,” Colonel Oxanna said, her tone clipped. “Forwards the results to the GIA, EuroHighCom, C2, and to Vice Marshal Slavik.”
“Understood, Colonel.” The virtual ‘presence’ of the TITAN departed.
“You really think we’ll get back anything meaningful?” a man in a white coat asked, one eyebrow raised. “You know how the bugs like their operational security.”
Kaji winced. “It could have been worse. Could have been another Anchorage incident.”
Most of the room shuddered at that. It had been much, much earlier in the war, and the NEG correspondingly less aware of what the Migou could do. As it turned out, what they could do was conceal a tiny amount of antimatter, approximately two milligrams, in a tiny, sorcerously reinforced arcanomagnetic containment field, planted in an adjunct to a senior member of the North American Command. It would not work now; the magnetic field and the sorcery were blatant if you were aware of what you were looking for. But back then, they had not known. The resultant blast had decapitated the Regional command structure, and in the chaos, a massive Migou attack had hit. And Alaska had fallen.
As a result, the people in this room, in the here and now, were more than a little concerned about what might be coming next.
“Do we have a secure link to Vice Marshal Slavik yet, COEUS?” Colonel Oxanna asked.
“Yes. Quantum link prepared. Please report to Communications Room 03, Colonel.”
She glanced around the room, over through the one way glass, to where the traitor was being... well, it had started as a vivisection, but after the tiny charge the bugs had evidently built into the back of her Eyes to detonate at a full level mental trawl had gone off, it had turned into a dissection. It had been just enough to release one of their tailored chemicals which caused rapid neural degradation, making her brain useless for the extraction of data. She shared a glance with Ryoji... no, Agent Kaji, in these circumstances. There was almost certainly a Migou-cult operating here. Except that wasn’t quite the right word. They weren’t cultists, in the same sense that the Dagonites, or other ENE-worshipping fools were. They were more akin to trained cells, of people who actually believed that submission to the Migou was the best thing that humanity could do to ensure its own survival. They were dangerous, because they were comparatively sane. They didn’t sacrifice people to dark entities, or set up child molestation rings, or smuggle captives off to the Dagonite camps. They just stayed in position, the rare few communications following ingenious paths to get to them. Just stayed there, living normal lives, watching, waiting.
Until they did something like this.
As she strode down the corridor, and was subjected to the necessary security checks, Colonel Oxanna Kristos really wished that they didn’t do things like this. Adjusting her beret, she entered the communications room. Only one other person was there, his image displayed in her Eyes, with the possible addition of COEUS, a nebulous blue presence, depending on how one classified the TITAN.
“Sir,” she said, saluting her direct superior. Although she was only a Colonel, an O-6, and he was a Vice Marshal, an O-9, she was nevertheless his direct subordinate, attached directly to his command. She served as his liaison, and as a field command officer; a specialist in psychological warfare and the strategic use of terror best deployed to where she was needed, rather than holding a permanent command.
More unofficially, she was his left hand, his sinister hand, for experimental projects, black operations, and things that the Army as a whole wanted kept at a step away from High Command. Things like the Army Special Weapons Division and the Evangelion Group, in fact.
Slavik paused, his image clear enough that even the beads of sweat on his forehead were visible. “COEUS,” he told the TITAN, “return the optimal strategy, assuming the Migou do attack with a Level 4 attack force.”
“Level 4?” Oxanna echoed, the data in her Eyes bringing her up to date.
“Yes.” The man’s face was grim. “That’s assuming they use all the potential assets. They’ve been planning this, Colonel. The TITANs have noted a slight shift in troop rotations over the last two months; just slightly more coming in than being cycled out, but no increase in frontline troops. And, of course, the establishment of one of their forwards repair bases for capital ships.”
The blond shook her head. That was not good.
“Computation complete,” COEUS reported. “Assuming a typical Level 4 force, there is an approximately 70% chance that they will break through at Nova Kakhovka. Forces stationed there are insufficient. If all available military forces are scrambled, the probability is reduced to approximately 55%. Casualties will be severe even in the case of success.”
Colonel Kristos leaned forwards. “And if field-capable prototypes are deployed as well?” she asked, supported by her superior’s nod.
“Unknown. There is a lack of data.”
“Extrapolate from file EVA_02_25092091, then!”
A pause. “Breakthrough probability is reduced to approximately 45%. Error bars are plus or minus 10%.”
The two humans shared a glance over the link. “Not good enough,” Slavik said.
“By pulling the majority of the forces at Nova Kakhovka back to Position Alpha-Indigo-Xray-Xray One-Zero-Zero-Six, the line can be restablished,” COEUS added. “Moreover, Nova Kakhovka will be an inviting location for their own fortifications. By pre-emptively use of strategic-yield weaponry while they set up, a favourable outcome, within the limits of this scenario, can be achieved.”
Slavik paused, leaning his head on one hand. “Define ‘favourable outcome’, COEUS,” he ordered.
