Due Process: The Beginning of The End

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Tue Jun 25, 2002 1:04 pm

Heya, folks! I've been hacking away on  Desecration over the last week or two. I've run into a couple of sticky points, so rather than sit there and try and beat my head against the wall, I decided to strike off in the other direction I talked about a while back--re-writing the previous four installments of Bug's stories. I'm about a third of the way through  Due Process, the re-write of Bug's first appearance in a ToB, and thought I'd just throw it up for public consumption. Those of you that remember the original version of this ('Bug's DTM Intro' parts 1-3) will see some new things and new information, so don't be surprised. Don't expect me to update these regularly-- Desecration is still my main focus--but I will keep writing on these in the in-between moments I have available to me. If you want to comment, go ahead and throw 'em in the  Desecration comments thread. Enjoy! ---- The base floated some twenty meters above the ground, the T-grav generators deep in its heart allowing it to slide smoothly through the air at a sedate pace. The stabilizer sail, which projected out from under the main ‘floor’ of the base, had its tip only a mere ten meters over the surface. There was no danger of it colliding with anything, for the area the base traversed now was relatively flat and had few trees. The surrounding area was a rolling plain of high grasses and hidden pools of water and wildlife. This base belonged to the Blood Eagle, who had just recently established themselves on this newly discovered planet. While they were arguably one of the more aggressive tribes, their military efforts required a great deal of logistical support. Thus, they had just as many farmers as any other tribe, and just as much of a need for new agricultural planets as anyone. The base was not huge, not like the truly massive structures that appeared on major hub-worlds, but it was large enough for a full garrison force to use. It was traveling in a semi-erratic circle across the vast and empty miles of this plain. Each complete circuit took it several weeks, and the constant relocation annoyed the troops, but the rules said it had to keep on the move, and the commander of the base, a Michael Khentor, was not one to stray from the standard. And so, even now, in the dead of night, the floating base trudged along the plain, unmindful of the rapidly approaching thunderstorm coming at it from the east, oblivious to the herds of animals it passed over, and ignorant of the strange, angular form approaching it from the west. This being kept pace with a group of something that resembled bison, trailing behind them by only a few meters. As the bison passed under the sail, the figure put on a burst of speed and made a running leap, hurling itself into the air and just barely catching the bottom of the sail with its hands. Amazingly, it was somehow holding on to the almost perfectly smooth stahlplast, and it began pulling itself further up the sail with its hands alone. Closer inspection revealed that it was, in fact, digging its fingers  into the stahlplast and hauling itself up by main force. Why, in the all the names of all the gods the humans worshipped, did they love their floating bases so much? The thought rolled through his head almost as a response to the strain in his arms as he dug his talons into the stone-like substance the humans called ‘stahlplast’. Could they not invest their efforts into something much sturdier, like a fully underground hive? That way, they could at least have an easy-to-defend network of tunnels they could collapse at will if needed. This floating monstrosity he was climbing now had its own share of shafts and tunnels, but they were almost impossible to seal off once taken. He shook his head as he continued climbing. Foolish humans. Which he was not. Any fool looking at him could have determined that. He was what some had called a mantis warrior, though the true name of his species as completely unpronounceable to human tongues. He was not related in any way to the ‘praying mantis’ indigenous to the humans’ home planet, but rather a completely alien species that, according to what he knew, had been around in this part of the universe for far longer than humans had ever existed. He stood a little over two meters tall when he was erect, which was rare for him. He scuttled and scurried all around so as not to be seen, for he was an assassin of no small talent. His carapace was a dark olive green, smooth and hard and difficult to make out in the shadows. Its surface was broken by many lines, shallow gouges, and a few craterous marks where he’d been punched clean through by human laser rifles. Atop his wedge-shaped head, two long, many-jointed antennae waved about, scenting the air around him, probing for the scent of a human or the smell of the oil men used to lubricate their war-machines. His eyes were hemispherical shapes of many, many facets, the left eye a dark purple that looked like the galaxy’s largest shaped sapphire, the right a non-reflective gunmetal grey. That eye was a cybernetic replacement that he’d put in himself a couple of years ago. He’d lost the eye in the process of procuring the information he’d needed to locate this base. His arms, long and thin but extraordinarily strong, were adorned with backwards-pointing blades on the forearms. He’d used those blades on many an occaision to kill or cripple his targets. Both of his hands looked almost human in their shape and the number of fingers, but each finger sported a retractable talon of razor sharpness and the hardness of diamond. His legs, all four of them, projected from the right-angle join between his torso and abdomen, and he used them to stabilize his center of gravity, using the single large talon on the end of each to clamp himself tightly to the stahlplast. Various straps and buckles, all padded to keep them silent, crisscrossed his thorax, forming an intricate web that held quite a few weapons. At his hip was a  katar, a punch-dagger he’d stolen almost twenty years ago from one of his targets. Slung at his side along the length of his abdomen was a huge staff, slightly curved with triangular blades affixed to the ends. This was his  chatka, or soul-staff, the weapon he’d had with him almost since birth. Projecting over his shoulders were the handles of a pair of human plasma cannons. A bandolier of throwing wedges went across the middle of his chest, each dulled to a non-reflective finish. Last, but not least, was his carryall sack, slung between his legs and affixed at one end to his horizontally-projecting abdomen. Within the sack were a large number of small explosives, grenades, various items he used to make traps, and a few days’ supply of food and drink. He would need the food, if things went as they usually did when he was in the final phase of hunting down a target, which was slow. They went that way because he was careful and methodical about the business of hunting and killing a man and leaving no trace. Being so methodical was his only option, for he had no desire to end up dead before he completed his task of vengeance. He stopped his climb for a moment, digging himself in as he rested and recalled what had brought him here. He recalled it often now that he was so close to the culmination of almost fifty years’ work. His queen and mother, the being who’d birthed him some sixty-three years ago, was dead. When he was little more than a young warrior, a group of Blood Eagle warriors battered their way into her hive and slaughtered her and gods only knew how many of his warrior-brothers in the process. He had been away from the hive at that point, and when he got back a new queen was in place… and she blamed  him for his mother’s death, astoundingly enough. Tath. He could not ever forget that name, nor what she had done to him afterwards. She exiled him from his homeworld, wiped him from all memory, and threatened him with death if he should ever reveal to the humans that his kind existed. Why she thought that he was the only threat in that last respect, and did not include the thirty humans that had doubtlessly taken away evidence of the hive’s existence was a complete mystery to him. Then again… Tath  was insane as far as he could tell. He did not know if killing the men that had butchered his mother would lift his exile, or even gain the notice of Tath, but that was not his goal. He was doing it out of pure vengeance. He had done well so far… the commander of this particular base, Khentor, was the last man alive out of the thirty-man squad that had invaded his hive. Khentor was old now, almost seventy. Human warriors at that age were either brilliantly skilled or nigh-incompetent in battle, and Khentor was the latter, thus his position commanding a simple garrison so far off the beaten path. How he’d lived this long was unknown. He wasn’t going to live much longer, that was for certain.  