Metal Monsters

by G. D. Stark

  A group of us gathered around the console the Sfodrians had linked to my retina and I searched for more video footage of mercenary attacks. At first I came up with nothing, then realized the paranoid Sfodrians had censored the search results. After a talk with Yost and Pitt explaining our need for more intel, they got in touch with the Lord General’s technicians and I was granted access. Not only that, but the Stratocracy techs even provided us with the data they’d collected from the knight’s onboard black box systems. These gathered biometric data, external temperatures, scanner results, and, best of all, suitcam video footage. We gathered together again and I started my analysis anew. Each knight had an array of cameras built into his armor, providing a variety of views. It took me a while to figure out how to sidentify the various views, switch between them, and figure out what I was seeing, but I eventually figured it out. The Sfodrian interface was all symbol-based, which was initially confusing, but also prevented any problems with their unique terminology.

  “There’s some footage that looks interesting,” Ward said over my shoulder, pointing out a cluster of small animated circles displaying terrain, nested in a list of results. I pulled one of them up and was greeted by the sight of weeds being trampled by massive feet.

  “That’s the wrong cam,” Zelag helpfully observed.

  “Zip it, Cyborg,” I snapped, looking for another view. I found one and we were greeted by the sight of a flat, dusty terrain flying past at a good 60 kph. Judging by the altitude of the view, the camera was built into the knight’s helmet. Flashes of red-purple plasma blasts suddenly appeared in the view and the image jerked rapidly from side to side, until it zoomed in on a pair of armored figures with rifles. I saw the huge laser sword slash past and the flash as pulses of energy destroyed the attackers—and then the view flashed white for a moment under what I assumed was more incoming from another angle. The view shifted again and we saw a figure in black appear on the lower left of the screen, rifle raised. There was a flash from the muzzle.

  “That’s a projectile!” Ward said excitedly. “Axiosi regulars have plasma.”

  The sword swung around to strike the threat, glowing with white-hot plasma, and then the image broke up into flashing incoherent red symbols and static before going completely blank.

  “That’s the end of the footage,” I said.

  “Nothing more?” Zelag asked.

  “That’s it for that one. We can try another view.” I looked for another camera and found one which aimed down the knight’s huge robotic right arm. The glowing sword was front and center.

  “Kill cam!” Jones said.

  We watched as the same scenes repeated. The two Axiosi blasted to bits, the turn toward the other threat, then a glimpse of the attacked followed by a view of the sky, then nothing.

  “That was from Sir Arhaxtus,” I said, looking though the information alongside the footage. “Killed two weeks ago. According to the rest of the data here, he lost contact with base and was found blown to pieces later that day. No enemy in the area when they picked up his body.”

  “Find another attack,” Jones said, so I did, looking up the final moments of Sir Metaxis.

  This time I got the helmet cam the first time and watched as the knight effortlessly dispatched a platoon of Axiosi regulars and a tank before his screens suddenly busted into digital confetti and went blank.

  “See if we can see what hit him,” Zelag said, so I switched through cameras. This time we spotted an enemy soldier firing from behind him. The method of attack was the same. It looked like a projectile weapon of some sort, then the knight hit the ground seconds later with all his systems knocked out.

  “Some sort of Feemper?” Jones said. “Maybe a make and model we haven’t seen?”

  “No way,” Zelag replied. “First, Feempers aren’t projectile weapons. And second, these knights are freaking shielded like you wouldn’t believe. I spent some time going over what I could find in Pitt’s files. You could set off a nuke at their feet and they’d survive.”

  “It’s just a little projectile, though,” Jones said. “Taking out something like these guys with a slug-thrower is crazy.”

  “You mean impossible. It’s got to be more than simple slugs,” I said.

  “How about nanotech?” Ward suggested.

  “You think?” Jones said. “Like, maybe they hit the knight with a blast of creepy crawlies and they burrow in and toast him?”

  “Sure,” Zelag said, nodding. “That would make sense. The armor is made for stopping real firepower, plasma, slugs, EMP, whatever. It’s probably not designed to keep out a sufficiently hardened nanite penetrator.”

  “That stuff is seriously illegal,” Jones said, making a dubious face.

  “Who’s gonna enforce it?” I said. “This is a League planet. The TA isn’t going to interfere. It’s possible, if you assume these mercs are playing by different rules.”

  “Yeah, but what are they after?” Jones said. “Why would some cyborg freaks—no offense, Zee—show up and start randomly blasting some knights, knocking out some factories and helping some ass-backwards world. I thought they considered themselves as some sort of god-machines above all of us mortals?”

  “None taken,” Zelag said, with a grin. “That’s what I’ve heard too. And if they’re gearing up to start another war to take control of the galaxy away from humanity, this is a very strange way to go about it.”

  “We can worry about their motives later,” I said. “I think we’ve at least found how they’re knocking out the knights.”

  I pulled up another kill from the previous week and it was the same thing. This time we didn’t see the shooter, but the black box was abruptly fried in the middle of combat and we got to see a pretty dramatic faceplant that was followed by static.

  “I just can’t believe they’re able to take out these bad boys so easily,” Jones said. “That’s some seriously evil gear they’ve got.”

