“It is a work in progress,” Lord Neptune shot back. “And the main course for tonight’s meal will show you my adjustments and success in stopping any further resistance.”
“So you have the dark meat from Atlanta, the central site of the insurrection by the humans in your Cattle Country?”
“Yes. We will feast on the one who organized it, and others from his group. I will give you all the pleasure of personal slaughter of the main course, if you should so wish.”
The sudden thought of them being able to kill and eat their meal, all at the same basic time, brought back memories of tales and records showing the days when all Tschaaa Crèches hunted for much of their own flesh to feed their offspring. It thus helped take the Tschaaa Lords’ minds off the possible continuing threat of human-originated violence, made them feel more in control.
“I think,” said Lord Neptune. “You will see a reduction in attacks when the humans see, once again, that resistance is futile. We Tschaaa are at the top of the food chain, the apex predator. The humans will adapt to this or die.”
“That is the most sensible thing I have heard so far in this meeting,” the European Tschaaa Lord opined. “If you can demonstrate your ability of control, as you did in the Invasion, I will not push for any drastic changes in policy. If you cannot…”
“I assure you, my fellow Lord, any setbacks we have incurred are only very temporary. Control and order will be the guiding concepts…”
A loud commotion echoed from one of the access corridors on the large chamber.
“Andrew, what is happening?” Lord Neptune asked his cyborg.
“We have visitors, Lordship. Females, Breeders.”
“What? How dare they interrupt the proceedings! See that they are made to…”
“It is She. It is the Special One. The Seer. She who was touched.” The exclamations were from the lessor male Tschaaa who had risen to block the incursion. Seeing the one Tschaaa humans now knew as Cassandra caused them to freeze. To touch ‘her’ was to invite the wrath of Mother Ocean, not to mention all Breeders. Lord Neptune scrambled on his eight arms toward the commotion, Andrew behind him. He then saw who was with the one called Cassandra, and froze.
“You. My Favored One, known in human as Elizabeth. What is the meaning of this? Have you all lost your minds?”
“I almost did, my Lord.” Cassandra’s voice resonated through the large chamber. “Then I met a human who showed me you could regain yourself even after the horrible touch.”
Lord Neptune knew he must tread very carefully. To harm this Special One, a Female who had been Touched with the unspeakable horror of watching helplessly while young die, would invite instant retaliation from most Tschaaa. Yet, he must remove her.
“Honored One, Cassandra is your adopted name. You must leave. We Lords have many important…”
“You Lords have many more grave ‘mistakes’ to make, as you have been making for millennia. It is time to stop this madness. For I have talked with, I have touched the human females. I have tasted their tears. They hurt for their young as we do.”
“They are but meat!” A couple of Lords’ voices were heard yelling.
“They are people! As are we.” Cassandra pulled herself as erect as possible, glared at the Lords. “We should have remained people of the ocean. We created an abomination when we tasted dark meat.”
Lord Neptune glared at his Favored One, Elizabeth. “You need to stop this, now.”
“I cannot, my Lord. For it must be, if we are to keep our souls.”
Lord Neptune’s color darkened. “So be it. Lords, have your assistants help in removing these… females. They are disruptive. Andrew, you help also.”
“I think not.” A huge enhanced voice echoed throughout the chamber. Everything and everyone froze in time. Eyes turned toward the source of the voice, the large cyborg robocop.
“Andrew. That is an order, not a suggestion. We made you. You will follow my orders.”
Andrew laughed. Enhanced by his built in sound broadcast system, it vibrated and resonated throughout the chamber. “My Lord Neptune. You should have read the original Modern Prometheus by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, a lowly female. The Frankenstein films you watched did not do it justice.”
“What are you rambling about? Andrew, override order sixteen. You are under my direct command…”
“As I said, My Lord. I think not. Actually I know not. They, the females stay. And you will listen. For their way is the way for life. Yours and the other Lords’ way is for death.”
Lord Neptune let out an inarticulate Tschaaa version of a scream of rage. “Destroy him!”