And what are you going to do when you’ve finished with him? the insect warrior asked himself.  Will you go back to being an assassin-for-hire, or will you perhaps go into hiding? Will you use the things you have stolen in one final gesture? Will you slink away? He didn’t know. He only knew that he had to kill Khentor…then he might be able to decide what to do. Only then. Letting out a breath, he started his climb upwards again. The floating base was quiet now. It was now well after midnight, and the thunderstorm that had rolled in three hours earlier was still going strong, lashing at the floating building with its rainy whips. A herd of bison trudged along underneath the base, using it as a sort of shelter from the stinging rain. Nothing could protect them from the god-like roar of the thunder, and they trembled even as they stamped over the muddy ground. There was one patrol out and about, but the weather was so miserable that they were hours from returning. Everyone else was asleep or nearly so, even the guards tasked with making sure the base was secure from intruders. Then again, this far out from civilization, there wasn’t much risk of a real attack. Who would  want to come out here? The insect warrior stood atop the base, hunched down next to one of several solar panels. He was carefully affixing explosives to the base of each panel, molding them in such a way that they blended in with the general shape of the panels’ supporting shaft. With a few quick swipes from a stick of waterproof marking, he colored them the same shade as the metal around them, ensuring that only very close visual inspection would reveal the presence of his handiwork. Stuffed into the explosives were the radio detonators, utterly invisible. He clacked his mandibles quietly in appreciation of his own handiwork. Human skills, he reflected, often grew stale with age, while he seemed to become a better and more ruthless predator with every passing year. Perhaps that was why he was still alive and still killing… though it would not do to get overconfident, he chided himself. After all, he did not have the services of a ‘slicer’, as the humans called their computer-intrusion experts, to disable the computer security systems, and would have to bypass them with skill and luck. Not to mention that he would have to either kill the guards or bypass them. Probably he’d have to kill them. No doubt Khentor was aware of the fact that the other twenty-nine men of his squad were all dead. Some of them were dead from old age or genuine battle-wounds, but more than half of them died in ‘mysterious incidents’, usually in their own rooms. If Khentor had any brains at all, he would have some of his troops on ready all the time, probably in hardshells. He hated those things. Suits of computer-assisted armor that vastly augmented a human’s strength and durability, hardshells were the only things the insect was truly fearful of facing in battle. His own carapace was quite thick, and somehow infused with a strong alloy compatible with his chitin, but it was not able to easily take the punishment that humans could deal out with their weapons. This was plainly evidenced by the numerous scars crisscrossing his carapace. He’d installed a shielding system into his own body at about the same time he’d gotten his new eye, but it was a hack-job at best, not nearly in the same class as those of human hardshells. There were gaps in its coverage, and it was not powerful enough to stand up to any kind of major punishment. It was really there to keep a single stray shot from hurting him badly in the process of the kill--more than once he’d left the scene of the kill with fresh burns and dents. Turning, he went to the edge of the roof and looked over. With a few quick commands to the computer embedded in the center of his chest, he made his right eye flip through various filters until he was sure that no humans awaited him below. It was time to make his way into the base, straight for the generator. His plan was to destroy the main generator of the base at the same time he blew the explosives on the panels up top. That would knock out both the main and backup power sources, leaving every security system in the place dead and silent. Then he could use the resulting darkness (why the humans didn’t have backup lights in most of their bases he’d never know) to have free reign of the place. Provided he didn’t get shot to pieces by a guard or a turret on the way in, Khentor was as good as dead.  No sense in wasting any time, he told himself. With a single motion, he went over the edge and skidded as quietly as he could down the steep angle of the sidewall. There was a ledge encircling the base, and he landed on it with no more than a quiet  thunk of chitin on stahlplast. He looked around and made certain no one was coming. Nothing. Moving towards the front of the base, he edged close to the wall as possible. This base design was familiar to him, for he’d encountered it a few times before. He also had copies of the internal blueprints in his computer, and he consulted these now. The overhead image appeared in his right-eye field of view, superimposed dimly over the darkness of night. There were plenty of entrances to the front of this base--a hangar, the downstairs hallway to the generator, and two hallways up top that led to the barracks and officer’s quarters. He’d have to get to the officer’s quarters eventually, but the generator hallway was what he wanted now. He peeked around the corner and saw that the generator hallway was not five meters from him. Perfect. Once he got in there, he’d feel less exposed. He checked once more for anyone at his back or above him. Nothing. He took a breath to steady his nerves and then bolted around the corner,  katar in one hand. Right before he rounded the edge of the doorway, he caught the scent of lubricating oil not more than five meters into the hallway. The wind from the storm had blasted the scent back into the base, making it impossible to detect until now. He was moving too fast to stop, and decided that he might as well take advantage of his speed. He could only hope it was one of the lighter hardshells. He rounded the corner at full speed. As he’d hoped, the human standing there was in a light hardshell, looking bored. The insect warrior was within arm’s reach before the human was able to react. There was a quiet  whiff as the katar sped through the air faster than the man’s eyes could track, then a wet  CRUNCH at it went straight through his faceplate and deep into his skull. The force of the blow was enough to throw the man bodily against the nearest wall. The insect had already withdrawn the blade by the time the man’s limbs began to twitch. Time was of the essence now. There was no telling if this man had missed a check-in with his fellows or not, nor was there any way of knowing if anyone was monitoring his life-signs. The insect warrior grabbed the man by the neck and hauled him upright. He knew that in some bases, guards were let through the defenses via the identification tags carried within their armor’s computer. Perhaps he might be able to use the man as a key of sorts. Failing that, he would make a good shield. <img src=http://scribers.midwestmail.com/ambushbug/BugSig.jpg align=LEFT> Member: DTM, XMEN Professional Tank Driver Card-carrying Base-Cracker Ugly Son-Of-A-Gun Bug's Tank Bumper Sticker: "If you can read this, you're already street pizza."Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub3.ezboard.com/uambushbug.show ... =EN>Ambush Bug</A>  <IMG SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 6/25/02 2:08:28 pm

