I hate the cold. I mean, my body does not have the ability to regulate heat like warm-blooded endotherms, and my genetics did not take into account that I would one day join the Imperial Army and get my tail frozen off on some pathetic rock too small to even be called a planet in the middle of some backward galaxy. I hate the cold.
“Join the Army,” they say, “see the universe and explore new star systems,” they say. What a bunch of crap! What they really meant to say was, “sign your life away on a thirty-year contract. Undergo grueling physical training that was borderline torture, and visit a frozen lump of galactic shit where you may die, because we did not consider that your species would not survive in ridiculously below zero degrees.” Fuck! I hate the cold.
So, here I am lying on my stomach on ice covered with ice and surrounded by, guess what? Ice. I’m in antiquated combat gear where the life support system is read through a freaking gauge. Not a digital display on my helmet, but a circle in a glass case with an arrow pointing at a number to inform me how much power my suit had before it shuts down and my blood freezes, my scales burst apart, and I die in crystalline agony.
Why? You may wonder. Well, because I have the esteemed honor to announce that I am a part of the elite Forward Orbital Recon Force, Huzzah! FORF for short. My mom would have been proud if she cared about the Imperium. However, they did enslave my ancestors so many centuries ago, and she is still a little sore about that. Technically, they first freed my ancestors from slavery from our larger and more vicious cousins, the VeraTax, only to then quasi-enslave us afterward through discrimination and by treating us like second-class citizens. Needless to say, we have a complicated history with the human species.
We are known as the Velocra after Earth Prime’s prehistoric Velociraptor because of our similar appearance. Let me highlight two key differences between us and the “dinosaur” version. One, we have a much larger brain. Despite what humans may think, our brain capacity is at the “human” level. I like to think greater. And two, we have workable thumbs, like humans, and can use tools though we lack the pinky finger and struggle with human-designed instruments like the damn buttons on my torturous combat suite. My snout itched, and I couldn’t scratch it for the life of me. Even a human-designed antiquated combat suite for Velocra sucked ass.
There was a static buzz within my helmet, followed by a hiss and a click. Then I heard Tool, my squad mate, ask, “Sam is the objective in sight?”
Want to know another thing I hate about these antiquated suits? I had to actually push down on a button next to my ear on my helmet before being able to communicate with my team. I mean, what the hell? There are teenagers with personal communication devices that only require a thought, and boom, they can send digital images and voice communication to their BFFs in another solar system!
Buzz hiss click, “that is negative on the visual of the objective,” I answered.
Another buzz hiss and a click, “my balls are literally freezing off here. Can you get off your ass and complete your one function here, Sam?” Rickard asked.
I would call him “reject,” but that would be an insult to “rejects.” Besides, I have nothing against “rejects.”
“What balls?” I asked.
This elicited a chuckle from a squad mate, which was odd because they actually clicked on their helmet piece to chuckle and then unclicked.
“The balls I put in your sister’s mouth,” Rickard retorted.
This was followed by silence. I think Rickard forgot that I was not of the same species. Yup, wait for it.
“That’s fucking gross, Rickard,” squad mate Jimmy said.
“I didn’t know you were into beastality,” another retort from squad mate Diaz, which was immediately followed by an “uh, no offense to your sister, Sam.”
This was hilarious. I don’t even have a sister.
After a pause as his poorly developed brain processed what was going on, Rickard shouted, “Fuck you, maggots!”
“If we all don’t stop wasting time, I swear I will force my balls into everyone’s mouths, and I don’t care what species you are,” growled Lieutenant Grimes.
This silenced all of us. My knowledge of human anatomy was pretty limited. Still, I was pretty sure Grimes’s gender did not have balls, but maybe she was an exception. I didn’t want to point that out because she would stick her balls down my throat.
“My sensors indicate that we are in the green and undetected,” Tool finally said.
Our mission was to approach and make a visual of a secure facility. We orbital dropped a few kilometers away from the objective and needed to literally crawl through frozen ice to search out the facility. The reason for crawling was for us to avoid detection from the enormous amount of sensor arrays in the vicinity. We have been at this for days, which was normal for a FORF operation.
The purpose of FORF was to go deep into enemy territory and avoid detection. Survive for days behind enemy lines without supply drops. Locate important objectives and send coordinates via secured laser transmission to the Base Ships. We are trained to infiltrate, destroy, or disrupt critical targets and escape unnoticed. Though historically, most FORF units infiltrated and destroyed vital targets but rarely escaped. I don’t think my squad mates knew that. Many of them didn’t read as much as I did. The key requirements for a good FORF soldier were strength, determination, and sheer ignorance. Or, in my case, to be a part of a discriminated species.
The Imperium’s hold over the planets was tentative at best, though it worked to create the illusion of strength. Centuries ago, there was one massive Empire. Power struggles, civil wars, and cessions had caused the Empire to break apart into kingdoms, free planets, and mini-empires that were lost in past glories. Many star systems slipped back decades, even centuries, in terms of technology. As much as I can complain about the Imperium with its corruption and layers of bureaucracies, I do see that it has moved many planets forward to a brighter future. I believe that with as much cynicism as I can.
