Web of Chaos

The Armored Killer Kbot referred to as AK-4530 listened to the announcement now echoing through the compound. This planet would soon fall under control of the Core. The last twelve planets the Core had engaged the Arm on had all concluded in this manner. He made his way to the fourth level of base camp. He grabbed a bottle of cleaning solvent for a spot on his right support leg. A laser had grazed it 3.6 hours ago in a minor clash at a sentry post 1.2 kilometers from the base camp. The Core had lost a Crasher and two Thuds. The Arm had lost an entire battalion of PeeWees. AK-453 applied the solvent/polisher with his right arm while watching the squads of units depart over the horizon. Not much of a horizon, he noted. The lethal atmosphere (lethal to organic substances, of course) caused a purplish sky, and the ground was red from high amounts of iron and thousands of years of chemical reactions and rapid temperature changes. Ahh, much better. His blemish had been almost erased. He turned to watch the battle from a camera mounted on a Hurricane, broadcast on a monitor on one wall of the rec room. After several minutes of scenic views, the planes reached their destinations. A few bombs dropped by the screen. A moment later, the image shook violently as the shockwave gave the planes a jolt. The assault had already been a success. Now all that was left was a mop-up job. Some Core bots had jokingly called it ‘time to jettison the trash.’

As a human, 4306 years ago, AK-4530's name had been Donald Wheeler. The Core had eliminated names and replaced them with a series of designations. Some bots still referred to each other by their human names, but only close friends did so. The Core had also eliminated some emotions that had plagued the Empire. Love, absolute hatred, and compassion had been eradicated to prevent the occurrence of deserters. There were still those who came to sympathize with the Arm cause, but they were much rarer since the elimination of such emotions. While on deep space patrols, they had seized escape pods and ventured into Arm space. He should know, after all, he had met some deserters in battle.

The next day, the Hurricane pilots had transferred consciousness from the planes to smaller mech bodies that were free to wander the compound. They were all talking to their friends about how many Arm vermin they had exterminated or how they had avoided missiles or how they had barely survived. Some had had their planes destroyed, but had been able to launch a hand-sized buoy containing their patterns. HRCN-7831 had been one of those. Wheeler's friend, once called Hank DeVergo, joined Wheeler in the maintenance hangar. His small, off-duty chassis was as small as an AK’s, with lighter armor and an AK’s laser mounted in the middle of the torso. Wheeler was surveying the damage to DeVergo’s magnificent plane. The two conversed for some time, until they brought up the actual war. They speculated on invasions, skirmishes, and even gossiped a little.

Then the base Commander walked in, also in an off-duty chassis, though a bit larger. He took the two aside, and plugged his info extensions into their recharge holes. Some information fed into their consciousness. They were to report to him in thirty-six hours at a plateau approximately two kilometers from the base. That was all. He removed his extensions from their slots, and walked away silently. They turned to follow him, but thought better of it. When the Commander wished not to be disturbed, he meant it, and if any unit disturbed him, he’d been known to throw its pattern in a Weasel scout car for all eternity.

MTY-990 met up with CN-5887 en route to the rec room. He apologized to CN-5887. A Phoenix had delayed him by boasting about his magnificent maneuvering two days ago. The loudspeakers throughout the compound switched on with a faint buzz. "MTY’s-980 through 999, report to the Commander’s consciousness module immediately."

"Well, looks like duty calls, CN-5887. I’ll signal you later." CN-5887 nodded the small head on the chassis, and joined a group and a domjot table.

MTY-990 hitched his off-duty chassis up to one of the pattern relocation chambers in the recreation room they had just entered. He ordered the machine to transfer him to the chassis nearest the Commander’s module. A moment later, he saw the walls of a corridor, identified as corridor 47 Gamma by the sign on the wall. Fifty seconds walk to the module. Not bad. Normally in such a meeting, he would have several minutes walk because all of the off-duty suits near the Commander’s module would already be taken. He noticed six units turn out of a corridor all headed toward the Commander’s module. He quickly caught up with them. They acknowledged his presence with nods and moved aside to allow him to walk beside them. Moments later, they entered the spacious module that the Commander called his temporary home. It was extravagantly decorated, with exotic forms of plant life and aquatic life. Obviously the Commander had enjoyed the outdoors as a human. There were those who decorated their abodes as did this Commander, though all but the highest war units had to settle for just storing their consciousness patterns in a memory bank. Sumos, Commanders, a few aircraft, if they had a large number of kills, and a few other units, also if they had an unusually high number of enemy kills, were the only ones to receive actual quarters. MTY-990 surveyed the module, called a module as opposed to quarters, because it had a small booster rocket underneath it, so that if the Arm were to attack ruthlessly, the Commander and a few dozen units could escape to the nearest habitable planet. Some foliage from Empyrrean. Quite impressive. Other plants, such as the creeping devil, from Rougpelt. He had a Serpent on a trophy from Hydross. A dead Scorpion from Lusch next to the Serpent. A few birds in transparent aluminum cages, and a few meteors from Temblor in the aquariums. Quite a nice touch, if you had been an adventuresome human. There was some brain coral and sea anemones also from Hydross, and several of the Mortys in the room enjoyed seeing an anemone devour a small fish. Since they had never been to Hydross, seeing such things was quite an experience. In another cage, an Elvorian Spider Hawk swooped down to spear a rat with its half-meter-long talons. It reached down with one talonless foot, grabbed the dead rat, and shoved into its beak. Blood dripped down and spattered on the soil while the Spider Hawk flew back to its nest to enjoy the tasty little morsel.

All the live animals suddenly scurried away. The Morty mortar Kbots present turned and snapped to attention as the Commander strode in. Behind him followed a small anti-gravity sled with a bulky piece of machinery under an old-fashioned silk sheet. He marched to the center of the room, the anti-grav sled following him all the way. He began an announcement in the deep, cold, unfeeling voice that was that of all Core units. The metallic voice echoed throughout the large room.

"Hello, my Mortys. I have called you here to reveal to you some new, groundbreaking technology that our scientists have been working on for more than three centuries and have finally perfected. We have chosen you, the twenty of you, to be our test subjects."