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Jul 26, 2002 2:55 pm

Gods below, did these humans even bother with security at all? He marveled at the lack of difficulty so far. No cameras, no sensors, no other guards, no turrets... nothing. Were they that overconfident or just stupid? Probably the latter, he concluded. No one had even bothered to check in on the guard he’d killed. “Manson here. All sentries report in.” The voice was a crackling buzz coming from the dead man’s helmet.  So much for  that, the insect told himself. The generator room wasn’t much further. Getting there before the guards were alerted to the absence of their brother-in-arms was more important than stealth. If they caught him in the open, he was dead. Weapons-fire he could dodge easily if it came from just one man. Trying to dodge fire from an entire squad of men would be like trying to dodge a wall. Still hanging onto the dead man, he put on some speed and made his way further into the base. The generator room would not be much further... just around the next corner as far as he could tell. He could only hope there weren’t any guards. There weren’t. Not human ones, at least. The drawling whirr of a ceiling-mounted sentry turret grabbed his attention like nothing else could. Evidently his ploy of using the dead man as a key wasn’t going to work. Not hardly thinking at all, he grabbed the man by the shoulders and held him aloft. Then he bolted for it. The turret tracked his movement smoothly, its stubby barrel centering on him in no time at all. The barrel was lost in the glare of the shot it fired, a star-white ball of energy that hurtled towards him at hypersonic speed. The bolt plowed into the dead man, punching a smoking hole in his chest, even as the insect made it to the doorway into the generator room. Now he was running backwards, holding the dead man. The turret fired off a trio of bursts, which struck the dead man about the neck and face. The insect was within the generator room now, and he had to make himself invisible just as fast as he could. With a heave, he tossed the dead guard back out into the main hallway. The sentry turret turned to track the moving body, firing several more times as the body rolled to a stop against the far wall. While the turret was busy, the insect made a standing leap and dug his fingers into the wall above the doorway. Within seconds, he was out of the line of fire of the sentry turret, scrabbling with his feet to gain additional purchase in the smooth stahlplast. Looking about, he surveyed the room. It was a spheroid, partially bisected by a three-meter ledge running the circumference of the entire room. A large pillar stood in the center of the hole formed by the ledge, obviously the rest of the stabilizer sail by its position relative to the rest of the base. There was an elevator shaft on the far wall, used to reach the bottom floor of the sphere. He himself was about at the very top of the roof, where the shadows were thick. He jockeyed his position a little bit and was able to see the generator itself, crouching like some humped beast directly underneath the doorway, shielded from above by the ledge. With great care he pulled one of his hands free of the wall and reached into his carryall sack. He rooted around for a moment or two until he found what he was looking for, a small spheroid covered in molecular tape. Taking careful aim, he lobbed it down at the generator and was pleased when it fell directly into the gap between the generator and the wall behind it. He heard the faint  rr--rrtch of the tape grabbing hold of the wall, losing its grip, then fully arresting the movement of the sphere. He put his hand back into the sack and brought out the detonator.  Now? he asked himself.  Or should I wait? He weighed his options carefully. Detonating now would grant him complete and utter surprise, as the dead guard had not been found yet. Waiting a few moments.... well... what  would it get him now? He pressed the detonator switch. Michael Khentor lay on his bunk, his weathered form in stark contrast to the smooth lines of the sheets. At the ripe age of seventy-four, it was only good health that kept him in the service of the Blood Eagle. His days as a space-faring captain were long gone. When he’d turned sixty-five, his commanders had retired him from ship duty and placed him in charge of this garrison. It was not really a bad life, when one got right down to it. This planet was peaceful and far from the front lines of any conflict. Though his men found the endless plains and lack of cities boring, Khentor himself loved them. Too many to count were the times when he’d gone to the front deck to watch the sun rise or a thunderstorm roll in. He found it peaceful, much less stressful than commanding a ship. He was asleep now, his chest rising and falling in slow, even strokes. It was not a deep sleep, for he’d found out some years ago that he was no longer able to simply drop off as he had been able to do in his youth. As a result, his sleep was usually shallow, only letting him drift into the place of subconscious just far enough to pull back dreams. Usually, his dreams were peaceful, much like this planet. But every so often.... every once in a great while, a nightmare would come to him. He found himself on the bridge of his ship, the  Eagle’s Shadow, a ship he’d long since left. Around him, his senior crewmembers sat at their stations, working quietly but with frantic energy. It was not hard to see why. On the front viewscreen, he could see something that drove spikes of fear into his heart. Before them stood a brown wall of whirling dust and sand that stretched for as far as he could see. There was no flying around it, so colossal was it. “Captain?” said the man at the controls. He stood with his back to Khentor, but the old captain knew his first mate, Weathers, by his voice alone. “We’ve no chance of dodging this.” “I know, Weathers,” Khentor replied. “Find us something to hide behind on the ground.” “Aye aye,” Weathers responded, not turning around. He pushed his control yoke forward and the  Shadow nosed over and plummeted like a rock. Everyone on the bridge grabbed hold of something to keep from sliding around. Everyone could see the ground rushing up at them, and right before any of them could call out to Weathers, the first mate pulled back on the yoke and brought the  Shadow back on the level. With a deft twist of the controls, Weathers made the  Shadow arrow towards a huge rock formation protruding from the sand like some rotten tooth. “It’s not pretty, captain, but I think it will do.” Khentor nodded to himself as Weathers brought the  Shadow right up against the rocks, snugging it tightly to the lee side. The first mate wiggled the ship back and forth a few times, causing it to sink a few feet into the sand, thus further protecting it from the oncoming maelstrom. “Now we wait,” Khentor said quietly. “Tell everyone to make sure every opening is sealed and that all of our external equipment that can be retracted should be brought in immediately.” There were a few moments of quiet but stern orders relayed throughout the ship as Khentor’s wishes became reality. “All buttoned up, captain,” Weathers told him, still facing the viewscreen. “We’ll be swallowed by the storm at any moment now.” True to the first mate’s prediction, the viewscreen began to darken. It was impossible to discern any specific details, or to determine where the storm began, but the rapid changes made it all too clear that they were, in fact, right in it. The rock formation in front of the  Shadow disappeared within moments, obscured by blowing sand. The horizon was long gone. The sound of the wind, normally impossible to hear due to the ship’s construction for space and air operation, began to grow in the background, an endless sibilant of the storm... or fingers scrabbling across the hull. Khentor stood in the rapidly darkening bridge, listening to the wind whine outside. His crew was motionless around him, evidently transfixed by the raw power blasting outside. No one had turned on the low-lights yet, but since they couldn’t see out or use the instruments anyway, there wasn’t much of a need. It did make things a little-- “He slit my throat, you know.” Khentor’s eyes went wide at the sound of Weather’s voice. “W-what?” he got out, looking at his first mate’s broad back. “Aye, captain, he dropped from the ceiling and had me dead within moments.” Weathers, almost invisible now in the rapidly deepening shadows of the bridge, began to turn towards Khentor. The captain was just barely able to make out Weather’s face... and just below it, the bloody line of a deep knife wound across his Adam’s apple. “And he killed me, too,” said Shaw, the gunnery sergeant. Shaw was utterly invisible, tucked into a far corner with his weapons console, now dark. “And me, as well.” “And me.” “And me!” It was completely dark now. Khentor was unable to see his own hand in front of his face, but somehow he knew that everyone on the bridge was facing him, and in some cases, walking towards him. When he felt the cold touch of Weather’s hands on his shoulders, he was unable to keep himself from letting out a surprised scream. “Why did you take us down there, captain?” There was no hate in Weathers’ voice, only the calm questions of a concerned friend. Khentor knew better. He struggled and shook himself free of Weather’s grip, backing away. The door wasn’t too far--he could make it with a few steps. “You cannot escape your fate, captain.” Cold hands clamped down hard on Khentor’s upper arms, immobilizing him. “He is coming for you.” The voice, cold and thin and coming from the darkness, made Khentor shiver uncontrollably. “Did you not read our obituaries, captain?” “Get away from me!” Khentor said breathlessly, trying once more to free himself. It was futile this time; the grip on his arms was like steel. “I did nothing to hurt any of you!” Weathers, directly in front of him now: “Yes, that’s exactly it, captain. You did nothing.” Shaw: “You let us die.” Other voices, cold and wailing: “You let us be killed by him.” “You did not protect us, captain!” “He is coming for  you, captain!” “No! Leave me be!” Khentor’s cries were shrill and without breath. “Not until you  joooiiinnn ussss!” The hands on his arms tightened their grip, grinding his biceps into the bones of his upper arm. Khentor screamed again, tried to thrash himself away once more-- “ Let go of me!” Michael Khentor sat bolt upright in his bed, his words still bouncing off the walls of his room, cold sweat covering his torso and arms. His sheets were in disarray, his heart a galloping racehorse in his chest, his limbs still trembling. The sight of the walls of his room registered in his mind, and he knew what he’d just been through was the worst of the nightmares yet. But that didn’t make it any better. Too often he’d had these, and more as the remnants of his old crew died over the years.  Or were murdered... his mind added of its own accord, and he shivered again. “Commander!” the voice came at the same time the door to his quarters slid open. Khentor’s heart jumped again, but its frantic beating calmed and slowed when he saw that it was the man commanding his guards. “What is it, Uthkon?” he said irritably. Uthkon, fully armored in a Hoplite-class SCARAB, stood in the doorway, somehow managing to look sheepish despite the weapons that bristled from his warharness. “We’ve, uh.... lost power.” Khentor looked around quickly and noticed for the first time that only the emergency lights were running, and that his computer terminal was silent and dark. “I can  see that, Uthkon. Why?” “We’re not sure, commander. The panels on top of the base are just  gone, and we’re still looking into the main generator room. It’s--“ Suddenly, the entire floor seemed to drop out from under both men, and for an agonizing few seconds, they were in freefall. “The sail’s been deactivated!” Uthkon cried as he tumbled about, barely missing Khentor. “Brace yourself, commander!” Khentor did just that, locking his fingers around the frame of his bunk. Just in time, too; he was pushed down by the mammoth hand of gravity as the floating base landed heavily on its sail and sank into the earth. “Get down there and get a backup generator in place, Uthkon!” Khentor cried, levering himself upright in his bed. “And do it before--“ He broke off as his stomach told him that it was already too late for that. “Oh, this is not going to be much fun...” Uthkon murmured to himself. He’d expected the base to fall to the ground. That much he’d known was a certainty when he pushed the detonator button. Kill the gens, watch the T-grav sail lose power, and thus watch the base come down from on high. The impact of the base landing squarely on its sail wasn’t a surprise, either, and he was able to keep himself stuck to the ceiling by tightly clamping his talons into the stahlplast. Yes, it was all perfectly according to plan. CCRRR- RRRR AAAAAACK.  That wasn’t according to plan. He looked down and saw that there was a hairline crack in the floor near the base of the sail’s interior pillar. Before he could think of anything else, the crack extended, enlarged, and began to encircle the pillar. For a moment, he was transfixed by the motion of the crack--it was like watching the beginning of a cave-in. Then he realized what was going to happen. There was no time to think, or even to curse--he unclenched his talons and jumped with all his might. He was only just in time. The crack had no more touched its starting point when there was another sound of wrenching stahlplast and the pillar leaped upwards into the room, its tip slamming into the ceiling where he’d been just bare moments before. Powdered stahlplast flew everywhere as the full weight of the floating base ground down on the pillar, pulverizing both the tip and the ceiling it was grinding into. Dust flew everywhere, and fist-sized chunks of stahlplast ricocheted off the walls in every direction. He landed and ducked into one of the side alcoves in the room. The sail and pillar, braced by the ground, made a spear that thrust deep into the guts of the base. When the base had landed on the sail, the strain proved too much for the supports, and they broke, leaving the sail in place and letting the rest of the base sink down upon it. An unexpected turn of events, but one that would serve to shake up the humans, at least. There was another deep scream of tortured stone, and he felt both of his stomachs clench tight as the floor tilted under his feet. “Oh,  no,” he breathed quietly. Slowly, almost as if some perverse god wanted the moment to last as long as possible, the entire base began to tilt forward. <img src=http://scribers.midwestmail.com/ambushbug/BugSig.jpg align=LEFT> Member: DTM, XMEN Professional Tank Driver Card-carrying Base-Cracker Ugly Son-Of-A-Gun Bug's Tank Bumper Sticker: "If you can read this, you're already street pizza."Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub3.ezboard.com/uambushbug.show ... =EN>Ambush Bug</A>  <IMG SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 8/16/02 9:37:21 pm