Our Imperial Government is under threat from the Galactic Federation, which is the last remnant of the Old Empire. The Galactic Federation is seeking to reclaim advanced technology hidden among the ruins of past civilizations and lost through the eons. Their goal is to use it to turn the tide of war against the Imperium. Our covert operations task force discovered a hidden research facility in the northern region on this lump of miserable ice, and our mission was to locate and destroy it.
“Any visuals yet, Sam?” Tool asked.
Tool was our information and communications guy. He could program a virus to corrupt a military computer system using a Sheet Computer and make millions in a software company. Why was he in FORF? That was a mystery to us.
“That is a negative,” I responded.
My role in Forward Orbital Recon Force was recon. I know it was redundant. The reason was because my species had a stronger sense of smell, we could naturally detect heat signatures via a nerve cluster in our snouts, and we could move faster due to our dense leg muscles. My combat suit was designed to enhance our advantages. However, we were not fully warm-blooded, and my whole faster movement thing was utterly negated in frozen temperatures. I don’t think the top Brass thought about that. So, here I was, trudging at a god-awful slow pace because my metabolism had nearly stopped. Through my helmet filters, the air had a metallic tang in its smell, mixed with citric. I figured it was due to frozen acids in the atmosphere. In truth, all I saw around me was hazy white, encased in white, with some shades of more white and Grey. Wait a minute, Grey? Oh shit, well, I guess I did see our objective.
With all my eight frozen fingers, I clumsily aimed my rifle at the blockish building about fifty meters in front of me. The insulated gloves attached to my entire combat suite made it challenging to hold the scope steady. The scope connected to the smart chips on the visor of my helmet with a click, and I could look through it and confirm that there was, indeed, a building in front of me. I toggled the infrared laser to target the object and uploaded its location to Tool’s computers.
“Information received. Processing it now,” Tool said.
“About time,” complained Rickard.
“Objective confirmed, coordinators and information sent to all of you,” Tool said after a few moments.
The Sheet Computer that was rolled up and stored in the armor under my right forearm buzzed, and I detached and unrolled it. With a lock, the digital screen flashed on. Modern combat armor had all the computer systems embedded inside with a direct feed to the soldier’s brain. They could access data with a thought, and it appeared in front of their eyes on their Heads Up Display. Tool tells us that the reason for our antique gear was that it was not susceptible to enemy viral attacks. There were malware programs that could literally shut down the life support of the modern combat suit. The TCG-15 battle armor we are wearing was old and could not be hacked because it was not directly interfaced. The Sheet Computer was the only component connected and could be discarded if compromised by the enemy.
In a large-scale battle, modern infantry units battled each other both physically with guns and explosions and digitally with computer viral attacks and defenses. Since FORF units operated alone, it was necessary that we had as little technology and power output as possible in order to avoid detection and viral system attacks.
“Okay shit heads, I’ve uploaded your positions on the screen. This is how we will hit the base so we can go home early. Diaz, take Sam and Jimmy and circle from the east side. Take out any enemy from the flank. Rickard, you are to hold position and count to sixty before opening fire with that cannon of yours. Tool you are to stay back and provide intel. Flute and Johnson with me,” Grimes said.
Looking at my Sheet Computer, I saw the plans and my location in relation to my squad mates. During our approach, we maintained random positions in order to not be picked up by sensors, which recognized patterns. In the white frozen haze, we were unable to track each other’s location. Still, we have been training for many months, and we maintained our haphazard formation while traveling through frozen kilometers with zero visibility.
Now our computer systems were “live,” which meant that our communications would be picked up by enemy sensors. My Sheet Computer uploaded the locations of my squad mates to the inside of my visor, and I could see where they were through the thick white haze.
“Go, go, go!” Grimes ordered, and we moved.
I waited till Jimmy and Diaz caught up to my position and rose to run with them. Through the white haze, I made out movement and saw flashes as computerized turrets fired upon us. My limbs were frozen, and I moved sluggishly. I was too long in this weather and was serious that my species were not meant to be in the cold. I hear tell that the dinosaurs from Earth Prime became extinct due to an ice age. My body could not take any more.
“Sam, you need to move!” Jimmy said as he hustled in front of me.
I saw him and Diaz get smaller and smaller as I trudged through the frozen ice and snow after them. The building was to my right.
I heard the thunderous hum as Rickard fired his automatic cannon. I saw the flashes from his direction as his powerful weapon tore into the building. The turrets responded and swiveled toward Rickard and blasted away in his direction.
In front of me, Jimmy and Diaz dropped to the ground and fired their assault rifles. The turrets exploded in white fire. A few more automated turrets rose into view and spouted yellow goblets at us. I started to raise my rifle, but a thud followed by an explosion of yellow energy occurred next to me. Talk about bad luck. When standing, my head was only a meter above the ground, and I was a good size smaller than the average human. Fucking sniper turret got me.
“Sam’s down,” Diaz said.
He and Jimmy were only a few meters in front of me.