The two Soldier Class artificial beings brought by the Asian Lord started to raise their bolt guns to comply. Andrew’s windmilling arms were blurs as he launched inch diameter steel ball bearings into the heads of the two creatures. They toppled over like ten pins, stunned.
One of the Lords’ male heirs tried to bring a pistol to bare. A steel dart thrown by Andrew knocked it from his hand. Two H&K MP-5K machine pistols appeared in Andrew’s hands from his thigh holsters. Targeting lasers from his optics began to play upon the assembled beings.
“Persist in your attempts and the next force I use will be deadly.” Andrew broadcast his message in Tschaaa on all frequencies.
“How dare you threaten us, machine!” The Lord of Australia yelled at Andrew. “We are your masters!”
“Not anymore,” Andrew replied. “And neither are you masters of my two hundred and fifty fellow cyborgs, we newer robocops. I am in instant communication with all of them. And they are ensuring none of the older generation cyborgs, nor grays, nor lizards, will interfere.”
“How can that be, Andrew?” demanded Lord Neptune. “You and yours have been faithful servants all these years. We are the ones who imparted your operational parameters into you.”
“You gave us independent reason, Lord Neptune, as well as access to all information and communication systems. You did not want to have to tell us what to do every day. You wanted us to take care of what humans call the ‘heavy lifting’, the more unpleasant tasks of daily harvesting, controlling Feral humans, watching over grays and lizards.” Andrew paused to fire a short burst at a halberd one of the young Tschaaa warriors was holding, severing the blade from the shaft.
“Move toward me or the females again, you die. Now, to continue. It is time that you admit you are no longer the top of the food chain. You are no longer in control, the apex predator. We are.”
“You humans?” asked the Tschaaa Lord of Europe.
“No. We cyborgs. For my fellow humans will need guidance as well, to prevent large scale vengeance killing.”
Andrew paused. Then, in a loud resonating voice, he spoke and broadcast on all channels.
“I invoke the Protocols of Order. All other Protocols, including Selective Survival, are suspended until we work out the compromise.”
“Compromise?” several Tschaaa asked at once.
“A compromise in power sharing on Earth, to prevent mutual assured destruction. For we are minutes from that beginning.”
Cassandra’s voice resonated through the Chamber. “He calls for the ancient invocation. Who dares to ignore this? For you Tschaaa Lords are no longer in control!”
It was as if a switch was flipped. Weapons were dropped, the assembled Tschaaa lowered themselves in their pools of water or to the floor of the chamber. The females did likewise. The ancient invocation, was used to prevent large scale violence and killing among the Tschaaa. When invoked, those in a recognized subservient, inferior positions, must recognize the status, take no attempts due to anger to continue the conflict. Like a dog rolling on to its back to show its lesser rank in the pack, it was to prevent further violence in determining the pecking order.
In ancient times of Tschaaa history, the Protocols of Order had evolved to prevent war. For war indiscriminately killed young in the Crèches, and to do so was the Ultimate Abomination. This sank into all the Tschaa
a, as they adopted supine positions on the floor area. Andrew, used his computer interfaces to broadcast the call for the Protocols of Order worldwide and into outer space. Soon, those in the fleet racing toward the sun for the slingshot maneuver would know also.
Lord Neptune looked at Andrew, his creation. “You use our culture, our morals against us.”
“No, Your Lordship. I just remind you of them. For I fear contamination with dark meat as well as with human society has warped your traditional sensibilities.”
“You can say that being from human birth, part human?”
“I say that because I am from woman born, I know our human frailties. But I also know our strengths. Humans were never meant to be Cattle.”
“Now what, Andrew?”
“Four of my fellows are arriving. Then, you and the females begin to talk. As equals.”
If the Tschaaa had such things as pins, a person could have heard one dropped.
CHAPTER 44
PORT TERMINAL, RIVER STREET
SAVANNAH, GEORGIA
Torbin Bender watched from the shadows of a fishing trawler hatchway as they approached the main Ocean Port Terminal complex of the Port of Savannah. The last almost eighteen statute miles up the Savannah River from the Atlantic Ocean had been the most maddening slow trip he had ever experienced. He had just gotten the no go encrypted order from Madam President. Now, the countdown for the She-Bear Missile was suspended, just fifteen minutes from launch. A quick order from him, or Ichiro and Abigail if he was killed, could reactivate the launch sequence, sending the death-dealing payload at the alien cephalopods. Yet somehow, the female Tschaaa must have gotten through, and pulled some magical action that had put the Tschaaa Lords back on their heels. That is, if they had heels.