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Sun Jul 28, 2002 2:40 pm

Which one will be the floor? The thought blazed through his mind, forcing him to examine the alcove. A moment later, he had it; the east wall. He scrambled over to it frantically, bracing one pair of legs against it and another against the floor. He wondered if any of the humans would do the same. His stomachs clenched again as he felt gravity fully exert its pull on the base, tipping it over just a little faster than it had been before, right over the point of no return. Fear gripped him hard now, paralyzing his limbs, even as he wondered if the base might crumble on impact, crushing him. The pillar, still vertical despite the tilting of the base, voiced a throaty scream of rending steel as its upper portion was dragged through the ceiling. It stopped suddenly as it caught against parts of the base further upwards, and the entire structure stopped moving. The insect held his breath, hoping against all odds, knowing they were impossible anyway. Had he been more instrospective, he might have seen it as the prayer it was. He heard faintly the voices of nearby humans as they pulled themselves to their feet.  Don't move, you idiots! He wanted to scream it aloud. "What the hell was--" The voice was cut off suddenly as the pillar trembled slightly, the bass tones of shuddering metal felt more than heard. It stopped abruptly, leaving only the whispering of falling dust. "Don't. Move." Another human, his voice a terrified whisper.  NOW you listen to me.... With a suddenness that took all of them by surprise, something inside the pillar snapped. The top twenty feet keeled over eastward while the entire base plummeted at an angle. The platform near the middle doorway exploded into chunks as the remaining vertical of the pillar tore straight through it, lodging into the wall. Once more the base tilted forward, this time with the pillar firmly in its grasp. The insect heard the sound of earth being ripped apart as the sail tilted with the base, gouging a huge divot in the plain. The few brief seconds of freefall that followed were like nothing he had ever known. His mind could only comprehend them as flashed images of moving walls and flying stahlplast, lit only by the dim emergency lights. There was a short, gravelly rumble as the outer deck of the base bit into the earth, sending sprays of soil flying upward and outward. The insect was slammed downward--into the wall, now--hard enough for his toes to dig into the stahlplast. He heard an almost-cheerful gonging as the generator broke loose from its mounts and slammed against the pillar and then the far wall, finally lodging itself in the elevator shaft. He heard the screamed curses of men and women as they were hurled against the wall outside the generator room. Everything stopped moving. He shook his head to clear it, wondering if the base was going to go any further. As if in answer to his question, the base rumbled softly as it settled another couple of feet. He looked around, wondering how he was going to get out. The only door out was now a passage that sloped down into the room, and steeply at that. He could climb the pillar--the remnants, rather--and get up there, but then he had the humans to deal with. Perhaps they'd just leave? Then he saw it amidst the rubble: the body of the guard he'd killed. He'd dumped it by the turret on his way in, and the fall of the base had tossed it into the room. And the humans up there in the hallway had no doubt seen it just before all hell had broken loose. Would they...? They would. He heard the humans getting up. An order: "Check and see if anyone fell in there!" He saw the glow from a light as it was directed downward.  Act. NOW. He wasted no time with a plan and let it come as it would. No time for the pillar now--he jumped from the alcove and landed on the now-angled platform that ran the circumference of the room. Digging his toes in, he bounded across as he pulled a bundle from his carryall. He could see the light was moving down the short passage, its owner no more than a few feet from visibility. Other lights began to snap on as well, and he could hear the humans forming up. The timing was perfect. He got within arm's reach just as the human got past the edge of the doorway. The insect reached with his free hand, grabbed the man's shoulder, and tumbled him off the platform. With his other hand he swung the bundle around, keeping one finger through its drawstring. The bottom of the bundle opened up, spewing a trio of spheroids up the passage. He ducked back around the corner and threw his hands up over his eyes as much as he could. The first, a flashbang, went off with a loud report that was mixed with shouts of confusion as the human's armor darkened their visors. The other two continued over their heads and clunked against the far wall. A heartbeat later, they went off, pounding the passageway with a thunderous double-clap of fire and heat. Out of an unprotected corner of his good eye, he saw several of the humans hurled bodily down the passage and into the rubble below. He bolted around the corner and went up the passageway. He saw only a quintet of them left, two of them in Myrmidons and the rest sporting Hoplite hardshells. They were still dazed by the blasts, but looked relatively unhurt. He gave himself no time to worry about the odds, but rushed straight at them. He bounded up to the closest of the Myrmidons and punched him square in the face. The full helmet protected the human from the brunt of the impact, ringing loudly. The insect reached down and tore the  Wrath cannon from the warrior's hands. He hissed loudly as the weight of the weapon almost took him off-balance.  No time to be weak! he growled at himself, hauling the Wrath to the level and jamming its stubby barrel against the human's chest. He leaned forward heavily and pulled the trigger. The recoil almost tore the weapon free of his grip, but he managed to keep it pressed against the human's hardshell, containing the shell in the barrel. The huge Myrmidon tumbled backwards from the impact, his chestplaste dented deeply. Now the other humans were reacting, bringing weapons to bear and firing, but he was already turned around and sprinting away. A plasma bolt sizzled over his shoulder as he leaped the corner and headed down the exit hallway. He didn't bother looking behind him for pursuit, for the live shell stuck in the barrel of the Wrath cannon he'd left behind was about to go off. A hot cushion of compressed air lifted him and blew him down the hallway. It took all his reflexes to use his hands against the ceiling to keep from flipping over as he skidded down the angled passage. He heard the rending of stahlplast as the tunnel collapsed behind him. He got his feet on the floor and managed to keep them there without tumbling, skidding the rest of the way down. He could only hope that the forward tilt of the base wasn't enough to block the exit with earth.  Moments later... He pushed aside another large chunk of stahlplast and was greeted with the scent of fresh, untainted air. It was a great relief, for when he'd seen the exit doorway blocked with earth and stone, he was certain he was going to be buried alive, now that the way behind had collapsed. Carefully, he poked just his antennae out of the hole he'd made, waving them around in hopes of catching a scent. There! Off to his right, about twenty-five meters away, he could both smell and hear the quad-engines of a Dragon class transport. He could hear the shouts of several humans as well. "--we were just coming back when we saw the base fall--" "--the entire squad, dead! The whole room collapsed on them--"  So that crazy stunt with the mortar cannon actually worked, the insect congratulated himself.  I may yet succeed. "--everyone else?" "We're it." And then: "This was  not an accident, gentlemen." The insect warrior clenched his fist without realizing it. He recognized that voice from the reports he'd stolen some years ago. Khentor! Khentor was here, still alive! Only with great force of will was he able to keep himself from bursting out of his hole and charging. He still didn't know how many there were. Carefully, he cocked his head and thrust it just far enough upwards that his artificial right eye peeked over the edge. He flipped to a low-light filter and was able to see the transport and four humans. Two light hardshells, a Hoplite, and a too-new-looking Myrmidon.  