Extrapolatopia

By Bill Goodrich

Extrapolatopia is an anthology of 24 stories of speculative fiction with elements of fantasy. In it, one will meet fantastic creatures, alien civilizations, highly advanced entities, super-beings, genetically engineered polyextremophiles, as well as ordinary people coping with extraordinary situations. Hints of a shared universe are present in every story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Goodrich
• Release date: Feb 6, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370541171

Bill Goodrich

Bill Goodrich is a United States Army veteran, and a long time personal trainer. A lifelong consumer of science fiction, and fantasy, in all of its forms, he finally jumped off the procrastination train, and wrote his first book. The aspiration here is one of igniting future imaginations of readers, just as earlier works had inspired him.The fun is in creating original characters, worlds, and situations, and hoping they become iconic.

Book preview

1

ASSAULT ON HARBORAGE

At least a hundred Cartel thugs surrounded Sgt. Stacker, and they were armed to the teeth with auto rifles, clubs, and knives. They could not risk shooting, for fear of hitting one another, but their sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm Stacker. He expanded his black carbon fiber quarter staff and exploded into a whirling propeller of death. He took them out in groups of three and four, effectively abating their density. This tactic was integral to his victory on Blacks World, and unless these thugs were vastly smarter than the Gishmeld Corporations paladins, would duplicate history on Harborage. A knife found its way into Stacker’s left external oblique, through a damaged section of the AMP suit. The pain was searing, and he was losing blood fast. No stranger to this occurrence, he knew the nano coagulants would soon kick in, but the initial blood loss would be significant. Already he felt a dizziness, which slowed his reflexes sufficiently to allow a club to hit the back of his head. He fell and felt the crush of bodies on him. He heard the familiar power hums, as he saw the strength reports in his helmet display. His Warmechs were on the scene .

The crush of bodies was assuaged to the point where Stacker’s own knife plunged into the back of the lone thug trying to pin him. Stacker crawled away from the mob, who now ignored him in view of what they now faced.

The QWOD, Quadripedal Weapon of Destruction was an O D green cammoed Tungsten steel wolf skeleton. Its maw of razor spikes crunched soldiers, while twin beams of blue plasma shot from its ocular sensors, vaporizing thugs with machine like periodicity.

The TROM, Threat Responsive Offensive Mechanism was truly a marvel of engineering. Encased within a nigh indestructible, almost infinitely malleable bag of rubbery polymers, were thousands of powerful servo motors, capable of instantly forming appendages, blades, tentacles, bludgeons, or assuming any shape the central C P U deemed optimal for neutralizing a threat. Like all the warmechs, the TROM was an O D green, fusion powered weapon.

The ARD, Aerial Recon Device, was an eagle sized, triangular machine, jet black, save for the blue ocular sensors. Capable of Mach seven speeds, with unprecedented maneuverability, it alternated between unleashing flesh melting acid baths, and tremendous arcs of lethal electricity.

The last ten soldiers were immobilized by the CRAAG, Cryogenic Autonomous Assault Generator. The CRAAG was a blue cylinder with twelve multiply jointed tungsten legs, and a concentrically opening maw. Intense refrigerants froze thugs in their tracks, dooming them to a slow, agonizing death from hypothermia. Five neuro darts, part of a complement of fifty caused an hour of nonlethal paralysis, allowing termination at Stacker’s discretionary leisure.

Stacker’s standard policy on initial engagements was to leave two survivors, to report, and corroborate accounts to their superiors. This would start the campaign of fear that ate at the enemies’ underbelly. After killing the three other neuro dart victims, he administered the antidote to the two remaining thugs. As feeling returned to their bodies, fear reflected on their faces.

Tell the Saucedo Cartel that Fusion Force has declared war on them. If they follow the Omni grid reports they’ll know what that means. If you two ever encounter us again, I promise you a slow, and agonizing death. Now go.