“They all die,” stated the TITAN, impassively.
“That’ll do,” said the Vice Marshal. “Colonel, obtain the data from COEUS. Tell Brigadier Anama to base his plans on its scenarios.” He paused. “And there’s one more thing. About Evangelion Unit 02...”
~’/|\’~
To a human, it would have been night-dark inside the hold. To a baseline-Nazzadi, it would have been dimly lit.
But to the Loyalists, both conventional and Elite, it might as well have been midday, for all the difference it made to their implants.
Rack upon rack upon rack of main battle mecha were stacked there, ready in position for a combat drop from the inside of the Drone Ship. The faint blue lights marking the path up to their cockpits were, in fact, the main source of illumination in this cavernous space. Back in the First War, they would have been all colours; relying on a lack of cohesiveness and distinction to force the foe into suboptimal firing choice. And, more subtly, the Migou had not wished for the Nazzadi to win to easily. It had been part of their plan for both sides to be heavily mauled, such that the Nazzadi would not think of expansion into the outer system. That had been stripped from them by the grim necessities of the Second Arcanotech War, though; the same greys and greens and blues that the New Earth Government used were now also present on the Nazzadi mecha.
And then there were the mecha of the Elite. The lesser Nazzadi used units which were still built with human-level technology. They were cheap, expendable, and could be repaired by the Loyalists. The Elite did not; their machines were sleek, almost techno-organic, but approaching the line from the other side. They were not flesh merged with machine; they were machine so advanced that it had almost become flesh. In some of the more specialised ones, the pilots were fused with the machine, little more than another processing centre for the Migou-designed machinery. For the others, the cockpit was more akin to an iron maiden, an-inwards facing coffin of fine nails designed to make the flesh and the machine twinned in unity.
Red eyes. Glinting red eyes, everywhere, reflecting the hints of light like a cat’s eye.
A signal was sent around, instructions to the computational equipment in the cerebrums of every member of Homo sapiens nazzadi present, alerting them that it was time. In neat, organised ranks, they filed, climbing the ladders to their assigned craft. Slowly, the light levels in the craft increased, bringing it up to the daylight outside, to give them a chance to adjust. There was camaraderie, and bickering going on from the more normal Nazzadi, dialogue and attitudes that would have been scarily familiar to anyone from the New Earth Government.
There was none from the Elite. They knew what they had been instructed to do, and they were ready. There was nothing else that needed to be said. They would survive, or they would not; either way, they would complete their missions.
And if they did not survive, well, their knowledge would live on, ready to go into the melange which new Nazzadi, grown in the facilities in the Asteroid Belt, would be decanted with. It was immortality, of a sort; all that was worthy, useful of you would live on in others.
The hatches were sealed. The motion felt, as the Drone ship folded back up, the armoured landing area folding back as a ribcage would into its hull.
A faint buzzing. A thin whisper. The noises of one of their masters, emulating human speech through the motions of their wings.
the sensory data is such that it has been determined that the forces of the New Earth Government are retreating it whispered, in the Nazzadi language. this was expected and desired; there will be no changes to the plan. The buzzing shifted, the tone sounding almost satisfied. your duty is to strike and harass their fleeing forces, while your kin hold the new conquests until the capital defences are set up; that is all that matters.
A cheer rose through the hollow space; a jeer of victory foretold.
There was a second message for the Elite, uploaded straight to their cerebral cortices. They did not hear it; they merely remembered hearing it.
they will be targeted, it told them. they are a diversion. The facility identified as ‘Testing Facility 2501’ must be destroyed, for it cannot be captured, and cannot be permitted to exist in hostile hands. Let nothing escape.
There was no cheer from them. Only silent acknowledgement.
~’/|\’~
Asuka Langley Soryu donned her plug suit with all the solemnity of a medieval knight preparing for battle. And for much of the same reasons. The black undersuit; soft and padded, came first, covered in interface ports and conduction mechanisms. A press of the button at the neck, and the suit suddenly contracted, the memomaterials hugging up to her like a second skin. Next came the outer layer, the crimson carapace obvious to the rest of the world. “02” was emblazoned just above her breastbone; she had got permission to put the white hand and triangle of the Soli Vodi Dexti on her right shoulder. Thicker, clumsier, it was nevertheless there for a very good reason, as an impact and acceleration suit, as well as functioning as full ANaMiNBC protection should she find herself out of her Evangelion. That was vital. Berlin-2 wouldn’t be permitted to happen again. Last came the cowl, the plated material folding out from a collar on the outer skin, to cover the A10 superconducting QUI Devices. A hiss, and it sealed itself. Her face was a thin mask of pale flesh, a heart-shape rimmed by her brow line and her jaw.
All she had to do input a few commands, and the plug suit attached itself to the A10s, and to the ports for her Eyes, just under both earlobes, and she was ready. Eyes reflexively flicking back and forwards, she read the feed from the local fork of Gehirn, Unit 02’s Ouranos LITAN, and nodded once, in satisfaction. Another perfect plug-suit set up. Naturally.