Khentor, he thought as he saw the insignia on the Myrmidon's shoulders. Khentor was just now getting into one of the empty passenger berths, as was the man in the Hoplite. "Get us  out of here, Ariel!" Khentor barked at the pilot. "I don't care if there's anyone left alive in the base or not!" Ahhhh, there it was.... the scent of fear, wafting towards him on the wind. "But, Commander!" "MOVE, dammit!" The insect did just that. He scrabbled up and out of the hole and unslung both plasma cannons from his harness. He bolted across the humped earth in front of the base and began firing before anyone knew he was there. His first pair of shots landed squarely in the pilot's back, completely overpowering the man's shields and cooking him inside his armor. He fell backwards, his screams broken and torn. "Attack!" Khentor screamed, though none of his men knew where their assailant was. The insect's second pair of shots melted one of the rear engine nacelles. It exploded violently, spitting sparks and shrapnel everywhere. The light was enough to illuminate everything for several dozen meters, and that was when the remaining light-armored human saw him. "There!" he cried, just before he brought his weapon to bear and fired. The insect warrior screamed in pain as a bright-red lance of light pierced his shields and went clean through the side of his thorax. Purple blood welled up from the wound and began to harden immediately even as he kept running towards the transport. He brought his cannons up and doused the human in hot plasma, ignoring the hideous screams. The Hoplite was out of his seat and jetting towards him now, a sword in hand. The insect dropped both cannons and brought out his  chatka staff, for he had no delusions about his ability to hit a flying target with plasma rounds. "Kill him, Uthkon! I have your back!" Khentor cried from his seat in the transport. Uthkon, now only a few meters from the insect, didn't bother to reply. He screamed a war-cry as he landed and raised his sword, aiming to use the mercury-loaded weapon to cleave the abomination before him in two. The insect parried it easily, bringing one of the triangular blades affixed to each end of the  chatka up and sending the blade screeching to the side in a spray of sparks. He brought the other end upwards in hopes of taking Uthkon's head off but missed, the other blade scraping across the man's armor harmlessly. Uthkon spun around mightily, swinging the sword backhand, but the insect ducked it easily, kidney-punching him in the process. Uthkon staggered and bent, and was completely surprised when the insect drove the end of the  chatka through the thin armor at his neck. Blood fountained across the earth even as the insect turned to face Khentor, ready to-- "Die!" Khentor screamed as he pulled the trigger of his  Wrath cannon. The black shell arced straight for the insect's head, coppery green smoke trailing behind.  No time--! He brought the  chatka down overhand, smacking the shell squarely on the nose and sending it back towards Khentor. It landed underneath the transport, still smoking and burning down its time-delay fuze. The insect turned and ran for cover. Khentor had just enough time to scream before the shell went off, breaking the transport in half and exploding all of its engines at once. Night became a blue-white day for a hundred meters, and shrapnel flew every which way, leveling all plant life for several meters. The insect leaped over and behind a huge clump of broken earth just in time, and he was able to hear shards of metal thunking into the ground all around him. He waited a few seconds, long enough to make sure that all the truly dangerous chunks of flying transport had crashed back to earth, then peeked out from behind his barrier. There was nothing left that was recognizable as the transport. A large area of the ground lay shrouded in flames from the wreckage. Some large pieces, tossed clear of the explosion, lay asprawl in pools of their own sparks. He didn't see Khentor in the wreckage... had he been tossed clear as well? He turned and looked all around. There! Khentor lay spread-eagled, groaning softly. His armor was blackened from the heat and flames, but still intact. The insect strode over, taking his time now. The wound in his side was not serious, but it hurt, and it would be better to let his hearts slow and ease the pressure on the still forming blood-clot. Besides, he wasn't about to let Khentor get up and make use of his armor. He knelt next to Khentor and quickly pulled the release catch for the man's hardshell. The whole suit split along a winding seam, revealing Khentor's body. Almost gently, he pulled the man's helmet off, leaving him completely vulnerable. "So this is the face of the man I've hunted for the last fifty years," he said softly. "I'd seen pictures... but they don't do you justice." Khentor was coming out of his daze, and his eyes widened almost comically as he saw what was leaning over him. "G-get away!" he rasped, trying to scuttle backwards. The weight of his armor, now unpowered, kept him in place. "Do you even know why I'm here?" Now it came. Recognition. "You're... the one that's been... killing my old crew..?" Khentor's voice was weak; the blast had injured him even though the armor. "Yes... you are that one. I see it now." He paused and took a deep breath, wincing as something inside of him ground together with the effort. "Weathers?" The insect paused for a moment, recollecting the name. Ah, the first mate. "Yes. He was the first one to die." "... he was confused... led us deeper into the tunnels..." "You  do remember." "How could I... forget? The nightmares have never left." "I'd call that a fitting punishment." "Cruel... you are. Why not kill me now?" Khentor coughed again and moaned softly at the pain it caused him. "Because you're dead already by scent of you." He could smell rich arterial blood seeping out from the man's body through some unseen wound. "Ahhhh..." The sound from the old man's lips was that of bitter amusment. "So you wait for the dish to become cold, then." The insect recoiled in confusion. "I..." he began, but was cut off by Khentor. "Don't try to... lecture me." " You killed my mother, human!" The anger, so sudden and powerful, was a complete surprise. "And you have slaughtered my crew ... in retribution. Are the scales even now?" Khentor's face broke into a wide, pained smile. "Was it worth--" Like lightning, the insect grabbed Khentor by the shoulders and yanked him out of the armor, brought him face-to-face. "  Yes." Khentor blinked hard. "Every hour of waiting, every long day spent planning... all of it." "Then kill me, and be done with it." Khentor's voice took on strength with those words, became filled with defiance. The insect let go with one hand and brought his talons close to Khentor's throat. The old man's eyes were frantic, but he said nothing, even stuck out his chin as the final moment approached. "PAH!" He let go and Khentor flopped back into the armor. In a flurry of motion, the insect got up and began walking away, leaving Khentor. "Where are you going?!" Khentor's voice was frantic. The insect stopped and turned around. "Away from here." "Why didn't you..." The man's voice trailed off in confusion. "Your nightmares are better weapons than my own," he replied quietly, and turned once more. Michael Khentor watched the angular form of the being that had hunted him for all these years blend into the shadows, unsure of what exactly was meant by the killer's final comment. Then it came to him. He collected the weapons he'd thrown to the ground and grabbed a few useful-looking pieces of equipment. By the time he had everything and had begun to walk into the high grasses of the plain, the screams had started. They did not end for some time. <img src=http://scribers.midwestmail.com/ambushbug/BugSig.jpg align=LEFT> Member: DTM, XMEN Professional Tank Driver Card-carrying Base-Cracker Ugly Son-Of-A-Gun Bug's Tank Bumper Sticker: "If you can read this, you're already street pizza."Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub3.ezboard.com/uambushbug.show ... =EN>Ambush Bug</A>  <IMG SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 8/16/02 9:36:25 pm