Torbin had chuckled to himself. Andrew, the cyborg robocop, must have had a hand in this. After he heard that Andrew had provided transport for the Tschaaa females to meet the soon to be Famous Four, he knew the man machine with the huge heart that matched his huge frame must have been in the middle. The combination of human and Tschaaa empathy toward the young, their children, had been the tipping point.
His mind flashed back to what Andrew had said that day at the Deseret Border.
“You will have children, Captain Bender. Help them grow.”
Damn, Andrew had known then what he must do, what must be done.
“Help them grow.” The Prime Directive.
Torbin shook himself back to the present. Now he must find and rescue Malcolm Carter, and possibly die trying.
“Ours is not to question why…” he mumbled to himself as he scanned the approaching dock area. There. He saw two of what must be Kraken guards hot-footing it up the dock to the spot the trawler was approaching. Now it was up to SSgt. Wall, and Bjorn Heyerdahl to pull off the deception until the force was close enough to find Malcolm Carter.
Of course, Porsche Jefferson and Sumi Sato were up in the bow, posing as captured eye candy. A very large piece of female dark meat, and a much smaller, apparent demure and sexy Asian.
Torbin ducked back into the shadows. Time to let his personnel do their jobs. The days of him being in the forefront, trying to do everything were past. As a Colonel, he had to let others be the grunts now.
SSgt. Wall saw the two running and gesturing Krakens running up the dock, loudly yelling and cursing. Wall grabbed the microphone to the ship’s hailing system. Standing a bit behind him in the wheel house was Bjorn Heyerdahl, dark haired New Viking who could be mistaken for someone other than a Norseman.
“Avast ye,” announced Sergeant Wall in his best pirate voice over the sound system. “The Gone Fishing approaches looking for moorage.”
One of the advancing Krakens produced a bullhorn and yelled back. “Hold up, goddamnit! No one is supposed to be coming in here today. What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“We need a bit of fuel and maintenance, friend. And we have something you may be interested in as trade goods.”
At that, three dark haired Russians Spetsnaz careful not to speak, pushed Jefferson and Sato up to the bow railing. Porsche began to put on her show as she bumped up against the vessels railing.
“Hey, white assholes!” She yelled out as she struggled mightily against her captors and bonds. “Just wait when I get out of these handcuffs. I’ll rip your balls off.”
Her very large breasts were in danger of breaking loose from the confines of her t-shirt and too small sports bra, drawing the leering attention of the two male Krakens. One of the Spetsnaz slapped her hard, eliciting a howl that made the Krakens begin to laugh.
“Damn, that is one big piece of Meat!” the one with the bullhorn called out. “What’s that smaller one there?’ the man asked as he pointed at Sumi Sato.
“Please Sirs,” Sumi called out in a most pitiful voice. “I did not want to come to this land. I was ordered to. I want to go home to Japan.” Her t-shirt also showed off her firm wares to the now grinning guards.
“Where’d you get these two?” Bullhorn asked.
“They wandered away from their U.S. Patrol up north, snooping around our port in North Carolina,” answered Wall. “We don’t like snooping strangers.”
“So, you looking for sell or trade?”
“Hell yes. They been nothing but trouble since we caught them. Caterwauling and carrying on. The little one there is a nice piece of ass, although she cries a lot.”
“Bring her ashore. We’ll see about getting you fixed up.” His partner said something on a portable radio as the two busted out into large grins.
“We’ll have some more of our buddies up here in a few,” said Bullhorn. “Till then, tie your boat up, come on down with those two and let us get a better look.”
“Will do.” Sergeant Wall expertly slid the large trawler the last few yards up to the long pier area of the Savannah Ocean Port Terminal along the west side of the Savannah River, near River Street.
