First Contact

Chapter 832: Book of the Dead

**TEXT ONLY MESSAGE FOLLOWS**

**EMERGENCY BROADCAST FOR [HEADER CORRUPT] AREA**

**TEXT ONLY DO NOT PLAY SOUND OR VIDEO ATTACHMENTS UNLESS FROM A TRUSTED SOURCE**

"I don't know if this will get far. I'm using the sector emergency broadcast system. Greenies of the 17th Special Tasks Combat Team have managed to get it up and running.

"If you can hear this, stay alive. That's my message to you. Stay. Alive.

"The combat team I've hooked up with has a plan. It's a plan that YOU need to know about.

"They're spreading through the com-system. The Atrekna appear to have somehow empowered Terran phasic residuals with enough energy to hunt and kill. They spread through the com-system, but only visual.

"This means that they are spreading, somehow, through the hypercom system. The hypercom wave and the ansible system both are, to use our parlance, 'haunted' by Terran Shades that use the system to move from victim to victim.

"If you read this, you have to destroy the ansible links, the needlecaster, and the hyperwave com system.

"Blow the main network dishes. Destroy repeater towers. Cut fiber optic and superconductor lines. Destroy NEO dishes and network reception centers.

"If you are in a space combat vessel, you must go after the ansible or hypercom relay. That's what is allowing the shades to spread.

"Disable video on everything. Attached to this file is a step by step guide for disabling your retinal link picture-in-picture function.

"You don't want that to happen, trust me.

"This report is text only.

"VERIFIED LINK: 20MeterSafeZone145Seconds TRUSTED SOUND FILE

"Use text. Stay informed. Stay alive." - Recorded Broadcast from the Front Lines of Iron Piglet; Journalist unknown (Presumed Killed in Action, remains unrecovered, file header damaged)

-----

Welcome to Crime-Net! Remember, Council LawSec is here to serve YOU, the people that make our civilization great! Remember to report any suspicious activity to your Unified Law Enforcement Officer as soon as possible so that you are not considered an access*&A((ASfasd89&^

WELCOME TO CRIME NET. WE OF THE GREAT HERD ARE HERE TO HELP EVERYONE

PLEASE LOGIN OR TYPE "HELP" IF YOU ARE UNSURE AND OUR AUTOMATED SYSTEM WILL ASSIST YOU

LOGIN>Help

REQUEST FOR HELP RECOGNIZED

TYPE OF HELP NEEDED

(C)ombat

(R)escue

(I)nstructions

(M)edia

(E)mergency

>M

Welcome to Crime-Net's Most Wanted! Is your neighbor on here? If so thea090ds78afas98c76fasas

THERE ARE NO AUTHORIZED VIDEO FILES ON THESE SERVERS!

Please select audio file type

(S)ongs

(I)nstructions

(N)eighborhood

(G)host Protection

>G

SETTING RINGTONE SOUND FILES ON REPEAT HAS PROVEN TO WORK AT A 10 METER DISTANCE

(R)ingtones

(I)nterviews

(B)roodcarrier Songs

(C)rafting and Survival Instructions

(A)rea Descriptions

(G)reenie Squeals (It's a math thing, Green Mantids only)

(E)xtended Play Howls

Currently, there is no known law of diminishing returns with the howls.

However, howls will attract walking dead and shades.

Use with care.

What would you like to peruse.

>Logoff

-----

With eight years (relative) in the Telkan Marine Corps, Captain Tut'el considered himself a veteran combat officer, a proper officer. He had his combat ticket punched (eighteen seconds of terrifying gunfire where he'd taken two phasic enhanced spikes to the chestplate of his armor and even managed to shoot back and hit the creature attacking, although he didn't eliminate it or even mission kill it); he had attended all the right schools, including the new Telkan Marine Corps Orbital Drop Assault School and the Graviton Striker Assault School. He had made Captain quite quickly, even counting the fact that he had spent five years on a planet while only one year had passed for the galaxy at large.

When he had found out that his newest posting was a Maintenance Command, not even a Field Maintenance Command, he had breathed a sigh of relief.