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Wed Aug 07, 2002 10:30 pm

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Days later... &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He was almost invisible against the plain. His green carapace meshed well with the tall grass, and he seemed a floating half-torso moving without legs when viewed from a distance. He encountered no one. No Blood Eagle patrols come to hunt him, no squads of vehicles went flying after him.... there wasn’t even anything coming up on the passive sensor he'd lifted from one of the corpses back at the base. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He was beyond noticing. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp For the last four days, he had done nothing but walk. His legs kept moving forward and back, up and down, taking him many miles across the plain, but he did not notice. His hands pulled food from his carryall and put it to his mandibles, but of that he was unaware. The blood-clot in his wound was pushed out and replaced by a plug of fresh chitin. It might as well have happened to another warrior. At one point, a bird landed on his shoulder and rested there for almost an hour while he kept walking, but that too was a non-event to him. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp His mind was in turmoil. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Not from stress or anger. He had none in him now. Khentor’s death had drained it all. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He simply didn’t know what to do. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Fifty years of work, done. Fifty years of hiding and scuttling and slitting throats... done with. You have avenged your mother. You can wear the Fourteen Rings with pride now, for no other warrior of your kind could have done what you have done. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Yes, that is all true. But what will you do now? He vaguely remembered asking himself the same question while pulling himself up the base’s sail. He hadn’t had an answer then, and he didn’t now. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  You could become a for-hire assassin again, like you did while waiting for the information you wanted for this last mission. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp But the work..! Remember how hard it was to keep up a human identity without any form of real identification? And the travel... and the  corps. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Ah. The corporations. They always paid the most for a job, but in his experience, every corp was treacherous. More than once he’d killed his target only to find himself the target of a corp ‘clean up man’ minutes later. Three times he’d had the heads of said assassins delivered to the corp in question, and two times it had gotten results. The third time he’d gotten more than he wanted. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He had no desire to get mixed up with them again. In fact, he felt a strange urge to just forgo his old profession and just pick a spot to live. He could just settle down on some lonely planet, kill his own food in peace, and make a life of it. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  A life of leisurely hunting? Never to hunt a man again? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Boring, yes... but remember Tath? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He could not forget her.  Yes, I remember. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Think of it. You settle down on a planet like that, keep to yourself, and you’d never have to worry about the terms of your exile again. No worries about her sending a war-daughter your way, no worries about having to keep your very existence a secret-- &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp She should have thought about the humans I’ve spent all this time tracking and killing. No doubt they’ve spread word of our existence far more efficiently than I. Why does she focus on ME? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Because she is completely insane. Haven’t you realized that by now? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He hung his head.  Yes... I did. But I thought... &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You thought that she had a shred of sanity left, right? That she might let you go once all of the humans were dead? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp I... yes. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You’ve been too close to the humans. This is not some holo where the avenger has his soul vindicated when his task is done. This is reality. Retire, you fool. You yourself are not done, but your reasons for being out in the open are over with. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp But... I don’t know.... &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Have you been paying attention to your own actions lately? Do you realize what you have survived? Look at Khentor... you broke into his home base and single-handedly killed him and every member of his garrison force.  Single-handedly. Do you realize that there are only a few humans that have ever accomplished anything similar, and you did what you did without the benefit of a hardshell? You have nothing left to prove, so why do you hesitate when it comes time to think of retiring? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Because....because... &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You don’t know, do you? He was surprised at how biting his own internal monologue could be. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp NO, I don’t! But I know it’s there, some reason. I cannot retire! I cannot go back to hiding, and I cannot go home! &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp But you are  done. You’ve accomplished everything you set out to do when you awoke on that forest-planet all those years ago. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Not everything. Something still calls to me. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You’ve been watching too many of those Renegades holos again, haven’t you? What next? Are you going to step thrusters to your back and try to fly? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Shut  up. Leave me to think in peace. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He was this far by the dawning of the fourth day. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It was, really, the first time he’d ever spent so much time in an introspective state. Oh, certainly, he’d caught glimpses of his interior mind during battle or while waiting a particularly long time for a target, but he’d never actually  argued with it before. It was disturbing to say the least. He hadn’t expected to have to defend himself against such verbal barbs and cutting arguments. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp It seriously made him wonder if Tath was trying to drive him mad. He knew she kept some kind of mental tabs on him--how else could she make good on her threats?--and had once before experienced the completely unnerving feeling of her rifling through his mind, looking for something. Range would weaken her grip on his mind, but could not dislodge it completely, and even from all the way across the Wilderzone Tath was capable of interjecting herself into his thoughts. Perhaps she was trying to dishearten him...? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp No, that wasn’t like her. It lacked her anger and fury, wasn’t impressive enough. Tath liked to  destroy things, not manipulate them. If she wanted him dead, she would not try and drive him to the brink of insanity first. She would simply send a war-daughter and overwhelm him with warriors. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp So, by logical deduction, the argument was with himself. Somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. For his own mind to cut at him so harshly, to question his very reason for existence so pointedly... that made him wonder which side was truly right.  Should he retire, or should he continue wandering the Wilderzone in search of.... what? What was it that made him want to continue to risk his life? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Was it the thrill of the hunt? He let that question roll around for a while as his feet tromped through the featureless miles. Yes. It  was the hunt. As dangerous as it was, it was the most satisfying work he'd ever undertaken. The preparation work was an art form unto itself, and the execution a sharp release of pent-up guile. The cultural aspect was alien compared to the training and education received from his mother, but that too was satisfying, if challenging, work. It was a contining education, and perhaps that was the best reason of all. But there was something underneath it all as well, a subtle thread in the web of his thoughts that he could not trace. He had just become aware of it within the last day or so, as if the culmination of his vengeance had lifted a veil from his mind. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He found himself at a standstill, legs stopped and planted into the ground. It took him a moment or two to realize that his fighting instincts had made him stop, that he was so caught up in the workings of his own mind that he hadn’t noticed. For someone of his profession, that was not a healthy habit. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He ducked down into the grass until just his antennae were sticking up and froze. What was out there? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp For a few moments, he heard nothing save for the whisper of the grass. Then, faintly, the all-too-familiar whine of turbograv engines. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A lot of them, and heading his way. He scrunched down further into the grass. Reaching into his carryall, he procured another of the pieces of equipment he’d lifted from Khentor’s patrol squad, a frequency scanner. With any luck, he might be able to pick up a transmission. He turned on the scanner and set it to start looking. He didn’t have to wait long. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “God, this job sucks plasma.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Hey, don’t knock it, Joe. At least we didn’t have to deal with that B-E patrol base like we thought we would. You ever seen anything like that?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yeah, Fro, once or twice... but not quite that severe. Usually they don’t keel over like that.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Interesting. Foes of the Blood Eagle? The scanner was getting a good track on the transmission, putting it about five kilometers away and closing. They looked like local-area armor communications--safe enough out in the middle of nowhere like this, were it not for the scanner he held.. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yeah, I’ll say. You saw the bodies outside, right?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “That and what was left of the transport. Messy. Looks like someone in a hunched-up Myrmidon went berserk on ‘em or something.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A new voice broke in: “Hey you two, cut the chatter on open channels. I know we're at least fifty clicks from anything, Fro, but you and Joe can swap story material later..” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Roj that, Trin. Sorry.” The channel went dead. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  ‘Story material’? Who are these people? he wondered to himself. As he did so, the engine sounds became louder. Now he could see their source. Off to the north, a quartet of  Dragon-class transports tooled along barely twenty feet off the grass. A trio of  Gyrfalcon scout vehicles flew in escort. He swiveled his head and brought his right eye around, then clicked in several powers of magnification. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp What he could see was interesting, to say the least. Each transport was completely loaded with warriors in all sizes of armor--light, medium and heavy. Every warrior’s hardshell was painted a flat black, though he could make out some gold-colored device stamped into the middle of their chests. Beyond that, though, none of them looked alike. Some of the armors were highly decorated and in tip-top condition, while others looked beaten and worn, though durable. Some of the warriors were without helmets, and he could see a good mix of men and women in the transports, some of them chatting back and forth while others looked outwards for threats. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  They’re a mercenary company. They have to be--regular soldiers are a lot more formal. But what are they doing on this planet? The obviousness of the answer made him want to smack himself. They were attacking someone, of course. One did not hire mercenaries to plant crops. He went back over the conversation he’d heard and realized quickly that the mercs had mentioned something about attacking Khentor’s base. Thus, it stood to reason that they were after more of the Blood Eagle, since they hadn’t left the planet on finding that base in ruins. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  You wanted to wander the Wilderzone.... here’s your chance. There it was again; that same argumentative part of himself. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Are you mad? They’re humans! What human hasn’t run screaming in terror at the sight of me? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Uthkon, for one. He leaped right for you, remember? There's been a few others in your time, as I recall. At least one of those mercs will have his head on straight. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Risky. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp And I repeat... you want to wander, yes? What better way then with a mercenary company? You’d make a poor jongleur, that’s for certain. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp For wanting me to retire so badly, you’ve certainly changed your opinion. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You changed our mind, remember? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp That I did. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Then follow them, and quickly, before you lose track of them. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He looked at the transports once more and judged their heading. Almost right over him, and at a slow cruise to boot. They were probably ahead on their timetable.. It would be quite some work in keeping up with them without being seen, but he had plenty of endurance and his carapace blended in well enough with the plain. Best of all, there was wind from the south to blow the scent of their engines to him as he followed. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  You'll have to earn their trust, he reminded himself. True enough. A chase, however, was a marvellous incentive to come up with a plan.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Aug 23, 2002 5:50 pm