They sprinted into the jungle. Stacker saw that his wound had coagulated but knew that increased respiration and heart rate from the run back to base would start the bleeding again. He took a silver tube from his ruck, and applied flesh weld to the wound. In seconds it adhered and hardened, forming a sealed encapsulation. Though weak, and dizzy, Stacker broke into a run, easing into a four-minute mile pace for the three-mile duration. The Warmechs kept pace, maintaining combat formation. A mile into the run, and the ARD signaled the alert. It was an ambush.

Stacker took a high velocity bullet to his right thigh. The AMP suit impeded its full force, stopping it just enough to imbed within the meaty bulk of the quadriceps. The pain was searing, but nothing new to him. He rolled behind a huge rock and scanned the enemy. They numbered two hundred according to the ARDs telemetry and were not Saucedo Cartel. The mounted rhino head logo was that of the World Hunters Guild. This was not surprising, considering the ban on hunting on Earth, with the advent of Syntho food. Humanity fought tooth and nail against the efforts of the Technocracy to herald an era of enlightenment. This debate was more than academic now for Stacker. He read the strength report on his display. The ARD had stopped transmitting. Something had blocked its telemetry. The CRAAG was badly damaged, and attempting repairs, but repeated rounds were vastly impeding that process. The QWOD was off line but read no damage stats. The TROM was at full capacity however, and on maximum destroy mode. Stacker had never seen the TROM take damage and doubted the W H Gs’ capacity to deal it any. From his vantage point, the Warmech had formed eight massive clubs, and left a trail of bodies. Stacker himself managed to fire his chain gun into the horde, adding to the damage. The two of them alone would eventually defeat this group. The thunder of vehicles however heralded more hostiles to the East of Stacker, his unshielded side. The TROM saw this and ceased hostilities to form a protective dome about Stacker. Forming two-gun ports, the TROM allowed Stacker to alternate chain gun fire between both groups. He had about two thousand rounds left, and more troops were arriving.

The RATs were in his rucksack. Robotic Autonomous Technicians that resemble foot long black metal ants, while usually in the role of repair mechs, and device analytics, would at times enter battle theatres. This was such a case, as the smallest members of Fusion Force scurried out of the ruck, and under the slight opening provided by the TROM. Moving with astonishing speed they each raced to a designated vehicle, computing maximum extrapolated damage by positioning, and placing charges of C 7. In minutes, they scurried back under the TROM, and used microwave detonation triggers. The resulting explosions, and horrified screams were music to Stacker’s helmet auditory sensors. More good news appeared in the QWODs icon reading full capacity, and in maximum destroy mode. Already the power hum of its plasma beams was vaporizing hunters and vehicles. The screams were growing louder, and the gunshots diminishing dramatically. Stacker threw caution to the wind, ordering the TROM to drop shields, and reenter the fray. He assumed a prone firing position and killed seven more hunters. The vehicles were all in flames, and between the TROM and QWOD, the hunters now numbered four begging and sobbing men. Stacker limped over to where the warmechs held them at bay.

You men are World Hunters Guild. It’s obvious what you want here. Well, you can tell your bosses that Harborage is off limits. The advent of Syntho Food by the Technocracy resulted in the Green Epiphany. Earths species are all either endangered, or on the verge of extinction. Harborage is a new start, a place where dwindling species can flourish.

One of the men found his spine. Didn’t know you were a tree hugger Stacker. A badass like you. Who would’ve figured?

Jesus Crones, don’t piss him off. Everyone knows what he did on Blacks World, said one of the others.

Obviously this is a collaborative venture with the Saucedo Cartel. They plunder this young world for their drug factories, while you ruthlessly seek species genocide for your own sadistic pleasures.

The Corporations run things now, the Technocracy has no authority. We’re breaking no laws. It’s our God given right to provide food.

Maybe you missed the memo about Syntho Food. Unnecessary killing, simply for the sport of it is irrational.

Ha, you slaughtered a million-man army on Blacks World.

"And I’ll do the same thing here. Now go warn your bosses that Fusion Force just declared war against you and the Cartel.

Back at the Turbo Tube, Stacker redressed his wounds, took a pain med, ate two proto bars, and now sipped on hot beverage Stim 22. Even while convalescing, he studied a map of Harborage, courtesy of the ARDs tireless recon. Harborage was home to the Technocracy hospital in charge of species proliferation, and to the Etheron Temple, devoted to seeking the Human Zenith. The enemy must be vanquished. The RATs and the ARD performed after action diagnostics, and any repairs needed on themselves and the other warmechs. All of them were minor, and of course the TROM suffered zero damage.