With that, he ripped the sheet off the anti-grav sled and tossed it into an aquarium, where some strange type of eel devoured it. The machine appeared as a microfusion reactor, the kind in Commanders, with small holographic projectors and mirrors – or at least what looked like mirrors – next to all the projectors. A few cables and some wiring was visible on the dull, metallic gray exterior. The only unusual thing was the fact that the machine was in several pieces, all attached to flexible trilutanium alloy. The Commander, not in his full thirty-meter-tall chassis, but a seven-meter chassis that was unfamiliar to the Mortys, magnetically attached most of the pieces to himself, on his arms, legs, chest plate, and back.

"Now, I will demonstrate the marvels and benefits to the Core of Photonic Synthesis and Manipulation, PSM for short."

He punched a few touchpads and the Commander first blinked out of sight, then a moment later, flickered back into the shape of a PeeWee. A second later, he disappeared, this time returning as an enemy Sentinel. He morphed back into his regular chassis and demagnetized the strips. He placed them on the anti-grav sled, and turned back to his audience.

"Starting at oh-seven hundred hours, one week from today, you will pose as Arm soldiers returning to Terran space after not being rescued following a border skirmish in which an Arm cruiser was destroyed. Every three days, you are to report to Central Consciousness on Arm military strength, troop movements, intelligence, fortification of border outposts, and anything else you deem to be of military significance. Report here at nineteen-hundred hours six days from now to receive your mission briefing. Any questions?"

MTY-997 stepped forward. "Yes. How long will the mission take? A month? Two?"

The Commander leered at him. "You will be gone as long as Central Consciousness believes is necessary to assess the power of our enemies. It could be a week, it could be a year. Dismissed!"

The twenty puzzled Mortys marched out, single-file, murmuring to each other while the Commander threw a goat into one of the aquariums filled with predatory fish.

"Breakfast now?" asked Kate, already in the kitchen.

"Please, I’m famished."

"I would think so. You left this morning without eating anything but a bagel."

John snorted. "I got an ice cream cone along the way. It wasn’t so bad until now. Once you quit running, you really feel the hunger. Do we have any eggs? I haven’t had any in a few days."

Kate held up two, cracked them, and began frying them. She tried to answer the comm system at the nearest terminal but made John get it because she couldn’t reach it from the stove. It was from Jake Larson, a friend of Ron’s. "Ron, you want to go to the pool with Jake today?"

"Okay, Daddy." Ron got out his old bicycle and pedaled off toward Jake’s apartment.

Almost the instant after John ended the message, the comm beeped and flashed again. As he opened it up, he saw it was a priority one emergency from the Arm regional command center on Casperia Prime, the planet known as the vacation capital of the Arm Empire. He slapped the button that received the incoming transmission. Commander Reggil hastily gathered some papers and slammed them in a briefcase. "You are hereby ordered to report for off-world duty and report to Casperia Prime to protect it from the Core’s newest onslaught. All of you, godspeed and good luck. Reggil out."

The image of the frantic Commander was replaced with the Arm Empire’s crest. John folded down the comm and flicked it off.

He kissed the kids and Kate, and while rushing out the door and into the hovercar, he told them he was going into battle and may not be back for a month. The kids began to cry, but Kate held them and told them that daddy would be fine.

John placed his hand on the startup panel in the hovercar.

"Identity confirmed. State destination," said the car’s computer.

"I’ll drive manually," he told the feminine-voiced computer, and it beeped an acknowledgment. John pressed the little car to its speed limits, at least one hundred ninety kilometers per hour.

"Warning! Safe velocity exceeded." The computer intervened, applying the airbrakes, but John disabled the computer and accelerated back to maximum speed. At that speed, he could arrive at New Berlin in a few minutes, and be prepped and ready for launch in an hour.

John Hendricks was transformed, at least, it seemed like it, into a Fido Kbot chassis and put in control. Once he loaded the Kbot onto the transport, he could get out of the cramped beast and return to his quarters on the transport ship. A Zipper tapped his hind starboard support with his laser as a signal to hurry up. John kicked the little thing and sent it sprawling, enough to get him demoted to Advanced Construction Kbot again, if a Commander had seen it. The Zipper got back up, with help from the wake of a Hawk, screaming overhead. John almost laughed, seeing the scrawny little scout attempting to damage the Fido chassis without firing his laser, which would get him down to PeeWee at least.

Twenty Mortys sat huddled in a circle, quietly discussing the mission they were to leave for tomorrow morning. The Commander had told them they were going undercover as Arm soldiers, testing a new bit of experimental technology. They were scared, and worried, and even excited, all at the same time. This was their chance to get promoted all the way to the top, or to die serving their empire. Every unit wished for this type of opportunity at one point or another.

A few other units came by, wondering what was happening. They saw nothing was wrong, and went about their normal routines. The twenty spoke of what they would do once on Empyrrean or other strategic Arm planets. Some decided to team up and look like a group of friends, others chose to go it alone. One thing was for certain: the day had come when they had been asked to give themselves for what they believed in.

A shard of glass tore through Commander Reggil’s left arm as he leaped into the full Commander suit. It powered up as it was programmed to, and fired its laser at an AK, even though it put a hole in the wall. The Commander rose up on a platform so that his head pushed through the roof of the compound. A small bunch of Cans were laying siege to a group of production facilities. All the defenses had been destroyed. Reggil could see why. A half dozen Diplomats fired their missiles from at least a kilometer outside the base. A Fido came in blasting and stepped in front of Reggil while the Commander repaired him. A Slasher blew apart after the Fido shot through its armor and hit its main reactor. The small microfusion generator tore the Slasher to bits and shrapnel chipped some paint off the Commander’s face. He D-gunned the wreckage as a form of revenge.

The main industrial complex was taking severe damage. A power relay station shut down just before three missiles ripped through its walls, rupturing relays that were devoid of power. The battle paused momentarily as all of the units in close proximity to the relay station expected it to explode violently and take them with it, to die fiery deaths. Reggil and the Fido went as fast as they could but upon their arrival, the complex had been totally leveled. Some Levelers tried to get out of range of the Fido, but couldn’t. They turned to fight. The Commander cloaked himself and thanked God for the huge underground energy complex a few kilometers away. The Fido took potshots at the Levelers while the Commander positioned himself right behind them. Once the tanks were lined up, the Commander decloaked, grinned, and D-gunned them. The plasma the tanks attempted to fire, before they ignited into huge fireballs, engulfing the Commander for a brief moment. He retreated to a safe distance to watch the inferno die down, and to release nanobots to replace his burned armor.