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  It's like keeping an eye on a sandstorm, he told himself as he cruised along some two kilometers behind the mercenary transports. Getting close to a sandstorm, or at least the gargantuan ones on his homeworld, was an excellent way to die, usually by having one's carapace peeled off bit by bit in a very rapid manner. Getting close to the mercs, on the other hand, would probably get him shot to pieces, mostly likely by a laser rifle or three--he'd certainly spotted at least two when they'd flown over him at the beginning of the chase. Either way was a nasty way to go, and he somehow found the prospect of having multiple holes burned through his body was the worse method. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp But he wasn't going to let that happen. He'd avoided detection for the entire day, and now it was quickly turning into night. It was getting cloudy, too, and for that he was even happier. Soon enough it would be dark enough for him to risk getting closer. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He'd long ago learned that humans hated travelling at night. Something about the chemical makeup of their bodies made it so that the majority of humans were daytime creatures, he'd read. There was that and the fact that these mercs had been travelling by APC for at least six hours--they'd stop for rest soon enough. And when they did, he planned on sneaking close to them and hopefully overhearing their current objective. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp As if they'd obeyed his thoughts, the quartet of transports started slowing down.  Speak of the devil, and she shall appear... his mind rambled as he slowed himself and ducked further into the grass. He watched as the transports floated gently down into the grass and the  Gyrfalcon pilots made one more round before settling down themselves. Now was the time to move and get close, before anyone thought to set up any perimeter defenses. He kept low and moved as fast as he could without making any noise louder than the constant wind of the plain. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Within a few minutes, he was within fifty meters of the group. The mercs had parked the transports in a circular formation, and everyone was gathered in the space between them, talking. He saw at least one man looking out and around, but there was a transport blocking his view. Excellent. He flattened himself even further, leaning forward at the waist until he could place his hands flat on the ground and his thorax was in line with his abdomen. Now he was at least a foot under the top of the grass and still able to move along quite quickly. He scuttled closer, keeping the transports between himself and the lone watcher. Now he could hear voices clearly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "... did you see his  face?" He recognized the voice as that of 'Fro', whom he'd heard earlier on the scanner. "I haven't seen that kind of terror in a man's face in a long time." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Ahhh, he probably died of a heart attack, Fro. The man was  old." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp They were talking about Khentor, no doubt. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Yeah, but he looked fit, Joe." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "So? If you'd seen a base under your command get trashed like that, wouldn't you feel a few heart pains yourself?" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well, now that you mention it, I probably would. Too bad we couldn't get a closer look inside. I'd love to know how that happened... could come in handy later on, you know." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp A new voice: "Ah, it was probably some dumb tech tweaking the generator output, Fro." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "I don't know, Asha. Didn't you guys see what was left of the backup panels on the roof? Totally blown out of their mounts." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "So write a story about it, man! I'm sure there's enough material there to come up with something suitably grim." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  If I ever get to meet you, Fro, I'll give you  all the details, he thought to himself. He badly wanted to poke his head up and get a close look at the mercs, but restrained himself. They sounded quite sensible, but there was no way of predicting how they'd react if they saw him in a moment of surprise. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "So, what about this base we're going to attack tomorrow?" The voice was that of the one Fro had called Asha. "Any changes to the plan?" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There was a general consensus on that remark. The commotion died down quickly enough, and he could hear one of them, the woman named 'Trin', speaking. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "The plan is still on, but with that base already taken care of, we won't have to worry about getting flanked by reinforcements. That's the good news. The bad news is that we still have to deal with the monster sensor web the B-E put out around the main base in this hemisphere. That, and there's quite a few pop-up rocket turrets in that web somewhere." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He racked his mind, trying to place the description with what he’d seen in his travels. For a few moments, he was unable to do it, and then Trin supplied another detail--“construction hangars”--and it clicked. She was talking about the complex the B-E had built when they first landed on this planet, the one that they used to supply their forces with vehicles and weapons. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Gods below, are these mercs trying to completely drive the B-E off of this planet? he wondered to himself. He’d seen the place himself--in fact, he’d had to skirt a good distance around it on his way to Khentor. There were plenty of patrols and the sensor web put up by the B-E was good enough to get returns on the equipment embedded in his body, which was a rarity. If the mercs were thinking about attacking and taking that place, they were either suicidal or they had some kind of sure-fire plan. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp In any case, he’d heard enough. It was time to get going, but not before leaving something that would make the mercs realize someone else was out there. He carefully scuttled over to the nearest APC and left a hand-held communicator in one of the berths, halfway stuffed into an outside pocket on someone’s duffel. He had a duplicate of it in his carryall, and when the time came, he hoped to use it to contact them. In the same berth he saw a laser rifle with all the appropriate power cartridges for use without a hardshell, and without a moment’s hesitation he grabbed it and moved away from the group. If they failed to notice the missing laser rifle as well as the communicator, then he was sure he could find a better group to travel with. And he’d get a free rifle out of it if that were the case. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp None of the mercs saw him as he left. He circled widely around their landing spot and then, one he was out of visual range, straightened up and began running at top speed towards the B-E compound. Now that he didn’t have to worry about trying to keep at the same speed as the transports, he could really get some distance covered quickly. Galloping was a trick he’d picked up from what the humans called ‘horses’. For long distances and high speeds, it was a better method of using his legs than was his normal means of running. It was noisy, though, which was why he didn’t use it very often. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He examined the rifle as he ran. It was one of the oldest models of laser rifle, the kind that used individual power cartridges to supply the massive amounts of energy the rifle demanded as opposed to hooking directly into a hardshell’s power grid. Either kind was deadly, able to reach out and touch someone as far as two or three kilometers away. He wasn’t much of a shot with most of the human’s hardshell weapons, but these were an exception. He’d fired one some ten years ago and found it to be both easy to use and diabolically accurate. His only dislike was their fragility; any hard impact would knock the optiks out of line, making the weapon near-useless save for point-blank shots. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He ran a few cartridges through it, working the feeding mechanism and noting the smoothness of operation. Whichever merc owned the weapon had certainly taken excellent care of it. He flipped it up endwise and checked the stock; wood, he noticed, carved with many signs and letters. “Dragon Talon Mercenaries” and “Property of Epsilon--Touch and DIE!” and “Splitting hairs (and heads!) since 3935!” and many other such remarks. There was a crude array of slash marks carved into the butt, obviously some kind of kill-markers. He counted well over forty and clacked his mandibles together appreciatively. This Epsilon character was quite the shot. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He looked back to the words "Dragon Talon Mercenaries". They were led by a man called Spectre and were noted for their skill at surgical strikes. While small in comparison to most tribes, they owned a planet, Fenecia, and were widely regarded as some of the best troops money could hire. He recalled all of this primarily because he'd been offered a chance at a hit on Spectre some five or so years ago. Someone in the Wilderzone, most likely the Diamond Sword, had gotten tired of the DTM so effectively intervening in large-scale battles and wanted their leader dead. He'd put his bid in for the contract but had been undercut by some other assassin. A pity, for the hit had failed miserably as a result. Why the 'Sworders hadn't sent someone of their own, he'd never know. They were certainly capable of doing the work themselves. Perhaps it was just a result of their preference for highly intricate plans. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp For a moment, he wished he had a Diamond Sword tactical officer with him. Such a man would certainly ease the pain of figuring out how not to get himself killed earning the mercenaries' trust. Only for a moment did he wish it, though--he trusted his own instincts more than he trusted any human's. After all, most humans that saw combat on a regular basis didn't live to be even half his age. Hell, if he joined up with the mercs, he might be able to teach  them a thing or two. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Easy there, he chided himself.  Taking part in an assault on a base isn't nearly the same thing as slitting a man's throat. That was true enough. With his lack of armor it wouldn't be a good idea to get into the thick of things. Perhaps he could wreak a little havoc with Epsilon's rifle? That was a start, anyway. He'd have the reach to hit just about anything he wanted, and the laser's cartridge system let it fire faster than a hardshell-bound rifle. He would have to be careful not to let it overheat. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He continued to gallop along as he called up as much information as he had on human sensor networks from his computer. He readjusted his warharness and put the rifle away as he began to put on more speed. If he played things right, he'd be in place and out of sight well before the mercs reached the base. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Several hours later... &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Almost a meter of solid rock sat between him and the highly sensitive sensor net the Blood Eagle had deployed around their base. If he peeked out from behind the finger of rock that was his hiding place and looked south, he would be able to look out over a vast stretch of close-cropped grass and see the base easily. Not that he was going to do so--the passive detector in his hands was already going completely berserk from the massive amount of pulse radar pounding the area. Sticking his head up, even though it was still quite dark out, was an excellent way to get it shot clean off. He hadn't missed the sentries patrolling the area, and neither had he missed the powerful, long range weapons they carried. He'd have to have some kind of distraction in order to pop up and shoot. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He recalled the electronic map he'd put together on his trip here and brought it up for display on his right eye. The plains to the north were at least a hundred meters higher than the ones to the south. There was no gentle slope connecting them, but instead a sharp rocky drop-off that told the tale of some huge seismic event of long ago. It was the cliff formed by that event that he hid upon. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp About two clicks to the south of the cliff was the base itself, open and sprawling. There weren't many buildings to speak of, just a squat command post in the center and a long, low building where vehicles and equipment were kept off to the west. To the east of the command post he could see the broad expanse of a landing area. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp For the past half-hour he had used the passive detector to try and localize the various sources of the sensor net. It was tricky work, for he had no second receiver with which to triangulate positions and had to work by best guess on bearing and signal strength alone. There were at least three large sensor arrays at the base itself, but they weren't able to reach out to him powerfully enough to put him on the B-E's screens. Not that he could have done anything about them, for the laser rifle was the only thing he had that would reach that far and it just wasn't strong enough to punch through the thick shields surrounding the arrays. The tiny deployable sensors were a different story, though. They didn't have any shields at all, and one clean hit with the rifle would blow them apart quite nicely. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He had a plan now, if a vague one. When the mercs attacked, he would start shooting as many of the deployable sensors as he could just as fast as he could. He knew that large defensive turrets got input from those sensors, and cutting out large chunks of the net would drastically cut down on their range. He knew from the conversations he'd overheard that the B-E had quite a few rocket anti-air turrets out there in the grass, mounted on pop-up bases that kept them well-hidden until needed. He could only hope that his efforts would allow the mercs to get in close with their transports and swarm the base itself. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There was one problem, though. Return fire. Laser rifles had a long reach, but one major drawback--the beam they fired was easily visible to the naked eye. After his first shot, the B-E would know he was there, and by the second or third they'd be able to pinpoint him. He'd have to run for it every three or four shots if he didn't want fresh holes in his carapace. That or take out the defensive snipers that would be shooting at him, and that kind of shooting wasn't his forte'. He could try, though. Nothing wrong with that. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He raised his antennae to get a better scent of the wind and immediately noticed that the wind had changed direction. It was coming from the north now... and he could smell engines! &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The transports! The mercs were mounting their attack! He reached into his carryall and quickly brought out the twin to the transmitter he’d left behind. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Quietly but firmly, he spoke into it. “Dragon Talon Mercenaries, this is  not a Blood Eagle transmission. I am currently overlooking the B-E and have means in place to disable large portions of their sensor web. Please respond.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He waited for a moment, wondering if any of the mercs would be able to hear the transmitter over the noise of their APC engines. He could only hope so. A full twenty seconds passed with no reply, and he decided he had to find out if they were actually listening or not. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I’m the one that took Epsilon’s laser rifle,” he said carefully. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There was a loud squawking over the channel that sounded vaguely like someone cursing  very loudly. There was a few more seconds of this, along with the sounds of the communicator being passed hand-to-hand. In the background, he could hear the transport engines slowing down. They’d heard him, definitely. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You have a lot of explaining to do, mister.” This voice was female. Despite the background noise, he could place it as Trin’s voice. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I realize that,” he responded. “I am here to help you in your mission to push the B-E off of this planet.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Funny, we didn’t get any orders about that,” Trin responded dryly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Of course not. I was here on a different mission. You dropped by after I finished up with Khentor and his garrison, and I thought it would be a good idea to see what you were up to.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The connection went silent for a moment, as if Trin had put her hand over the microphone. It came back momentarily. “Don’t tell me you literally destroyed an entire base all by yourself!” Trin cried at him. “I can appreciate a joke, but that’s too much to handle!” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Then I wasn’t able to follow you all without detection for the better part of your journey, and I wasn’t able to grab a bolt-action laser rifle with Epsilon’s name on it and forty-five kill marks on the stock. Said rifle also doesn’t have the phrase ‘Splitting hairs (and heads!) since 3935’ carved into the stock, either.” He dug into his carryall and produced the cartridges for the rifle. “That, and I probably don’t have exactly twenty-six cartridges for that rifle. Don’t forget the communicator you’re holding, either. Of course I’m joking...  Trin.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you? the voice in his head asked sardonically. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  No, not really. I have to convince them somehow, yes? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There was nothing but the faint sound of idling engines coming over the channel now. “Do you want the serial number on the rifle as well?” he prodded gently. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Trin’s voice was curt, as if she were speaking through clenched teeth. “No, that won’t be necessary. I believe you.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Excellent. Do you want my assistance or not?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You’ve assisted us quite enough already. No doubt the B-E know where we are now, thanks to you.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Negative. Given my proximity, revealing my own position, much less yours, would be instant suicide. The communicators are stealthed. Absolute latest from the Diamond Sword’s stockpiles.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “You stole those, too, huh?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yes.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “When this is over, you and I are going to have a  long talk. What’s your name?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Here was a problem, he realized. He couldn’t use his own name--not only had Tath made that part of the terms of his exile, it was completely unpronounceable by humans. He wasn’t about to use the name he’d used when accepting contracts, for there was no sense in blowing apart a cover identity if he didn’t need to. What then? He put the communicator closer to his head and let it come as it would. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Bug,” he said after a moment’s pause. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Bug? All right then, Bug. If these communicators of yours are truly stealthed, then you won’t mind divulging your plans.” He heard wry amusement in her voice. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Turnabout is fair play, he reminded himself.  She just wants to make sure I’m not going to lead them into a trap. “Certainly,” he replied evenly, and then launched into an explanation. It was short and to the point. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp When he was done, Trin paused a moment before responding. “You’re mad. The defensive snipers will take your head clean off.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Quite possible. I plan on not getting hit, though.” He paused a moment before adding, “And I plan to return Epsilon’s rifle as well.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I’m sure Epsilon will make certain of that,” Trin told him. He could hear her smiling by her voice. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Good. Hold a moment,” he said, checking his passive receiver. “No change in their patrol patterns or sensor strength that I can see. They have not detected us. Now would be as good a time as any, Trin.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He could hear her turning to address the other mercs with her. “You heard the man! Let’s get moving, mercs!” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He waited until he could just barely hear the engines before he popped up from behind the finger of stone. He swiveled to the left, brought the rifle up to his shoulder, and started looking for sensors. His earlier detection wasn’t too far off the mark, and he found a line of them almost immediately. He drew a bead, steadied himself, and pulled the trigger.  ZARK! The bright beam of light lanced out to the sensor and blew a clean hole through the base. A second later, the power supply exploded and the sensor popped several feet into the air, throwing sparks and brief jets of the flame in a circle around it. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He pulled the rifle down, worked the bolt, and rammed the next cartridge home. Brought it up, checked the sights, and shot another sensor to pieces. Down, bolt, cartridge-- &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  ZARK! A shower of pebbles hit the side of his face as one of the defensive snipers took a shot at him and missed, vaporizing a fist-sized hunk of the pillar.  Gods! Two shots and they’ve already localized me! He wondered briefly if he was getting in over his head. Too late to worry about it now, though. He ducked back behind the pillar and went to the other side, putting the pillar between himself and the position he thought the sniper’s shot had come from. He lined up another sensor in his sights and popped it, worked the bolt, brought it up, and blasted one more. Another shot from the defenders pierced the rock nearby, this time several feet to his right. He ducked behind the pillar again. The rifle was growing warm, and he had to let it cool down before he could do anything else. There was another shower of tiny stones as another defensive sniper joined in and began shooting at him. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Any  time now...” he muttered to himself as a laser bolt streaked by close enough that he could feel the heat. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Almost directly above him an APC blasted over the edge of the drop off, its occupants whooping great war-cries into the night air. To his right and left, spread out across several hundred feet, the other three mercenary transports came into view. The defensive snipers could not possibly fail to notice this, given that they had already been looking in that direction. They didn’t. Two laser beams raked across the hull of the APC above him, leaving two red-hot strips that glowed fiercely for a moment. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He wasted no time and popped out from behind the pillar once more. Now that he knew where the mercs were coming from, he was better able to decide what sensors to hit. The rifle was cooler now, and he got off five shots in rapid succession, blowing a five hundred meter hole in the sensor web directly in front of the mercs. There was now a huge corridor in the web that led straight to the command post. The mercs saw it and took immediate advantage of it, coming closer together to squeeze through. He saw a rocket turret pop up momentarily and then settle back down as the outermost transport brushed the sphere of its now-reduced sensor coverage. Perfect. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He turned his attention to the defenders. The snipers were no longer shooting at him. They were now taking carefully aimed shots at the onrushing transports, trying to blow holes in the engine nacelles. He saw streaks of chaingun fire coming from near the command post as well, even though the transports were at least six hundred meters out of effective range. These he focused on--the enemy laser rifles might be able to damage a transport if they hit a sensitive spot, but concentrated chaingun fire would take one down quickly once they were in range. He lined up the sights on one of the chaingunners--or rather, the origin point of the flechettes streaking into the air. There was enough chaos and weapons-fire to disrupt his night vision now, and he pulled the trigger and hoped he would hit something vital. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He was taken completely by surprise when he saw the stream of flechettes whip downwards and then jitter around haphazardly. Bare moments after that there was a rapid series of bright explosions from the same location. It took him a moment to realize what had happened; by pure luck he'd put the bolt straight through the ammo clip of the weapon and exploded all the ammunition at once. The owner of the weapon was probably missing most of his arm as a result. He chattered happily and ducked to the other side of the pillar again to let the rifle cool down. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp When he came around the other side, the attack was well under way. The transports were already over the command post and he could see the bright flares of jetpacks as the mercs jumped out and swarmed the place. The defenders closed in on them, and the fighting began in earnest. He saw the bright blue explosions of disks, numerous streaks of chaingun flechettes arcing all over the place, and a horrific-looking series of bright-green mortar explosions. There was no way to tell through his night-vision who was who due to the immensely bright weapons-fire. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There wasn't much he could do about it anyway. It was too chaotic for him to fire into the melee without being sure of his target, and from where he stood, the attack looked like it was in favor of the mercs. He decided that it was safe enough to leave his hiding place and approach. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp By the time he got within five hundred meters of the command post, it was all over. He'd come up behind one of the defensive snipers on his way in and had dispatched the man, taking him by complete surprise. Now he had two laser rifles on his warharness. He was still trying to figure out exactly how he was going to introduce himself to the mercs.&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He looked ahead to the command post and the transports sprawled around it. He could now make out details through his night-vision optiks, and he saw the mercs rounding up prisoners and tending to their wounded. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp  Bug, he thought idly.  It will be difficult to get used to having a name again. Very difficult. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The other part of his inner monologue decided to speak up.  There’s that, and you’ll have to learn how to befriend humans instead of killing them. And it would probably not be a wise idea to mention the contract on Spectre. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp True. But it will be better than living out the rest of my life alone, yes? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Agreed. Make yourself known to them… Bug. It is time. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He produced the transmitter from his carryall and brought it up. "Bug here," he said into it. "Are you taking on new members?”

Due Process: The Beginning of The End

Due Process: The Beginning of The End

Re: Due Process: The Beginning of The End

Re: Due Process: The Beginning of The End

Re: Due Process: The Beginning of The End

Re: Due Process: The Beginning of The End