He had found combat a little too exhilarating, if you know what he means.

Now he found himself holding a weapon that most Telkan would consider a holy relic.

It snarled at him, wreathed his hand in lightning, and hurt to hold.

He knew he had flinched.

When the Warfather had stared him in the eyes, he had flinched.

He had handed back the chainsword that the Warfather had held in his very own hands during the War In Heaven and the War For Hell.

Now he was firing the same stubber that the Warfather had taken with him beneath the Great Forge when it was just an unnamed mountain. The Lanaktallan had not even named it, it just had a number.

TMR-181735A5

Tut'el knew it by heart.

But now he knew, when it had come down to it, staring in the Warfather's burning eyes...

...he had flinched.

Still, he was now leading the way, heading for the back.

Twice he had yelped and pulled the trigger on the stubber, thankful that the smartwire still worked when the rounds hit the phasic shade and caused it to explode into clear viscous goo.

"Form up on us, Phillip stab your eyes," the Warfather yelled from behind him. There was the revving of the chainsword and the weird sound, like a chainsaw hewing through sodden rotted wood, with a screech that made Tut'el's fur stand up under his adaptive camouflage uniform.

"Shoot the door off!" the Warfather yelled.

Tut'el held down the trigger and the doors leading outside exploded into flaming chunks.

The chainsword revved again behind him.

"RUN!" the Warfather shouted.

Tut'el followed the order, sprinting outside, into the cool evening air.

He screamed when a Terran woman, missing her arms and part of her face, lunged at him.

"Sir, the sat dishes!" Tut'el called out, pointing at the array of satellite dishes behind the HQ building, less than mile away. He broke into a jog, looking around.

Phasic shades were sweeping everywhere, darting across the parking lot.

"Major!" the voice came from over at the vehicle.

Tut'el looked over and saw Major Vuxten's scruffy looking driver.

It took Tut'el a second to remember the driver's name.

Bet.nik. No, Bit.nek. That's right, Private Bit.nek.

A shade swooped toward the vehicle and the Private fired a pistol twice.

The shade screeched and puffed away and Tut'el saw that the Private was using a modded pistol as well as had a tire iron in his other hand.

"Doki-Girlz are massing at Third Shop," the Private said. "They're trying to heat up your armor. The Colonel wants you to rally the troops."

"Get us to the dishes," Vuxten said, stopping by slamming against the side of the vehicle.

"Why the dishes?" the Private asked.

"The shades are coming through the ansible," the Warfather said.

The Private touched his temple. "Cathy, where are you?" he frowned. "OK. Drive that tank through the ansible connection, then through teacup field," he laughed even as he put his hand on Captain Tut'el's head, putting gentle pressure.

Tut'el ducked slightly and the Private fired twice.

There was a screech from behind Tut'el.

"Warfather Vuxten says blow the ansible connection and teacup field. Drive your stolen tank over shit, bitch, that's how," the Private laughed. He looked at the Major. "She wants immunity."

"She has it," Vuxten snapped. Warfather Vuxten stepped up next to Tut'el, holding out his hand. "My gun."

"Oh," Tut'el said.

"Who is 'Cindy'?" Tut'el asked the Private. "And why are they driving a tank this late?"

"Cathy," the Private said. "Because she stole a civilian planetary defense light tank about twenty minutes before all these pissed off drawings showed up."

"Why?" Tut'el asked.

"We were going to sell it on the Black Market for porn and booze," the Private shrugged.

Tut'el felt slightly outraged.

"Nevermind, Captain," Vuxten said. He climbed up on top of the car and looked around. "Dammit, not as many got out as I hoped."

"Lots of angry drawings," the Private said. He reached in the vehicle and pulled out a narcobrew, knocking off the top on the top edge of the door.

"Gimme that," Vuxten said, grabbing it. He took a long drink, then passed it back to the Private.

"More inside, sir," the Private said. He reached out and pushed on Tut'el's head again.

Tut'el crabwalked over behind the door as the Private fired three times and there were two shrieks.

"Man, them's some angry drawings," the Private said again.

"I need a radioman," Vuxten said, looking around. "Dammit, they're heading toward the barracks."