The map revealed ten separate strongholds, and based on square footage, number of vehicles, and monitoring of routine traffic, the Cartel, and Guild measured over one million. More could arrive daily, so Stacker needed to prevent that. He located the primary transmitting tower. The RATs confirmed only one, with no auxiliary. No doubt it would be well protected, and the ARD could be taken out by antiaircraft guns. Stacker knew the RATs could devise ghost cloaking to the ARD, and the ARD only. This could be their ace in the hole. The ARD now hovered before him with the after-action analysis, and strength report. Speech had been given to the ARD to further reinforce the phenomenon known as anthropomorphism, to protect Stacker from long periods of isolation from people. That was a laugh. Stacker had never been close to people. His Warmechs were all he ever knew or needed.

Unit strength at maximum. Logistics review adjustment made. Relayed to all team members.

Having learning CPUs enabled the mechs to analyze tactical mistakes to increase efficiency. This was one of the main reasons for Fusion Forces track record, and amazing lethality levels.

Good ARD, good. Prepare for Ghost cloaking upgrade.

The RATs worked at dizzying speeds, manipulating circuits with surgical accuracy via steel articulates inside the ARDs access panel. In thirty-three minutes, the procedure was complete. Now, no conventional radar or tracking could detect the ARD. It flew at supersonic speed to the tower, while Stacker watched on his monitor. It unleashed a tremendous arc of electricity, melting the tower to useless slag. Within minutes it was back in the Turbo Tube. This was not only a great victory, but a huge increase in Stacker’s arsenal.

There would undoubtedly be retaliation, and Fusion Force would be ready. His alarm sounded, and the monitor switched to one of the many pastoral settings on Harborage. It looked to be a deer and goat community. The thunder of vehicles increased in volume, and the main horde could be seen rising over a hill. Thousands of Guild members. Stacker figured that to be a previously planned mission. The destruction of the tower was minutes ago, insufficient time for the enemy to have marshaled that large of a force. Since the Turbo Tube was Ghost cloaked, Stacker’s little base of operations was impossible for them to find. Once they emerged though, it was possible pinpoint the teams’ location, necessitating moving the Tube after every mission. Stacker assessed the coming arena and pinged the initial strategy to the Warmechs. The ARD would make first strike, and remain cloaked, essentially an invisible phantom of destruction.

Stopping just before a rise, Stacker noticed that the Guild members had scattered into groups of forty or fifty. This particular reserve spanned hundreds of thousands of acres, so that made sense if they wanted to bag maximum game. The group nearest him hovered over two dead fawns, and a wounded doe. The men laughed raucously, apparently deriving some sick pleasure from the does suffering, judging by the crass comments meant to be humor. Stacker pinged the ARD. A huge arc of lightning exploded the four jeeps behind the hunters. Stacker kept the QWOD with him and sent the others to hunt down the rest of this group. There were thousands of them, so this could well be an extended operation. Stacker and the QWOD tore into them, with Stacker’s combat knife finding first blood, piercing the heart of one hunter, while breaking the neck of his partner. They dare not shoot their rifles, for fear of hitting one another, but from their bravado, they obviously were over confidant in their number advantage. Stacker extended his quarter staff and launched into his whirling propeller of death maneuver. He struck and dodged, killed, and sought fresh targets, the same techniques used to whittle the Gishmeld Army.

One of the hunters risked a shot at the ARD, only managing to scratch its paint. The QWOD vaporized the hunter, catching another who stood too close to his fellow, and ignited in flames. The QWOD began its relentless advance into the heart of them, vaporizing, and crunching guild members until only two were left. They cringed on the ground, as they stared in terror at the sea of bloody smoking corpses around them. Stacker now addressed them.

Now then boys, it seems you have a sense of humor, judging by how you laugh at a helpless animals suffering. Glad to hear it, because I am about to give you some belly laughs. You like suffering?