  “Yeah,” Zelag said. “And what if it works on our battlesuits?”

  There was a moment of silence. None of us were particularly happy to think about the possible consequences of that.

  “Anyhow, we need to talk to the Sfodrians about this,” I said.

  “That’ll be fun,” Ward said. “I’m sure they’ll enjoy hearing a commoner tell them how easily their superheroes go down.”

  “We don’t get paid for nothing.”

  “Sure,” Zelag said, drumming his robotic fingers on the desk, “but I think we should do something else before we go and tell them that the weapons and hereditary aristocracy that are the foundation of their entire society are helpless.”

  “Like what?” I asked, shutting down the console in front of me.

  “I wouldn’t go in with news like that without some sort of a proposal that at least provides some hope of a solution. We are the experts, right? We were brought in here because they’re desperate. We don’t want to make them even more desperate. Forget getting paid, they could go on a society-wide suicidal dive and take us with them.”

  “Well, what are we supposed to tell them?” Jones said. “It’s true. They send out a big freaking robot guy to kick ass and five seconds later he’s laying tits up on the grass after some Unity freak hits him with a single lovetap. We don’t use nanites ourselves, and the locals don’t have it, so we just have to tell them the truth. They’re toast.”

  “No,” Zelag said. “We don’t just tell them they’re toast. We don’t even know that’s true. They’re the client, they need to believe we’re worth what they’re paying us. We’ve got some of the best, smartest researchers in the spinward sectors to call upon. So what we do, my dear brothers-in-arms, is we get our guys working on a solution before we even let them know about the problem. It’s not like they’re expecting us to have figured this out already, right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, standing up and stretching. “Let’s at least try to sound smart. How about you talk to Pitt and get him to start some guys working on a solution? Edgert
on, for one.”

  “And get us some better food while you’re there,” Jones said. “I’m about to eat my mattress.”

  “I’m on it,” Zelag said. “What about you?”

  “I’ll see if Yost will get me an audience with the Lord General. I’ll tell him we’re already working on a solution and see if we can stop them from throwing any more knights against the Axiosi until we’ve got a way to shield them.”

  “That’ll go over like a lead balloon,” Zelag said. “But you’re right. They’re probably losing a billion credits every time a knight goes down, not to mention the human loss. Good luck.”

  “You too,” I said, then headed for Yost’s office.

  “I put Corporal Falkland and his team in charge of investigating the situation on the ground, Lord General,” Captain Yost said. “We’ve analyzed the data concerning the unprecedented losses of your knights and have concluded that you are facing a very urgent threat that requires an immediate modification of your military strategy. Corporal, take it from here.”

  Lord General Landros glowered at me with his human eye and probably shot me with x-rays from his cybernetic one. We were meeting him in a thick-walled round room called the Chamber of Meetings, along with five well-built men in formal suits that did nothing to conceal their extremely muscular frames. Each suit had a different color scheme and a different insignia on the left breast pocket. I assumed they were knights, but the Lord General did not introduce them. Their eyes bored into me as I stood next to Yost.

  “So?” Landros said, turning to me. “Speak!”

  “The knights need to be benched for the time being,” I said. I’m sure a WDI sales rep would have come up with a less upsetting way to say that, but my job is to break things and kill people, not make people happy. And man, they were not happy.

  “How dare you?” one of the audience roared. He was a red-faced silver-haired guy with a streaked Fu-Manchu that reached his chest. “We are the soul and the strength of the state!”

  “These mercenary offworlders seek to worm their way in and force us to rely on them rather than our own arms!

  “Ignoble soldiers-of-fortune!”

  “Honorless whores!”

  Yep, pretty sure they were knights.

  “Noble sirs,” Yost broke in, holding up his hands. “We were brought here to help you defeat your ancestral enemy. Perhaps you might let Corporal Falkland explain what he has learned before tearing him to pieces.”

  The five nobles all glared at him, but they did quit sniping at me as they fell into an angry silence.

  “Continue please, Corporal,” Yost ordered once the room fell silent.

  I stayed cool and returned the furious stares without blinking. “They have found a way to neutralize your strength, and that makes your state vulnerable.”

  “Through cowardly ambushes and technological toys,” one of the knights sneered.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Anyone in their right mind would be terrified of your awesome capabilities. But it is because of their unwillingness to face you directly in honorable battle that they have found a way to take you down. Have you ever lost so many knights in such a short time before?”

  “Never,” the Lord General growled.

  “Exactly,” I replied. “That’s because you have never faced the Unity.”

  “The Unity?” the silver-haired knight with the beard said. “The alien mutants?”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “Those alien mutants are working with the Axiosi, and your men are getting killed because they brought with them an alien nanotechnology your suits are unable to combat at this time.”

  That shut them up. They looked at each other, and for the first time I saw something that looked suspiciously like alarm penetrate the Lord General’s unshakeable arrogance.

  “Can they truly neutralize our armor?” questioned a dark-haired knight whose suit was red and brown. On his breast was the insignia of a skull pierced by an axe.