A squadron of Hawks screamed by at near Mach four. They turned so quickly, some paint ripped off their wings. A dozen missiles flew toward some tanks, obscured from the Commander’s view by the command post. A brilliant flash of light, and the Commander knew a Penetrator had been destroyed. From the amount of wreckage that flew in all directions, the Commander estimated that it had taken several Core units down with it, with some assistance from the Hawks. The Arm would continue to hold this position for another day, but the Commander knew tomorrow was a new day, full of new surprises and new Core offensives. A civilian building erupted into a tower of flame after a Goliath tank lobbed a shell into the upper-level offices, which had thankfully been evacuated before the Core had attacked. Some Flash tanks rumbled on by, followed by a Bulldog and Fido escort. Another explosion shook the ground. Shrapnel tinkled as it bounced off the Commander’s suit. A Thunder bomber squad released their payload and banked sharply. More explosions, more wreckage, more Core units destroyed. Reggil grinned. War was bloody, but the thrill of seeing Core units losing in battle almost made up for the tons of paperwork and personal losses.

"John Hendricks, Mark Whitman, Jose Panuelo . . . " Commander Hardin watched the officers load onto troop transport Omega One Nine. They were going into battle, and there was a high probability that none of them would return alive. A stout little man waddled up behind him, panting, and handed him a report from the fleet admiral in the sector.

"Sir, sensors detect twenty of our escape pods entering this star system. Their emergency beacon frequency confirms they are from a deep space cruiser reported missing in action two weeks ago."

"Well then, as soon as these transports are gone, we’ll retrieve them." The little man nodded, and scurried off into one of the corridors adjacent to the shuttle bay.

Pod L59-P42

MTY-990 squirmed uncomfortably in the tight escape pod. A badly garbled transmission came from MTY-985. From what he could make out, an Arm troop transport was moving to intercept the escape pods. He looked yet again at the stumpy little EMG guns that replaced his long, sleek cannon barrel. He had been forced to have it sawed off, because the PSM machine couldn’t change the chassis, only the appearance of it, and his long mortar cannon barrel had been too long to fit in the pod. He would just have to make sure to duck when going through doorways. The Morty chassis was about a meter taller than a PeeWee’s, but somewhat better armored, which was why Mortys had been chosen for this operation.

A flashing light alerted him of an incoming transmission. It was from another Morty. MTY-990 slapped the comm panel and a small video monitor activated. He saw the cramped confines of another escape pod, and a Morty.

"An Arm troop transport has detected us and is now moving to intercept. Now remember to act as a soldier who has had no human contact except via these two-way comm links for several days, and only meager amounts of emergency rations. You must act gracious for the rescue, and above all, though it may not be easy, courteous. Good luck."

The gargantuan (compared to the escape pod) Arm ship loomed in front of them, growing larger by the second. He would be one of the first received. A transmission now came from the transport.

"Hello, troops." An important-looking officer addressed them. "We know you are from a deep space scout ship, and we apologize for the late rescue. We will position ourselves in your flight path, and you must maneuver into our shuttle bay, one at a time. We’ll see you in a few minutes, and welcome home."

John Hendricks meandered out of the transport shuttle and onto Casperia Prime. It was a beautiful planet, but the smoke that hung over the area somewhat reduced the scenic value. A barrel from an Instigator littered his path. He stepped on it and it crushed, already partially weakened from battle. The body of the tank lay a few meters away, with a gaping hole in its side, and another through the top. A Merl had been able to hit it, and a Maverick finished it, he determined.

"It must have been an epic battle," he thought, as he approached the crippled base. A few Freedom Fighters patrolled the skies in a diamond formation, and a construction Kbot was busy reclaiming wreckage which construction vehicles used in nanolathing some Guardians. A few Sentinels carved a path through some wreckage, and blasted some trees out of the way. A bird landed on the top of one, looked around for a moment, and flew away when the Sentinel fired. This planet looked surprisingly like Empyrrean, with the brown dirt, mostly covered with wild berry bushes and wildflowers. Tall evergreens and other trees dotted the landscape, forming dense forests in some places, and some welcome shade from the fiery sun in others.

The Commander walked over, introduced himself to all of the new arrivals, and welcomed them all to the front lines. The duty roster was posted in the entry foyer and the mess hall, which was a mess from the battle. It had been transformed into a triage center after the battle, treating mostly Arm casualties, but even a few local animals, he said, so it was off-limits for another day or so.

Hendricks looked behind him, and saw a Kbot dragging a wagon full of amphibious survivors to a watering hole near the base. A garrison of Jethros led the way. The Core cared nothing of life, only immortality, but they could not realize that life was their greatest gift. For this reason, they slaughtered innocent creatures that had no quarrel with either of the warring factions. It was sickening.

A group of ‘PeeWees’ were greeted in the shuttle bay by none other than Commander Hardin.

"Hello. Unfortunately, because of a recent Core offensive on the planet we now orbit, we must send you down as reinforcements rather than giving you a few days off, as we normally would. But, don’t worry, regulations state that no man may spend more than ninety consecutive days on the front line. Our records show that your ship had been out more than two months before contact was lost, so you only have about two weeks to spend here. Five of you will return to Empyrrean to be debriefed, and have your days of shore leave."

Shore leave? What the heck was that? Oh, well, best pay attention to the Commander . . . why won’t he shut up? What I’d give to blast him good with everything I have! Whew, looks like he’s finished talking finally. I guess I’m going to Empyrrean. Good, maybe I can find out something useful. What is this security guard doing? Oh, he’s taking me to my quarters. "Thank you." I hate having to talk. The neural link between all Core units is much more efficient.

Soon, MTY-990, or Jack Blurro, PW-375 Alpha, as the security guard had told him his ID number was, arrived at his quarters. As he stepped inside, he noticed a vase and flowers on a table, and a painting of a forest and a mammal of some sort. The sight nearly made him choke, if he could have. If he weren’t on an Arm ship, he would’ve blasted the entire room to bits. The Arm wasted time painting and growing flowers. This was sure to be a long trip ‘home’.