“COEUS, I am ready,” she informed the TITAN, as she stretched, the bulk weighing her down. It seemed sometimes like the plug suit was accumulating mass as she got older; years ago, it has just been the undersuit, but they kept on refining the technology.
“Good,” was the LAI network’s response. It paused. “Colonel Kristos is coming to see you for a tactical briefing,” it added.
The girl tilted her head slightly. “Hmm. We will be retreating,” she said, with narrowed eyes. “I don’t like it, but it’s the only sensible thing.”
The bluish-light of the ARvatar of the TITAN pulsed in her Eyes. “Why do you believe that?” it said, in the same neutral tone.
“Two reasons, COEUS,” she said, the smirk not quite overcoming the frown of annoyance. “Firstly, after the loss of one capital grade defence, Nova Kharakhov will be very hard to hold. You’ll have been unable to properly decide what I could do in the defence due to lack of data, and the fact that my AT-Field ruins your statistical databases. And the stupidity of the Army means that they won’t be willing to risk it, even though I know that I can pull it off.”
The TITAN was silent.
“You will’ve come to that line of logic,” Asuka said, leaning forwards, blue Eyes shining. “You’re conservative, COEUS. Just something to do with how your LAI programmes interact... your personality, if I were to anthromorphise you. Like RHEA, and not like CRIUS. Uncle Cal always says that it’s funny how your emergent ‘personalities’ are different.”
“What is the second reason?” it asked, its voice even a hint more mechanical than usual.
Asuka shrugged. “‘Cause if we were going into action now, she’d have been briefing me in the entry plug, not externally,” she said with a smirk.
“Then why would I insist that you wear your plug suit?” came a voice from behind her.
“Because you’re afraid that the Migou will be targeting Facility 2501 and want to have me ready to pilot in case they break through before they can get 02 into the transports.” Asuka rolled her eyes as she turned. “It’s not exactly hard to work out. The entire fact that they’re hitting Nova Kharakhov, rather than Gladiator or Sentinel,” two of the purpose-build military facilities along the line, “suggests that they’re after something.” The girl frowned. “And the way that they got Marshal Hassan suggests they have enough infiltrators in place to know about it.”
“Continue that line of logic, then, Asuka,” said Oxanna, tilting her head slightly.
The girl smiled. “Which means that the retreat is just an opportunity for the counterattack,” she said, confidently. “You’re going to let them have 2501; why does it matter, when you’ve got rid of everything important from it, especially me and Unit 02. And considering our position... you’re going to hit them, because they’ll have to overextend to hit 2501. Which means that I’ll be spearheading the counterattack, because that’s exactly what I’ve trained to do. A Evangelion doesn’t take and hold ground; it smashes weak spots and flanks, eliminating specific targets. It’s a lance, perfect for a counterattack backed up by naval support.”
“No.” The words were flat, measured. “That is incorrect.”
“B-b-but,” Asuka stammered, “that’s the optimal use of an Evangelion, tactically and strategically! It’s what I’ve trained for! I can do it!”
The blond woman stared at the girl, dressed up in the thick, almost slightly insectoid, from the smooth lines and the bumps on the head which marked the place of the A10 clips, without overt emotions. “You are being moved back to Ostberlin-2. You are not a front-line soldier, not yet, and so it is not appropriate to use you in that fashion. You are still a Test Pilot.”
“I-I-I...” The girl was almost incoherent, before her shoulders slumped. “I understand,” she said, eyes closed and downcast. “Can’t I even...”
“No. Unit 02 is being attached to a Phoenix for transport. You will be riding in-plug, back to Ostberlin.” Colonel Kristos’ face softened. “If what I’ve heard is true,” she said, reaching out to lift Asuka’s chin, “it’s probably going to be moved over to Chicago-2, for final field tests. You’ll be able to...”
One black-gauntleted hand, the thinner material around the hands a different colour, batted the hand away. “Don’t patronise me; I said I understand,” the girl hissed, turning on her heel, and stalking off. “I’ll be getting this... this toy checked over by professionals,” she said, jabbing herself in the chest, “since obviously the Second Child can’t be trusted that her plug suit is operational on her own.”
The blond gritted her teeth, eyes narrowed, but said nothing, and let Asuka go.
~’/|\’~
Through the line of defence, the oncoming Migou forces swept; like the onrushing tide they washed away the bastions of defence, weakened by the withdrawal. The skies were filled with the booms of their hypersonic craft tearing through the air, as, below the contrails of warped air, the vast, heavy shapes of Migou craft moved their own stationary capital grade defences forwards, deploying the new additions on site. The lines had move forwards, and Containment was proceeding on the third planet in a horribly contaminated system.
This was the Aeon War.
~’/|\’~
Lovecraftian 