  “Without question,” I said. “We are working on the tech aspect already. I am not telling you that your equipment is obsolete, I am only recommending that you stop putting yourselves at risk until the vulnerability can be resolved.”

  “We are not afraid to die,” declared the silver-haired knight. “You commoners cannot understand honor.”

  “That’s as may be,” I said. “But even if you’re willing to die, are you willing to leave the state without defense?”

  “It is always better to die with honor than to cower in fear of facing the enemy on the field,” another knight shouted. But judging by their expressions, his fellows did not seem quite as convinced that pointless death was a reasonable objective.

  “Are you certain that these aliens are using unlawful nanotechnology?” said the silver-haired knight. “Can you prove it.”

  “Have you not watched any of the armor cams from the men you’ve lost?”

  “We do not think about defeat,” said the guy in red and brown. “Our focus is only, and always, on victory!”

  I sighed. No wonder they couldn’t figure out a counter to the enemy’s action. “Well, it is our philosophy that knowledge of defeat is the way to find new paths to victory. What is happening is that your knights are being fired upon by an advanced projectile weapon of some kind, after which their computer systems are rapidly compromised and their energy shields fail.”

  “How does this prove a nanotechnology attack?” the Lord General demanded.

  “It doesn’t prove it,” I admitted. “But in our well-informed opinion, it is the most logical conclusion.”

  “Then we fight,” said the silver-haired man. “Come back to us when you can offer us proof that our valor is certain to be in vain.”

  “Thank you, Captain, Corporal. I pronounce this audience to be at an end,” the Lord General said, and he indicated the door with his hand.

  Captain Yost glanced at me, we both nodded our respects to the Lord General and his knights, and we departed the room. Behind us, the chamber’s thick metal door slammed shut with a resounding boom. I knew it would serve as the death knell of many a knight, likely including some in that room, if we could not provide them with an answer soon.

  Chapter 8

  Someone kicked my cot.

  “Drop your cocks and pick up your socks!” shouted a familiar voice. “It’s reveille!”

  “Squid?” I said, sitting up and rubbing at my eyes. “Whaddup?”

  “Enemy troops moving in on Phalix, a town about 300 clicks from here in the foothills of the Makken range.”

  I nodded and pulled on my shirt, then popped the latch on the case where my armor was stowed. “Why do we care?” Ward grunted, as he quickly went through a few of his morning stretches, then pulled out his own armor.

  “Some sort of important manufacturing site there, something to do with the knight’s armor,” Squid said. “Get your asses to the field right away, we’ve got an air transport in about a kilosec. Breakfast in the air.”

  “Great,” Ward said, locking his chest plate into place. “I’ll fight anyone to get away from that fishy stuff.”

  My head felt fuzzy. I’d spent a long evening with Edgerton and Morrel, scanning once more through all the video we could find from battles where knights were lost. We didn’t get any detailed shots of the mercs in any of them, and the feed-ending kill shots we did see were delivered by guys that looked just like the rest of the Axiosi regulars. Whether they were cyborged inhumans or not, there was no obvious difference on the field.

  We had called it quits at around one. I checked my chronometer. It was 0462 now and there was no time to brew anything up. I locked my helmet into place and took a quick hit of stim from the banks in my battlesuit and my mind cleared. One of the docs had told me RockMed was our new drug contractor on the suit meds. The stimulant was effective enough, but its instantaneous results lacked the restorative effect of a morning ritual.

  “Hey, what happened to my chocolate?” Ward asked, rooting around in his rucksack.
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  “I ate it,” I said.

  “Dammit, Tommy,” he said. “You owe me!”

  We headed to the field. When we arrived, about half the platoon was already there. The sky above was cloudy as we stood beneath the ugly blue-white of the massive overhead lights that lit the gritty surface of the landing area. Palm-sized insects with white wings and long, feathery tails circled the lights. Just another early morning on another strange planet, fighting people we didn’t know for people we didn’t like.

  At least we got paid well.

  Ace arrived and thumped me on the shoulder. “Hey Falkland, you having fun playing scientist?”

  “Hardly,” I said. “It takes a lot of time to learn very little, and then they go ahead and shoot us down anyhow.”

  “Just be glad you’re not a pilot,” Ace laughed. “If I get shot down, I die.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “You flying us out today?”

  “I wish,” he said. “We’ve got a Sfodrian transport on the way. Some local make. I got no valid certs here and they’re sticklers for credentials.”

  “Too bad,” I said. “I’d trust a Wardog without certs over a local with 50,000 hours.”

  “Tell me about it,” he agreed.

  I looked around and counted twenty-three Wardogs, some holding their helmets, others with visors up. Those would get flipped down when locals showed but at the moment we were alone.

  The sound of a jeep buzzed in my ears and I saw Yost in his dress uniform and Squid in his battlesuit ride up behind us, trailed by two other jeeps filled with Pitt and some of the WDI support guys. We locked our visors and helmets down as the jeeps were followed by a ground transport full of Sfodrian militia. A couple more jeeps showed up over the next couple of minutes, and the ground crew finally lit the hangar and tower lights. From what I’d heard, this was minor militia base; it certainly lacked the professionalism we’d seen from the knights.