The Commander peered over the horizon. Giant plumes of smoke rose up over a dozen Core units. A Raider, a Morty, a Can, two Zippers, and three Instigators were rushing back to base. As they came within the safe confines of the base, the Commander strode over to them while a Kbot repaired them. They set up a comm link and the Commander began to debrief them.

"Why have you returned to base without the annihilation of the Arm base?"

"Sir," began an Instigator, "Their commander was activated and D-gunned more than a dozen of our tanks. A squadron of Hawks destroyed our Cans, and when one of their Penetrators blew, our anti-air Kbots were also destroyed."

"This is unacceptable. We must take this planet. Its sun provides an excellent sensor blocker. We can hide entire fleets of ships in this system! What were their defenses when you arrived?"

"They had two Annihilators and five Guardians on the inner perimeter. Eight heavy laser towers backed them up, and at least twenty-five scattered anti-air towers. It was a nearly impenetrable base. When you factor in their units, they are very strong. The only reason we were defeated was because their Commander was activated."

"I will organize another attack fleet and we will attack at 0800 hours tomorrow morning." The Commander walked away, and began linking his mind into those of the production facilities, ordering them to begin nanolathing more heavy attack units. As he approached the Central Command Post, he turned his arm to nanolathe a Nuclear Missile silo. This time, the Arm would not prevail.

MTY-983, or Ben Gilbert, PW-55862 patrolled the Arm base perimeter along the lake shore. A small lizard hitched a ride on his back, and a snake curled around his leg. Nature was a pain in the tail. A plump toad hopped merrily along. How he wanted to squish it flat. Along the horizon he spotted a small black dot cruising along at about five hundred kilometers per hour. A squadron of Vamps veered toward him. Oh, God. The Core couldn’t have regrouped that fast. He established a comm link to the base headquarters.

"PW-55862 on Southern perimeter. Vamps approaching fast. Send in all fighters. Backup required. Personal observation: The Southern perimeter cannot withstand a full assault."

The response came quickly from the Commander. "All Hawks are already on their way. We are tracking the Vamps on radar. We will prevail. Retreat behind the base perimeter until the threat is neutralized."

He turned quickly to take cover behind some Sentinels while establishing a comm link with the Core base on the planet. "MTY-983, undercover Morty reporting. The PeeWee that your Vamps have in their sights is me. Do not fire! The Arm have deployed a large force of Hawks to stop you. Retreat the Vamps while you still have time!"

"Acknowledged, MTY-983. Our Vamps are more protected with a new, experimental type of ablative armor. We will not retreat."

New ablative armor? The old armor on the aircraft was already heavy enough that it was affecting performance in dogfights. How could new armor be added and still enable the craft to achieve optimum tactical performance?

Now that he was approaching the base, he turned to watch the Vamps streak toward the Arm base. A squad of Hawks screamed overhead to engage the intruding fighters. They all simultaneously fired their missiles and banked away, expecting the Core squad to burst into flames in the skies. The missiles struck their targets with deadly accuracy. The Core fighters continued their course to the Arm base. One exploded in a wonderful display of color as the microfusion reactor imploded under the strain. Several others were knocked askew, but the team regrouped and headed back. That armor really did work! Only one was lost!

They arranged themselves in a spearhead formation, making sure that the majority would survive. One would take the punishment of all the Arm missiles, allowing the others to wreak havoc.

The Arm anti-air towers turned in unison to target the Vamps. The Vamps targeted some towers not yet protected by Dragon’s Teeth. At least a dozen missiles shrieked by, penetrated the towers’ already pitiful armor, then detonated their powerful warheads, blowing up the towers from the inside out. Shrapnel embedded itself in the wimpy PeeWee chassis, as a stray missile threw up dirt and rocks into his face.

Missiles from Samsons and the towers littered the sky, taking down two more Vamps, but at least nine remained in the air, swooping around for another pass. This time, two Samsons and a Jethro were destroyed. Another two Vamps went, but the rest retreated. MTY-983 warily returned to his patrolling duties, but was called back to be relieved.

The Commander appeared in front of the barracks and greeted him. "Are you one of the rookies we got the other day, son?"

He nodded.

"I figured as much. It’s not every day we get an air raid. You didn’t fall back far enough inside the base perimeter to put yourself out of danger. Those Vamps could’ve taken you out with one well-placed missile. Next time, son, go all the way to the barracks, not just the perimeter. You little PeeWee’s aren’t safe there, what with all that shrapnel and all those missiles streaking around. Next time, use that little head of yours, ok?" He brushed some dirt off of him, and jerked a piece of shrapnel out of his EMG gun.

He nodded an agreement, and prepared to turn in for the night.

MTY-990, or PW-375 Alpha, arrived at the hotel he was now living in. He rode the turbolift to the twelfth floor, where his suite was. His four friends followed, except they all had separate suites. Tomorrow was going to be a fun day. They were to break into Arm classified files, steal them, and transmit them to Core Prime.

PW-375 Alpha and one other of his undercover colleagues strode down the streets of one of Empyrrean’s finest cities. At the end if this street lay Arm Headquarters. Some women wheeled their babies along the sidewalk, obviously uneasy about seeing fully suited PeeWees wandering the streets. Towering office buildings disappeared in a thin layer of smog, being belched out by manufacturing plants all around the grand metropolis. A team of human officers gave them odd glares as they passed. The headquarters building was less than a half of a kilometer away. People began to crowd the streets. This was a busy place at all times of day, but early afternoon was one of the busiest times. Now men, women and children were all around, children throwing an oblong ball in a park, women sitting on the front steps of houses, gossiping, and men patrolling the streets or leaving their offices for a lunch break. Many of the people gave them peculiar glares. It seemed most of the general populace was unaccustomed to seeing military officers wandering residential and commercial districts. No matter. If this mission were successful, none of them would live long, anyway.

About a hundred meters ahead lay Headquarters. A grand structure, or complex of structures. The towers where new recruits were tested was covered with transparent aluminum windows and the landscape was marvelous. Trees of all sorts grew in abundance in the garden, shrubs, pines, birches, and many others that could not be identified by the untrained eye. Birds took refuge in those trees, and even some squirrels and other small mammals hopped merrily along. An enormous fountain stood at the center of it all, spewing geysers of crystal-clear water almost thirty meters into the air. A pond and a likeness of a mountain stream fed the greenery all around the area.