Now hold on Stacker, these are dumb beasts. We’re human beings. You can’t.

Stacker grabbed the man’s arms and held them out in a grip of steel. The QWOD emitted pencil thin beams, amputating both of the man’s hands at the wrist, cauterizing to prevent blood loss at the same time. Stacker released his grip, and the man fell to the ground, writhing and screaming. Stacker turned to the other man, who watched in horror, as the QWOD targeted his genitals through his trousers, performing the same procedure. The screams were the loudest Stacker had ever heard.

Sure don’t want you reproducing. Now go, return to your bosses. Become walking billboards of why we are your worst nightmares.

The icons for the ARD, CRAAG, and RATs went blank. Stacker zeroed in on the TROM, and he and the QWOD added their strength to the fray. The TROM was using multiple techniques of battering, strangulation, and stabbing, and had produced quite an impressive mound of cadavers. This group still had about three hundred hunters left, but after several minutes of added assault from Stacker and the QWOD, half of that number decided upon discretion over valor, and scattered into the jungle. Stacker grabbed two of them, both for questioning, and maiming, to fuel his terror campaign.

Now then, where are my other four warmechs?

I don’t know what you’re talking about, said the middle-aged hunter, trying desperately to mask his fear. We have every right to be here you know. It is our God given right to provide sustenance for our families.

Try another tune. The Technocracy invented Omni feed, and ended the necessity for hunting. No, you do it to indulge some sick pleasure in killing and torturing helpless animals. Harborage exists to re-ignite Earths dwindling species, and I won’t see it destroyed by the likes of you. Stacker unsheathed his black Mtech blade. The last castration we performed was instantly cauterized. I think perhaps yours will be lower tech.

Stacker please. What do you want to know?Where are my other four Warmechs?

We were a diversion, so the others could assault the hospital itself. Please don’t use that.

My warmechs have planetary range. If they diverted to stop the assault on the hospital, they would still produce icons. Tell me more.

They have special traps for all of you. I swear I don’t know all the specifics.

Stacker performed the castration as planned and forced the other hunter to watch the agonizing death. He now held the knife to him. The hunter became a veritable encyclopedia of information. Stacker rewarded him by releasing him unharmed but knowing he would infest the Guild and Cartel with fear by the prolific retelling of the events of the last few moments.

Stacker formulated strategies, and pinged them to the QWOD, and TROM. Fusion Force was not to be trifled with. The other Mechs would be found.

Obviously, the Guild had devised some method of trapping the other four mechs and blocking the telemetry. They could be anywhere on this planet. He thought about that, then remembered that the Mechs left an energy signature after using their abilities. He could adjust his helmet to scan for that signature, to see where it ends. He fine-tuned the array to zero in on the ARDs residuals, since they were the strongest. He also programmed to ignore the QWODs recent plasma bursts. At first it was faint, but trial and error in different directions found the signal strength increasing. They were nearing the hospital, when the signature went cold. The presence of a huge metal box confirmed his suspicions. The hunter had said they had traps for them all. Stacker and the two mechs retreated to the wood line, well out of sight. They most likely generated a dampening field for the less armored ARD, CRAAG, and RATs, who were obviously in that box. How they got the jump on them was another mystery. There were probably traps designed for the QWOD and TROM as well, though he could not imagine their nature. They were too heavily shielded. No dampening field would nullify them. It was then that he heard a voice, the voice of a high-ranking Guild member.

Stacker. We’re about sick of you and your machines. We have four of them and will destroy them unless you back off. We are also on the verge of breaching the hospital security doors and will soon have more hostages. We know you and the two big Mechs are in the vicinity, so surrender now.

Stacker pinged orders to the QWOD, then emerged into plain sight with the TROM.

Looks like you’ve got me over a barrel, said Stacker.

What are you trying to pull? Where’s the wolf thing?

Damaged. That last skirmish was pretty brutal. Without the RATs and ARD, I can’t fix the QWOD.

So, it’s just you and that thing? From what I’ve seen, that’s the most dangerous one. How do we deactivate it? Tell me, or I’ll destroy the other four.