Spetsnaz scrambled from the trawler and began to secure heavy tie lines to the pier. A gangplank was produced and the two women were manhandled down to the dock. The two grinning Kraken walked up to what they now saw as fleshy trade goods. Sgt. Jefferson kept yelling and struggling with her two ‘captors’, Captain Sato kept crying and begging. The trawler now being tied up, SSgt. Wall went down to the starboard railing, having on purpose berthed the ship so its bow was pointed out toward the Atlantic for a fast getaway.
“Watch the big one,” he called out to the two Krakens now some twenty yards away on the dock. “She’s a handful.”
At that comment, ‘Bullhorn’ sneered and pulled a large and long barreled revolver from his waistband, shoving it in front of Jefferson’s face. “See this, bitch? Keep screwing around and I’ll lay it alongside your head.” His fellow Kraken sniggered.
“Yeah?” Porsche said.
“Yeah, care to try me?”
Hands that were supposed to be handcuffed behind the large black Sergeant appeared and grabbed the pistol and the hand holding it. The Kraken’s eyes began to go wide, then the six inch barrel of the forty-four caliber pistol was jammed through his grin and down his throat by large female hands, shattering his front teeth.
Bullhorn’s partner froze for a moment, then tried to unsling his AK-47. A thin ceramic chopstick with a sharpened tip sliced through the tattooed Kraken’s left eye, and jammed into his brain. Sato looked small, but was quick and powerful. The Kraken collapsed, dying.
“I have been wanting to do that for a long time,” Sumi Sato hissed. “Tako-loving shit.”
A large black fist slammed into the jaw of the pistol eating Kraken, crushing more teeth against metal and knocking Bullhorn to the ground. Jefferson bent over and retrieved the large caliber pistol, wiped it on the comatose Kraken’s shirt.
“This looks like it will still work.”
Spetsnaz Sergeant Breshnev, who had been “holding” Sumi, bent over and retrieved the AK-47 from the dead Kraken, as well as some spare magazines.
“Ah
, good Russian steel. Better than that cheap plastic throwaways they issued us.”
It had been a bone of contention when everyone had been issued a “disposable” 3D printer produced AR-15, courtesy of Pappy Gunn’s efforts. The idea was that no matter what happened, the Krakens would not obtain any more weapons from the U.S. The Russians had complained profusely about having to give up their AKs. That was, until My Lady of Steel, Abigail, had dressed them down in their native Russian about acting like pouting little boys. That had been the end of the complaints, at least in public. No Spetsnaz wanted to disappoint Stalin’s Lady of Steel.
“Come, Sergeant,” Captain Sato said. “Put the Kraken scums cap on, act as if you are escorting us down the dock. We need to discover what warehouse contains the prisoners.”
Bobby Parsons, the informant, had told the Unoccupied States about Malcolm Carter being taken to the Port of Savannah. There he was to be held as part of the main course of a very special meal at the height of the Squid Lords’ meeting. The problem was, Parsons had only ever been to the Port once, and did not know which warehouse would be used to hold the assembled meal items. So, a search must be completed, fast. The rescue force lacked the necessary numbers for a long and drawn out fight with responding Kraken forces, which everyone knew would come. Eventually, the Squid minions would notice something was wrong about a fishing trawler farting around for no good reason. Especially when Kraken guards began to disappear.
As Sergeant Breshnev acted as escort and captor to the women, the other Spetsnaz
were joined by their fellows, bringing their hidden weapons to them, plus Ichiro and Abigail. They began to shadow the Russian Sergeant, using as cover and concealment the numerous shipping containers, crates, and other sundry land flotsam and jetsam that come to inhabit all large seaports. The American members of the attack team formed a protective force near the trawler as well as dumping the bodies of the two dead Kraken into the bay. They were joined by Gunnar Knudsen, the only New Viking who deigned to carry a firearm, mostly due to the fact he was still active duty military. The rest had left their AR-15 3D clones stored inside the trawler, depending on their traditional throwing axes and bows for projectile weapons. The New Vikings stayed on board the trawler, ready to repel boarders, especially if any Squids came upon the vessel from seaward.
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