No guards were visible at any entrance. Officers wandered the gardens, civilians fed the birds, and many people wandered in and out of the complex, but no one could be seen doing anything to prevent unauthorized access to the Arm’s main post.

The two PeeWees approached the nearest entrance, which was a part of the main housing unit. The doorway was low, and they had to duck, but they got through. The interior was grandiose, with large copies of famous paintings and statues decorating the halls. Grand chandeliers hung from the high ceiling.

They made their way to one of the computer access panels in the main intelligence division. There was much less decoration here. It had been replaced by holographic images and schematics. Computers were everywhere, almost as abundant as the trees outside the compound. They tapped some panels and called up the newest technological breakthroughs, troop deployments, and anything else Central Consciousness may like to have a look at. They downloaded all the information into their own memory banks. Several terabytes of information was downloaded in a mater of minutes. During those minutes, several officers walked by the small room. The two PeeWees had to be extremely careful to make sure they were not caught.

They left the room soon after making sure they had not missed something important. MTY-990 peered around the corner. No officer was in sight. He motioned for his partner to follow. They crept slowly through the corridors of Arm Central Command. They were passed several times by officers, and even a suited-up Hammer walked by.

They emerged into blinding sunlight, interrupted intermittently by limbs of trees swaying in a light breeze. People still sat on benches feeding birds, and people still strolled through the gardens. The people paid them no heed. It appeared they were being completely ignored. They had been able to infiltrate the highest levels of the Arm government with no resistance at all. This had been too easy.

MTY-881, Arm name Harry Patterson, strolled the streets of New Venice on Empyrrean. This city was laid out around an extinct volcano, now with a huge park in the caldera that was open to all citizens of the Arm Empire. An intricate system of waterways and canals connected the city with the ocean. This was paradise, by Core standards, and probably even by Arm standards. The city with its waterways, flora, and high standard of living, was definitely paradise. Luxury was one thing the Core did not have, but longed for. Central Consciousness said, "No, it is a waste of resources. Those resources are needed on the battlefield, not on secure planets. War is not for enjoying yourself. It has a purpose other than entertainment, and that purpose is to nullify your adversary no matter the cost." The Core soldiers still longed for it. No Core subordinate could question Central Consciousness. If you did, they would simply destroy your pattern. There were those that chose to, but they were few and far between.

He came upon an abandoned Arm emergency bunker, covered lightly with soil. A steel handle poked through the dirt. Patterson pressed a button on his chassis. His partner, Arm identity PW-44970 joined him in a matter of seconds. They quickly established a comm link, which allowed much easier communication. They both agreed to explore the interior of the bunker. They magnetized their arms and began to magnetically open the hatch. It opened with a sudden jerk, as it was quite heavily rusted away at the hinges. As they stepped inside, old cobwebs fell from the ceiling, which had had no contact with fresh air in many years. The floor was covered with dried lichen and dead insects. There were computer terminals – although very outdated – still in working order, just without power. To access files, they would have to reroute power from the existing PPS conduits through the secondary power relays, due to the fact that the circuits in the PPS conduits were corroded, and quite hazardous. First, though, they would have to sneak inside a power distribution center, many of which were located throughout Empyrrean’s rolling hillsides to regulate power distribution to cities, and program it to send a few megajoules of power to this location. That would take approximately three hours, to find the nearest distribution center, manipulate its computers, and make their way back to this bunker. They exited the bunker, resealed the hatch, and ventured out into the countryside in search of a distribution center.

As PW-375 Alpha and his comrade returned to their hotel with the information acquired from Arm Headquarters, they found their comm panel already activated, with an encoded file transfer in progress. It was from their other two accomplices undercover on Empyrrean. They had restored power to an old, abandoned bunker, and used it to access Arm computers. It appeared they had been able to access classified files because the computer had been left on default. High-ranking officers’ passwords had been left exposed, so all they had to do was figure out which of those officers were still alive, then use their authorization codes.

"Commander, Commander!"

"Calm down, Radar Tower Alpha Twelve. What’s the problem?"

"Sir, we’ve just detected a security breach in sector Twenty-one Gamma! Near New Venice!"

Rob Franco sighed as he performed his hourly check-in. This patrol duty was getting on his nerves. For eight hours a day, he made his rounds checking all points of interest throughout the compound. The computer chirped its acknowledgment, and he continued on his way. He passed several high-ranking officers in civilian garb, as their armored battle suits were much too large to enter the compound. He checked several corridors that branched off from the primary corridor, found them empty, and returned to his main route. Just as he was about to check another passageway, a loud alarm klaxon blared from a hall he already passed. He turned to investigate. He came upon a computer console mounted on the wall, with a schematic of Empyrrean. Several red lights were flashing, indicating an emergency of some sort. Some words flashed across the screen. Several unauthorized, coded transmissions had been sent from – could this be possible? – an abandoned bunker. The military had shut it down when the Core forces had been pushed back. Hurriedly, he set up a comm link with the base Commander.

"Commander, there’s been unauthorized coded transmissions sent from one of our old bunkers!"

"Coded? Coded transmissions were outlawed after the Core retreated. Where was its destination?"

"Checking, sir." Rob tapped into the orbiting satellites. They showed no trace of the message. He rechecked the emergency alert. Yes, the message had been not directly sent. The sender had bounced it off a satellite, so that it appeared to be gibberish. Clever. "Commander, it appears the message was bounced off one of our own satellites. It will take some time to determine the actual destination."

"Time is a luxury we may not have. Deploy the troops nearest that bunker. Have them guard it and let no living soul pass, not even myself."

"Affirmative sir. The Third Defense Battalion is on their way."

"Commander, the nuclear missile silo is now complete. We have adequate resources to begin construction of new missiles."

The Core Commander nodded. The construction plane hovered for a moment, then sped off to its hangar. The Commander cloaked himself and marched over to the temporary blast shelter that housed scrap metal and units. A team of Slashers were just mobilizing themselves for patrol duty. He stepped aside and watched them depart. He thought for a moment, the grabbed one. He decloaked himself for the amusement of having the puny thing see a Commander decloak in front of it. He tapped into its mind to transmit some information and instructions. After a moment, the Commander released the Slasher, recloaked, and ambled over to the southern perimeter. Preliminary scouting had revealed a large lake with abundant metal on the shoreline less than three kilometers away.. With a little tinkering, a Missile Frigate could make short work of the Arm’s defensive network. That would be the primary goal, in order to minimize losses. The team of Slashers sped off into the woods, with the Commander in hot pursuit.