The TROM is a failsafe device. It can’t be powered down, and I’ve never seen a weapon that can even slow it down. The best you can hope for is escaping death from it once I order it to all out destroy mode.

You’re bluffing. We got the skinny on you. You love those things like they’re your kids. You wouldn’t risk their destruction.

If you’re really that much in my head, then you also know, that if I have no recourse, I will fight to the death. Surrender is not an option. Stacker heard a familiar symphony of power hums and knew the QWOD had succeeded in its mission. It was confirmed when he heard the harsh profanity from the Cartel officer. The QWOD, CRAAG, ARD and RATs were now directly behind him. Fusion Force was united, and ready to engage the enemy.

The TROM whipped out a tentacle, grabbing the Cartel officer. The three men noticed the action directly behind where he stood. The CRAAG fired neuro darts into all three, before they could alarm the others. Stacker now stared directly into the terrified man’s face.

Now then, what’s your name?

Javier.

Well Javier, unless turning into a eunuch doesn’t bother you, I suggest you issue orders for the hospital break in to stop. Stacker waved the Mtech menacingly close to the mans’ groin.

Please. They won’t stop on my order. I am not that high up. Javier was trembling and sweating profusely.

Then kidnapping you was folly? You can’t help me?That’s right, I am not worth anything to you.

Oh, I think you’ll have some use once I send you back a gelding. Stacker slowly passed the Mtech in front of Javier’s face.

Wait, I can try, let me try.

Stacker nodded.

Rodrigo stop the attack on hospital, Javier said desperately into his radio. There is a new plan.

Si Commander, at once. Awaiting new orders.

I reward cooperation Javier. I am going to let you walk back to your men with nothing damaged.

Javier looked bewildered, afraid to move.

Go, before I change my mind.

Javier sprinted out of sight. Stacker expected treachery and sent the ARD on high recon. The image it relayed back was of two hundred-armed cartel and guild members, and a winded Javier just joining them. Break down those doors. We need human hostages now.

The hospital was not a fortress, but was still well constructed, and had a small security force of about ten guards. The breach was attempted with a wheeled battering ram even now being aimed at the double metal doors. Stacker pinged orders to the ARD, and a powerful arc of lightning reduced the ram to melted slag. Fusion Force would arrive in minutes, and the battle would be joined.

The cartel force was now joined by three hundred of the hunter’s guild. Stacker now faced a horde of five hundred well-armed men, who obviously learn from their mistakes. They flanked out, seeking cover behind vehicles, rocks, and trees. Many were cursing their lament at no hostages. Heavy machine gun fire forced Stacker to dive behind a cement wall holding a bronze plaque extolling the virtues of peace. Despite the turmoil, Stacker did not fail to recognize the irony. Stacker deftly went into a rhythm of firing his chain gun, and ducking.

The ARD flew swooping patterns, dumping devastating acid baths on groups of four or five. A well-placed arc of lightning destroyed three more, but a bazooka shell scored a direct hit on the ARD, knocking it to the ground. Stacker heard loud whooping and hollering, and the mechs icon went dark.

The CRAAG froze a group of ten hunters solid, and paralyzed ten more, exhausting its neuro dart compliment. It scrambled to avoid a direct hit from a bazooka, finally seeking cover behind a large rock, and mirroring Stacker’s shoot and duck tactic.

RAT 1 skittered at top speed to tend to the downed ARD, while RAT 2 zigzagged its way to a troop transport truck serving as a cover point for fifteen Cartel thugs. It attached a quarter sized charge of C-7 to the underbelly of the vehicle, then skittered to a jeep shielding six hunters. It repeated the tactic, then returned to Stacker. RAT 2 remotely detonated both charges, producing a huge fireball.

The QWOD, and TROM waded into the center mass of Cartel and Guild mix, and proceeded to vaporize, chomp, bludgeon, stab, and asphyxiate wholesale.

The cartel guild survivors retreated into the jungle. Stacker let them go so they could relate to their fellows what had transpired, thus furthering his fear poison. The hospital doors opened, and a fearful duo of doctors cautiously made their way to Stacker.