The Private held up two fingers. "Hang on, sir," he nodded. "Hit it, Big Mike. Warfather will cover you."

Captain Tut'el felt faintly outraged that the Private was giving assurances on behalf of a Major, much less Major Vuxten.

He opened his mouth to say something when atonal sirens kicked on.

CASE OMAHA - CONDITION SAMEDI - REVERT TO LOCAL COMMAND - IRON WEAPONS WORK - HOLD WHAT YOU'VE GOT - RANGE CONTROL OIC flashed on Captain Tut'el's retinal link.

Captain Tut'el was staring straight at all the high-speed parabolic dishes when a light tank crashed through the retaining wall, spun in place, then started driving in lopsided circles.

"She's a little drunk, sir," the Private said to Vuxten, who had just twisted the top off of a bottle of narcobrew and snapped the cap through a shade, which popped with a screech.

Captain Tut'el had seen the tiny threads of lightning on the cap.

"Fine by me, she's got a tank, that's all I care about," the Major said.

Tut'el closed his mouth.

The Major touched his implant. "Private Kathreelee, quit dicking around with those dishes and go run over the ansible relay."

The tank weaved slightly, played a merry tune over its external speakers, crushed the last two dishes, then crashed through the retaining wall and drove off.

"Hand me the flare gun out of the emergency kit, Captain," Vuxten said. He looked at the driver. "Link me to the vehicle PA."

The Private fired twice at a shade as he backed up, nodding.

Tut'el looked around on the floor, then spotted it. He pulled it open, grabbed the flare gun, then handed it to the Major.

The Major pointed it straight up.

The flare sputtered and hissed as it climbed into the sky.

Tut'el wiped his mouth as he saw all the white shades around them.

"Well, this is gonna be fun," the Private said. He tossed Captain Tut'el the tire iron. "Here. Doesn't matter where you hit 'em, just hit 'em before they get you."

The shades screeched and rushed.

-----

"Huh, that's weird," Peter said.

Legion, Daxin, Menhit, and Kalki all looked up with identical expressions.

"Define... weird... brother," Daxin said slowly.

"Got a lot of weird kicking across the superluminal communications systems. Weird stuff," Peter said. He turned and looked at the mostly empty control room. "I just let everyone go. I'd hate to bring them all back."

"How weird is it," Menhit asked.

"It makes me nervous when you say stuff like that, brother," Legion said.

"I'm going to go see if Dancer needs anything," Kalki said, standing up.

"No, you don't," Daxin said, grabbing the back of Kalki's vest and pulling him back down.

"I'm not sure. I've never seen anything like it," Peter said. He frowned. "We might want to check what's going on outside the SUDS."

"Might," Daxin agreed, nodding. He looked at Menhit. "Go check one of the TV's."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Peter said as Menhit left the room.

-----

The General leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his ample stomach, and stared outside.

The posting was a humble one. Just command over an old maintenance depot, where older weapon systems and the munitions they needed were stored by a military that believed in never throwing anything away.

It normally only called for a Colonel, maybe even a Major or a Lieutenant Colonel, but the General, four star, not a star less, had pulled some strings and this was the duty station he had pulled.

He only had a few weeks to go.

Then he would retire.

He planned on being a cabinet maker or a wood worker. He had been taking eVR courses and found working with wood to be satisfying.

Very satisfying.

The General sighed and looked out the window.

The stars were coming out as the desert moved from day to night. The moon hung overhead, huge and white, with lights here and there from cities and military bases.

The General loved watching the day turn to night. The way the sky went purple right before it went indigo and the stars came out.

He yawned and stretched, scratching his belly, leaning back in the chair.

The speaker on his desk went off. An atonal screech that was repeated by the speakers outside, echoing through the Mo-Have-At-Ye Desert of the Hamburger Kingdom. The General gave a surprised squawk and fell over backwards.

CASE OMAHA - CONDITION SAMEDI - PHASIC SHADE INVASION appeared in his vision.

"Aw, nerts. So much for retirement," General Imak Takilikakik said, slowly getting to his feet.

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