PW-375 Alpha tore through the dense underbrush while branches and thorns whipped at his already tattered chassis. His smaller size gave him a distinct advantage in maneuverability over the Flash and Bulldog tanks which had spotted him and were pursuing. The Bulldogs may be slower, but they could simply mow down trees that were in the way. The Flash tanks could make use of the path he was carving. He could feel them closing. A cloud of dirt and rocks flew up in his face as a cannon shell narrowly missed his head. The Bulldogs were in range. If it were not for the Flashes, he may have turned to fight, but they made that option suicide. Another cannon shot exploded less than a meter behind him, throwing him several meters into the air, where he hit tree limbs so hard hit it damaged his armor. A rather large branch hit him in the center of his torso, cutting his flight short. He fell directly into a small pond about six meters deep at the center. The mud was sticky, which made it difficult to walk, but he prevailed, making his way to the center of the pond on his belly, dragging himself along with his arms. He reached the deepest area, and waited. It seemed an eternity. Finally, he detected vibrations in the ground. They paused for a moment, then moved slowly through the water. He could see the treads on the Bulldog approaching. They would crush him if he did not move. He rolled to one side, placing himself directly between the treads. They began to push right over the top of him. The already dim light was now totally blocked out, but he could tell where the center of the tank was.

Now, the Bulldog was above him. He let loose a barrage of EMG’s, which superheated the water underneath the tank. He himself was unaffected, for he was Core, with no organic material to be harmed, but his short-range scanners told him the temperature inside the tank was rising quickly. They told him life signs from inside the tank were fading. The Arm soldiers’ blood was boiling from the heat. They would now be dead, so he ceased his barrage. He waited a moment, then punched the undercarriage, breaking it open. He pulled it open wider, and crawled inside. Now he was in control of one of the Arm’s most formidable mobile weapons. He shoved the dead and bloody Arm gunner from his seat, and took control of the cannons. The other Bulldog was ten meters ahead and was not stopping. He aimed for the barrels of the other tank’s cannons. If he had adrenaline, it would be flowing freely. He squeezed the trigger, and felt the tank rock. The barrels of the other tank were enveloped in an explosion of plasma, and disintegrated. One down, hundreds to go.

All that could be heard was the sound of explosions and the sound of weapons firing everywhere. A missile screamed by John Hendricks as he finished off a Can. The missile embedded itself in a tree stump and exploded, causing the tree to come crashing down on a Reaper. The tank fired, blasting the trunk in half, but it fell to the ground, one half in front of the Reaper, the other half behind. It could go nowhere and was no threat as long as it could not move. At that moment, two heavy plasma balls hit it, eating away the outer layer of armor. The framework was now exposed. John fired. His shot blasted right through the frame, and went on to the microfusion reactor that powered it. The Reaper erupted in a dazzling display of color, showering the tree with spark, setting it ablaze. He felt great pleasure at seeing it blazing, and instantly he wanted more. He throttled the Kbot to plunge into the fracas. A rocket narrowly missed him. He located the Crasher which had fired it, and rammed it. The Crasher fell onto its back, now able to fire its missiles only directly upward. John backed up, aimed his cannon at the rocket packs, and fired. The rockets exploded, taking the Crasher with them. A leg whizzed by, and hit a Can, denting the armor. John now focused his cannon on that dent. The stocky Kbot seemed to ignore the disturbance, and continued its trek toward a Guardian. The first shot opened a hole, about two meters square. The power flow to its laser was now exposed. His next shot ripped through that, enlarging the hole. A Bulldog’s cannon tore the whole top off of the Can, but the legs kept moving. The Bulldog came in from the side and knocked it over. The legs churned, but found no foothold. John turned to fight other enemies. The Bulldog fired once, blasting apart the wimpy legs, and opened a second hole underneath where the armor was minimal. A Jethro finished it.

John came upon a mass of Cans, Sumos, and Goliaths that were pushing their way through the Arm’s front lines toward a cluster of Fusion power plants. If they were to make it, it would be an awful setback to the Arm’s latest offensive. He fired a few shots while staying out of range, then took himself around the back of the mass and climbed up to the top of a rocky ridge. He lobbed several shots into the mass, destroying two Cans, and damaging several Goliaths and Sumos. They neared the fusion plants. John was sweating heavily in the cramped Fido cockpit. He wiped his brow, and kept firing.

Several Merl heavy rocket vehicles had been hindering the Core trek somewhat, but had had only a minimal effect in actually destroying any units. A few other Fidos or Bulldog tanks had sacrificed themselves for the sake of protecting the fusion complex, and had blocked the path in several areas. The Core units had to maneuver around trees and craters made by their own weapons to reach the complex. Now John was faced with a choice, one that could decide this battle and possibly help the Arm hold this planet. He chose, instead of standing idly by while the Core destroyed the Arm base, to die attempting to save the base. He throttled the quick little Kbot down the ridge, firing all the way. Another Goliath erupted in flames to his left. He ran directly in front of the oncoming battalion, and turned his back to them.

"What the hell are you doing? You’re gonna get yourself killed!"

He had expected this response. The Commander was frantic. Not only would one of his soldiers commit suicide when there was a battle to be won, but that it happened on his shift. John flicked off his comm system to avoid further distraction. He leveled his barrel at a fusion power plant. He was visually searching one of the plants for an external reactor. He systematically inspected each plant, and finally found what he was looking for. He targeted his gauss cannon on that exact spot, and waited. The Core mass neared his position. It was only a matter of seconds now. The Fido chassis shook violently as a plasma cannon smacked it hard. Now! His shot sped toward the fusion plant. Time itself seemed to slow down as he watched the small but powerful cannon sail effortlessly through the air. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the cannon hit ground zero. The fusion reaction taking place inside the reactor was now transferred to outside the reactor. The wall of tiny explosions shot out of the reactor, heading right for John and the Core squad. John throttled the Fido, knowing that he could not escape the blast, which engulfed other power plants, causing them to spew their contents. The wall increased in both size and strength, as more and more fusion plants exploded. Now the Core halted its assault, knowing full well what was happening. They were doomed. They could not escape. John was able to get by several Core units before the shockwave hit. He could see wreckage fly past before the wave hit him.