Thank the Technocracy for your protection Sgt. Stacker, said Doctor Evelyn Rose.

I’m afraid there’ll be more attacks Doctor Rose. This is a big planet. I’ll need a detailed map and list of all of your preserves, so I can second guess their plans. Stacker went into the hospital to discuss better security.

Violet Stratton felt awash with euphoria as the soothing tones of the choir sang songs of rapture. The haunting wind instruments they called Ephlarons seemed to be everywhere. The Etheron temple was everything she had always imagined it to be, and far more. Her life as a psychologist, evaluating field operatives for Glacier Holdings seemed an eternity ago, though it had only been a month since she came here with Sgt. Quell Stacker. The temple was a marvelous paradise, a never-ending tapestry of lush gardens, blue streams, and cascading golden waterfalls. The men and women here were devoid of hatred, envy, jealousy. One person’s personal epiphanies were encouraged and embraced by all. The human Zenith could only be sought and attained in such a place. She felt especially honored that Honoresto himself, the most adept aspirant took it upon himself to nurture her along.

I feel that you are as in harmony with the temple as any who dwell here, said Honoresto. He was as if fresh from a sojourn to Mount Olympus, after wise council with Zeus himself. The white robes he wore seemed to magically flow around his golden tanned body. His skin was as unblemished as the tranquil pool that lay before them. His handsome face was a chiseled delight and topped by thick long hair surely woven by wood nymphs from the most illustrious dark silk. His ever-present smile, and gentle soothing voice would not be lost on even the most insensitive of souls.This place is Heaven, and I can’t believe I am here, said Violet.

Honoresto waved his hand, levitating the golden fruit of Thylene to hover enticingly in front of Violets face. Please partake of the purest of the pure. In you lies wonderment beyond wonderment, and I would see it flourish.

I feel I am on the verge of the most beautiful epiphanies of the Gods.

The wonders of the Etheron Temple are endless, said Honoresto.

The world is tranquil, and peaceful, a synergy of love, and acceptance, said Violet.On the South Meridian, The QWOD, TROM, ARD, and CRAAG engaged the Cartel Guild horde of three thousand, the biggest concentration of enemy forces yet encountered. From fifty feet out, the Warmechs vaporized, electrocuted, flash froze, paralyzed, bludgeoned, strangled, acid showered, and boulder crushed the first wave in autonomous destroy mode.

Stacker dispatched RAT 1 to emplace a C-7 explosive charge on a vehicle within their motorcade, carefully selected to ensure a massive chain reaction. The little warmech skittered from Stacker’s ruck and made its way to the cluster of vehicles a half mile away. It was highly adept at evading detection, though not invisible, so getting to its destination was slow going. Stacker had the ARD break formation to perform a high-altitude deployment scan. This would be relayed back to Stacker’s helmet display and give him a heads up on any new forces attacking. The CRAAG icon darkened, and Stacker saw that it had taken an artillery hit. The TROM quickly moved it to a secure location behind a cluster of dead trees, then returned to the battlefront. Stacker dispatched RAT 2 to initiate repairs to the CRAAG. RAT 2 darted to the CRAAG and went to work. Stacker saw that there was a huge dent in the CRAAGs cylindrical body. He had meant to upgrade the CRAAGs armor, but the enemy had kept them hopping. Stacker crawled to a better vantage spot to secure a firing position with the chain gun. He found a large rock for cover, and alternately fired, and ducked. He only had two thousand rounds, and due to his poor angle, not all of them found a target, but those that did, tore through the enemy. He soon ran out of rounds, and had no long-range attacks, so he considered engaging in close quarters with staff, and knife. He stood for a brief second, and then it felt like an invisible fist shooting through his chest. A second round entered his right thigh. The pain was searing, but no stranger to Stacker. Deep breaths were impossible, so shallow ones would have to do. The chest bullet was lodged near his left ventricle, stable for now, but could be fatal if he was careless about moving around. The thigh bullet was bleeding profusely and threatened to kill him before his nano coagulants could slow it down. He fished a field dressing and tape from his ruck and tied it as tightly as possible. He could tourniquet where others could not. The nanos would cause coagulation before gangrene could set in. The chest bullet however, needed to come out. If it sheared his left ventricle, even the nanos would not help in time. His field knife could do the job, but he needed one of the RATs or the ARD to guide his hand with telemetry, or he could slip, and cut the ventricle, or aorta himself.