What had happened? Where was he? Who was he? He did not know. He was sprawled on the ground, surrounded with fragments of metal and bits of trees. A faint roar could be heard above the ringing in his ears. He could not see clearly; his vision was clouded. His head hurt. That was it. Yes, that was why nothing was clear. He decided to rest a moment before he attempted to seek help. As he propped himself up on one elbow, he listened to what sounded like an exchange of plasma and energy-based weapons. He did not know how he knew this, only that he did, but he did not care. A bright light lit up the horizon again and again, in an irregular pattern. Strange buildings expelled balls of fire into the air that let out a loud explosion when they hit the ground. Other towers shot sharp metal spikes, and others a great stream of green light. They were weapons, the specifics of which he did not know.

After a few minutes, the explosions and the weapons ceased, and a few mobile hunks of metal began spreading out over the battlefield, sucking up wreckage in great quantities. Others seemed to build structures without moving. Nothing moved, but the building they were constructing began as a lightly colored frame, then after a few moments, took form and solidity, and finally seemed finished. Color and fine detail then appeared, and the creature that had constructed it moved on to build more structures. Other, armored and armed creatures soon began to appear, some being constructed the same way the buildings had been, others appearing from behind other buildings.

Only then did he realize he was in pain. He licked his dry lips, only to taste blood, and lots of it. He looked himself over, finding several more lacerations on his arms and legs. They, however, were not serious. The blood had already dried, and the major bleeding had stopped. The taste of blood must have triggered his memory, for now he remembered fighting, killing, and enjoying every moment of it. He remembered he was fighting on the good side of a war for control of the galaxy, and how he had been cloned to help fight the war. Beyond that, he remembered only that war was a living hell.

Captain Diego Carlyle leaned back in his chair to watch the surf pound the rocks on shore. The surf sprayed up and caught a herd of drinking animals by surprise. He smiled as the animals galloped off into the dense underbrush, looking back warily at the water. A smaller scout boat zoomed by on a routine patrol, leaving a wake that slammed into the side of the ship, kicking up some mist, but not budging the ship a centimeter. His second in command jogged up behind him, panting lightly.

"Yes? What can I do for you Mr. Watkins?" The first officer saluted, then addressed Carlyle directly.

"Sir, our Hawk patrols have engaged a Core bomber and fighter squad about forty klicks away. It appears they are headed here. Our air defenses are not equipped well enough to handle an air raid of this size. Our Hawks are being destroyed left and right, and the enemy still has at least a hundred and thirty assorted planes."

The Captain pondered this for a moment, deciding that this assault was too large for them to hold off. "Scramble the seaplanes and any other AA support we’ve got, and tell carrier groups three and four to follow. Get the rest of our ships back until we can get some more support from somewhere."

"Aye, sir. Will do." Watkins scuttled off toward the command center, mumbling as he always did. Carlyle stifled a giggle, then followed. As he strolled the decks of the Conqueror, he looked westward to see faint black dots streaking across the sky, and occasional red and orange explosions, knowing that good pilots and Core scum alike were dying fiery deaths for a good – although unknown to anyone he had ever heard of – cause.

The ship lurched suddenly as the engines kicked in to turn it away from the battle. Carlyle grabbed the handrail to steady himself, then quickened his pace to the command center. As he neared the center, hurried crew members brushed past him, almost as though they had not seen him, and on numerous occasions actually bumped him aside. He gave a stern warning to a lower-ranking officer, who seemed not to care. Captain Carlyle found himself wondering why the Commander had assigned such inexperienced and untrained men to his ship.

Activity steadily increased as he made his way along the port side. Crew members everywhere scrambled to their stations while everyone else went back to their quarters to avoid interference. He strode casually up the ramp that led to his command chair, and as he sat down, the usual assortment of interlinks, monitors, and neural stimulators folded down alongside him. It was a captain’s duty, although not a fun one, to be in direct control of the ship, along with several other high-ranking officers in random locations throughout the ship, so that nothing would be left totally unattended. Below decks, men manned monitoring stations, ready to be called to repair any part of the ship at any time. The computers monitored the vital signs of the officers linked directly into the ship, and applied medical aid if needed, and while all this was happening, the officers were busy using their enhanced physical and mental capabilities to coordinate the battle efficiently, while risking as few casualties as possible.

The infrared and heat sensor displays folded down off to the side, showing a large amount of activity to the west.

"Sir, the first wave of enemy planes are approaching fast from the southwest. I estimate intercept in two minutes." Watkins’s voice was clearly audible. He sounded a little frightened, and a lot nervous.

"Acknowledged, Mr. Watkins. Hanson, where’s that damned Archer? We need it now!" He swivelled in his chair to face more tactical readouts and charts. The holographic image of the enemy planes approaching the ship became even more real as the planes swooped overhead, bringing a sonic boom right behind them. The ship rocked violently as a pair of enemy bombs grazed the starboard side of the ship. Shrapnel and body parts whizzed past the door on the side of the command center. He tapped into one of the vidcams mounted on the side of the ship. Crewmen were diving overboard, others were being ripped apart by explosions, and still more were running around rampant. Carlyle quickly put those images into the back of his mind and turned to focus on the task at hand.

Out the front window he could plainly see a trio of Archer AA ships, flak guns blazing and missile roaring to no avail.

Over the comm link, he could faintly hear the other men in control of the ship blurting orders and bickering about who got to destroy the next Core plane. Carlyle intervened. "Gentlemen! We have a war to conduct. Now conduct it before I have you all thrown in the brig!" The amusing petty bickering stopped instantly. Carlyle could now feel the ship turning hard to port and felt the recoil of the plasma cannons as it rang through the ship.

"Sir, a wave of Titan-class torpedo bombers is headed right for us!" Watkin’s voice was audible over all the other men’s, but they had all said it in unison.

"Get those damn Archers over here then!"

"Yessir!"

Stray missiles splashed into the soldier-saturated waters, turning it from crystal clear to crimson in moments. Captain Carlyle silently mourned the deaths of so many good soldiers while still firing the plasma cannons at the oncoming bombers. He saw on his tactical readout that a half-dozen Hurricane advanced bombers, following closely behind the Titans, were also aimed right for the bow of the ship.