Things went from bad to worse in an instant. The ARD was hit by a shell when it descended to Stacker’s aid. It dropped to the ground, and its icon went dark. Both RATs were occupied and would take time to make their way back to Stacker. Only the QWOD and TROM were left, and they were not equipped with the delicate telemetry needed for the task.

An explosion signaled some good news at least. RAT 2 was successful in its detonation mission and was slowly but surely making its way back to Stacker, providing it did not get caught in a random explosion, or gun fire. The CRAAG and ARD were still dark. Stacker’s bullet would have to wait, as he directed RAT 2 to help the ARD. His team came first. The bulk of the battle was now being fought solely by the QWOD and TROM. The powerful duo was holding off a horde of three thousand plus. They were the heavy hitters of Fusion Force, but Stacker needed every warmech up and running. Stacker’s display lit with an expanded grid map of the enemy. The ARD had been able to complete the high-altitude camera placements. Stacker got a constant view of the enemies’ movements in real time. This would be a real advantage if there were any more warmechs to deploy. Stacker felt a horrible sharp pain in his chest and could feel that the bullet had barely nicked the ventricle. He was bleeding internally. The nanos would deploy to stem it, but already he could feel the light-headed loss of blood. He considered digging the bullet out blind. If he was to die, he would use his remaining strength to fight for life.

He checked the battle grid. The explosion had destroyed three jeeps, and one APC, but only nine troops were killed in the blast. He saw that RAT 2 was now safely behind the QWOD and TROM, and that was an opportunity for an additional strike. Though preferring to place strategically planned C-7 charges, the RATs were capable of spring launching them with a maximum range of fifty meters. Each RAT had a compliment of ten charges each, with RAT 2 having four left. The situation was grim and called for desperate measures. He ordered RAT 2 to calculate maximum fatality, to all four rapidly launched charges, with widest possible spread. The little warmech did so, firing them sequentially in the mathematically designated pattern. While not getting an accurate body count due to the intermeshing of mangled flesh, Stacker estimated around fifty fatalities. RAT 2 skittered its way to the ARD and began diagnostics. Stacker had one grenade left, but no way to throw or launch it. He was about seventy-five feet from the TROM, so he risked rolling it with as much force as he could muster, an act which brought more pain, and more bleeding. It traveled about thirty feet. He pinged an order to the TROM, which then extended a multi fingered tentacle to grasp, detonate, and throw the grenade into the horde of Cartel and Guild. The resulting explosion and screams were music to Stacker’s ears.

Stacker reviewed his strength report, while struggling to not pass out from the pain and blood loss. He needed his mind to focus on SITREPs and hoped his nanos stayed focused on his internal war. Here is where thousands of grueling workouts, and endless proto bars and fluid were paying off. Anyone else would have died from these injuries. The CRAAG was almost operational again. RAT rerouted its main power conduit and soldered additional backups. When finished, it welded the breach in the CRAAGs cylindrical torso, and tempered the entire armor with a glaze wave. It finished by spraying a layer of Dura coat over it, thus reinforcing it. The same attack would not fell it twice.

The ARD was still down, but its AI was fully alert, and talked to Stacker via radio.

Infrastructure sound. Armor being upgraded. Fusion conduits under repair and undergoing augmentation. RAT 1 working at top speed. Full capabilities in thirty-seven minutes.

The TROM and QWOD were both at full strength, except for the QWODs right leg dangling uselessly. Stacker knew it could function on three legs, but still felt a pang for his mech, fighting relentlessly on his behalf. On a good note, the ARD noted their numbers below a thousand now. Fusion Force had destroyed, or caused to desert, over two thousand troops. The ones that remained must either have been promised a king’s ransom or were just plain berserkers. Stacker winced in pain and struggled to remain alert.

Sgt. Stacker, said the ARD. Your condition is critical. The bullet is causing your left ventricle to lose blood at a rate faster than the nanocoagulates, can rectify. My recon has discovered a structure of humans’ adept in metaphysical curatives. I am projecting a holographic message of your plight, and location.

Stacker drifted in and out of differing states of awareness and gripped his M-tech blade as an anchor to reality. He felt as if he were floating beside a quartet of four white robed men. He had never been a religious man, but in his current state of compromised lucidity, he found himself questioning them.

Am I dead? Are you angels? No, that can’t be right. Not in my case.

The men, all young, tanned, and pristinely beautiful smiled joyfully, as they entered a flowered garden of rainbow hues. They floated him, gently as the morning breeze, onto a velvety soft bed of cushions. Stacker had always slept on an Army cot, so the sensation was virgin to him. A woman appeared before him. He knew her. Violet Stratton, the shrink he had rescued from Glacier Holdings.

Welcome to the Etheron Temple Quell Stacker. Though you are on the precipice of deaths cold embrace, we throw you a lifeline. You will be healed. Another voice, an older man, also clad in white robes stepped between Violet and Stacker.

He will not be saved, said the new arrival. This man is the very embodiment of destruction, and pain. His mere presence in our wondrous temple disrupts the harmony that enlightens us all.

Honoresto, said Violet. Is not all life sacred? We cannot turn our backs on him.

This man has slaughtered tens of thousands. We cannot be the ones to enable him to add to that roster.

We would have no temple if Sgt. Stacker had not spent the last three months fighting the enormous forces seeking to plunder this lush world. His actions have permitted us to tout our high-sounding principles. These four, and myself would now pull this man from the brink. Violet stood her ground, and after moments of silence, Honoresto waved his hand, hung his head low, and turned his back on the assemblage.

Stacker pieced together what he could. He remembered chanting voices, being touched in a nonviolent way. He remembered words of thanks from Violet. He was now surrounded by all his Warmechs. His strength report was one hundred percent. The ARD cut to the chase.

Enemy retreating back to various compounds. Four new ships arrived two hours ago. Logical conclusion. Enemy marshaling forces.

Stacker’s pain was gone, but he felt weak, and drained. It was nothing that seven hours of rest, half a dozen proto bars, and strategic planning over a hologrid, while sipping good old steaming hot STIM22 could not cure. It promised to be a long campaign.

2

BEWARE OF THE DOG

Shale carried the tin food buckets with less difficulty than his first day on Bastion, but then three months of such chores lent itself to growing proficiency. His muscles ached less, and he actually saw some muscle tone on his naturally thin physique. He walked down the trail leading to the fawns’ watering hole, finally emptying his burden into the iron troughs. Three does, and a young buck, waited patiently, with none of the skittishness of earlier days. They were like house pets now, and one of the fawns licked his hand before joining the others at the trough. Shale scratched her affectionately behind the ear, then turned his attention to the watering hole. Dr. Agesmith had designed it to look and operate as natural as the real thing. No one would ever guess that pipes and filtration had anything to do with its pristine beauty. Shale scarcely needed to take a sample back to the lab for analysis, his own senses told him of the purity. He took the sample anyway, Dr. Agesmith trusted hard data more than the opinion of an eighteen-year-old intern. He took another look at the water, said goodbye to the deer, and toted the empty buckets back to the lab complex .

The complex was a forest camouflaged geodesic dome, and completely solar powered. When viewed from the outside, it almost looked like some new form of flora. Located exactly at Bastions center, it was the only part of the construct that resembled anything not occurring in nature. The vast terraforming act of the previous century made its impact soundly into the current one. Shale entered the main lab and found Dr. Agesmith staring into a microscope. He was tall but bent by his years of devotion to Bastion. He was a man driven by purest altruism, and Shale admired him greatly. He cleared his throat, so as not to unduly startle the octogenarian.

Oh, good, you have my sample. Put it on the counter please.

What’s so fascinating under the scope Doc?

"Oh, just checking on a newly modified Paramecium. This one actually thrives pesticides. I never ceased to be amazed at the complexities of life. Throw in a glitch, and