The torpedo bombers lowered their noses, released the torpedoes, then swooped directly upward into the sun like a flock of birds. The torpedoes slammed into the ship, their antimatter warheads blasting gigantic chunks out of the ship’s hull. The ship pitched from side to side, throwing damage control teams overboard or knocking them against bulkheads.

The ship turned a faint green glow as nanobots spread around it, searching for damage and repairing it once found. The gaping hole in the side of the ship began to grow smaller, but all the damage that had been repaired was undone again by a salvo of antimatter-tipped missiles from some fighters high overhead.

The roof over Carlyle’s head was blasted away by one such missile. He found himself wincing in pain as shrapnel embedded itself in his shoulder and thigh, but he found comfort in the fact that medibots had been released to heal his wounds.

Now, through the new skylight so kindly created, Carlyle caught a glimpse of the Hurricane bombers circling overhead, silently waiting like vultures, to come in for the kill. As the Titans pulled up sharply, the Hurricanes began their descent. Small orange streaks lit up the midday sky, but nullifying themselves by the tiny plumes of smoke thrown up from small patches of melted and burned armor. Then, almost is if in a timed sequence, the bomb bays on all of the bombers opened up as dozens of plasma and antimatter bombs began falling from all directions, converging on Captain Diego Carlyle’s Conqueror.

"Commander, the Arm naval presence is being obliterated as we speak. Orders, sir?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, I do have an order. Get me a visual transmission of the battle, and link me up via satellite with one of the planes. I shall fly it." The hovering construction VTOL tipped its nose in an attempt at a salute, then sped off to the comm uplink facility. The Commander strode over to stand next to the nuclear missile silo that housed a dozen nuclear missiles in deep underground storage bays. An undeviating hum came from the interior of the silo, muted somewhat by the walls of it. The nanolathes ceased their work only for a few moments as a missile was completed and whisked away to a storage facility. The hum then returned with reenforcements as another nuclear missile began taking shape inside.

The Commander quickly grew tired of the annoying drone and kicked the silo, denting it slightly. He raised his nanolathe to reclaim the dent and replace it with a new patch of armor, cursing himself for doing such a thing.

As he strode away into the forest, the annoying aircraft disturbed him again. "What now?" he asked impatiently.

"Sir, the naval task force you requested is complete."

"Well, then by all means, send them in." The Commander walked away into the dense underbrush, dense enough that the aircraft couldn’t follow, but somehow, it managed. It reclaimed limbs and leaves as it went, carving a hole through the treetops.

"Nothing else sir? You just want me to tell them they are to attack?"

"Yes!" bellowed the Commander. "Just tell them to attack. And, fire up the test cycle as well. Pattern Omega 39."

"Aye, sir. Pattern Omega 39 acknowledged." The aircraft floated away, leaving the Commander in peace. He D-gunned his way through a thicket, and reclaimed a tree closely resembling an ancient sycamore. Anything to get away from that pesky plane.

PW-375 Alpha clung to the limbs of a tree, watching the scouting party disappear over a knoll. His modified radar jammer would only work for a short while, as it immensely drained his power supply. The Arm tanks and Kbots moved out of visual range, and for the first time in what seemed like hours, he was safely able to jump down from his perch onto the forest floor. The insects scattered and birds took off in droves. He scurried off toward the city, but thought twice about it. That was where the Arm would be waiting for him. He could not risk the entire mission, so he turned around and headed for New Miami, a large coastal city a hundred klicks to the west.

A scout plane screamed overhead, sweeping the vicinity with both active and passive radar, hoping, he knew, to attempt to apprehend him. More followed close behind. He speculated that the Arm were attempting to lure him out of hiding by making him think the plane was gone, and then the planes following behind would pick him up. Clever, but he was Core, and they didn’t know, and that was their weakness in this situation. The Core mechanical minds could account for all possible outcomes and defend against them. Feeble organic minds, with their limited mental capacity could not hope to out think him.

One of the metal creatures wandered over in his direction. He crept slowly away from it, but it signaled him to stop in a rough, demanding tone. He did so, more from fear instead of willingly complying. It seemed to inspect him, then moved closer, and a laser popped out of its top. It shout out a green beam, and he expected to know no more, but this was not the case. The piles of scrap metal he was sitting on slowly disintegrated until there was no more. Green dots seemed to run wildly around the debris, then jumped back into the gun on the metal creature. It moved even closer, telling him that it had been instructed to help him. He trembled from fright, not knowing what it was, let alone if it was telling him the truth. The gun aimed for him, and more green dots shot out of it. He expected to disintegrate as had the metal, but it was not like that at all. He himself glowed green. The wounds on his arms and legs seemed to patch themselves in a matter of seconds, as did minor skin breaks and scratches. Within a minute, all the injuries on him, as far as he could tell, had been healed. The gun retreated back inside the metal creature, and it spoke to him again.

"Sir, if you’ll follow me please, I’ll take you to our medical facility and my commanding officer." It motioned for him to follow. He attempted to stand on sore legs, and found it difficult, but he forced himself that this was the right course of action. He had no evidence that the creature was telling him the truth, but since it had healed him, he felt obligated to return the favor by doing as it had instructed. Twigs crunched under his feet as he wobbled behind it. Moments later, he found himself standing inside a brightly-lit structure, which stank like a triage center. As he maneuvered through the winding corridors, past closed door after closed door, he finally came upon an open door which the metal creature ushered him through. He saw that it was indeed a triage center, with biobeds and some unfamiliar medical equipment. Injured bodies, injured much worse than he littered the room, getting the same treatment he had, except it seemed to have less effect. Every few moments, a healthy person walked by, some in medical uniforms, others seemed to be soldiers. Some saluted him and called him ‘sir.’

At last, a medic came to him, scanned him with some sophisticated medical devices, and then told him he was free to go. He left the odorous room, and confronted the metal creature.

"What are you?" The answer did not come as he had expected.

The metal casing around it split down the middle, revealing a man, like him, encased in a transparent shell with controls on all sides of him. He grinned, but his jovial demeanor turned sullen the instant he asked the question. Then, sounding both worried and scared, he said, "I’m CK-55019, Ensign Harrison. Don’t you remember sir? You were injured in battle, and one helluva battle it was, too." His eyes seemed to beg, begging him to remember something that he couldn’t remember.