My helmet’s display alerted me to all types of problems. My armor was torn, and it was initiating the self-repair foam. There were also messages about “significant internal damage” to my body. Oh, and I was in a lot of pain, and I bet my energy gauge’s arrow was spinning toward the “your dead” symbol. I lay on my side and heard Rickard’s minigun tear into the building. I saw the shadowy figures of Grimes and her fire team make their way into the building. I heard shots fired from Diaz and Jimmy to my left as they took out turrets from the east flank.
“Fall back, the thermal bomb is set!” I heard Grimes shout over the comm.
I saw Grimes rushing from the building to Rickard’s position. There was a hiss as the air was superheated from the explosive device that Flute denoted from inside the building. It evaporated from the explosion. No debris. That’s the beauty of Flute’s skill with explosives and thermal bombs.
I heard the crunch of ice as Jimmy and Diaz walked over to me. Diaz reached down and looked at my Sheet Computer to see the type of injury I had sustained.
“I think I can treat this,” he said.
He took one course in Velocra anatomy and was always eager to test himself on me since I was the only Velocra in the entire platoon. Probably in the whole brigade.
“What?” Jimmy asked, his voice incredulous. “Diaz, it says significant internal damage. We need to get him to a med bay!”
“Hmm, maybe you are right. Sorry, Sam.”
What did I tell you? A good FORF soldier has a heavy dose of crazy shit stupid. I couldn’t move or think. My body’s metabolism must have slowed to a point where I was close to cationic. Weak, so weak, and groggy. I heard the crunch of boots and saw Diaz kneel down beside me. My body shook as he worked my combat suit.
“Uh, according to his life support system, Sam is also suffering from hypothermia,” Diaz said.
“Lizards suffer from hypothermia?” I heard Rickard ask.
What an idiot. I’m going to pass out now, and I would be very pissed if I died on this rock.
I awoke in a tub of warm water that was green because it was mixed with other chemicals. I immediately recognized the med bay. My squad was naked in their cots and letting the medical robots repair cells and damaged tissues. I saw Rickard lying on his massive back, staring at the ceiling as a robot worked on his feet, which were completely black due to severe frostbite. I couldn’t describe Rickard’s smell other than if the dumb alpha male had a scent, it would be his.
Diaz walked into my view. His smell was tangy and bitter, and his hands were bandaged, pink at the fingertips, an indication of cellular reconstruction and repair.
“Oh, hi, Sam. Don’t move too much. You got hit with an energy blast and suffered some serious frostbite, over 40% of your body. The tub is to raise your body temperature, and we have some nanobots programmed to work on the cellular repair. You’ll have some scars, but you will be alright,” Diaz said.
He checked the control panel next to me and nodded before moving on to check on the others. I needed the tub because my kind was cold-blooded. Everyone in my squad suffered from frostbite. Fucking miserable ice rock.
“I heard from a buddy in the 15th that they finished their VR simulations and they are being deployed,” Jimmy said.
He was sitting up as his hands were worked on by the medical bot. Jimmy had a sweet smell, like roses, and it was unclear if it was his genetics or from the way he groomed himself with his soaps and colognes.
“They are getting ready for war!” Flute exclaimed, her voice high-pitched.
Flute was our demolition expert, and she had a sharp smell to her that tickled my senses. I’m unsure if that was because the chemicals from all the explosives she worked with had somehow seeped into her DNA. She was right, though. It looks like hostilities with the Galactic Federation were ramping up.
“What the fuck is VR?” Rickard asked.
Of course, that hick wouldn’t know.
“Virtual Reality,” Tool answered from behind his Sheet Computer. It’s rare that you see him away from any type of technological interface.
He smelled like wires and machines.
“VR is for pussies. Makes you soft, and it doesn’t condition you like the real shit. Next time I hear you talk about VR, I will break your jaw,” Lieutenant Grimes growled. She always growled.
For a female, Grimes had a heavily masculine smell that was all musk but with a gentle touch of mint.
Johnson chuckled. That dude never talked. I’ve been with this squad for about a year, and I don’t think I ever heard him say a complete sentence. Like his bald head, his smell was plain.
To me, most humans didn’t look threatening with their soft skin and nonsensical hair placements, despite the fact that most were almost double my size. However, Lieutenant Grimes had a predatory look, all lean muscle, and scars. No one knew where she served before FORF, but rumor had it that she used to be a ranking officer, a captain maybe, but she didn’t play by the rules and was demoted and sent to FORF.
“Command is all about efficiency. It would be a waste to spend money on VR equipment for FORF when it is expected that we die during an operation,” I said.
Maybe having nearly half of your body covered in frozen dead tissue makes you sarcastic and angry.
“Dying in service to Government is an honor,” Rickard said.
I looked around, and all of my squad mates nodded and gave me that look. In training for FORF, they practically drill that motto into your brain to the point where you say it no matter what whenever someone mentions death in battle. Unless you actually have a brain, like I do. I don’t buy into the honor crap, but my squad mates did, and I didn’t want them killing me in my sleep. So, I said another famous phrase.
“Huzzah!” I rasped.
“HUZZAH!” Everyone shouted in response and returned back to what they were doing.
Me? I passed out again.
I awoke and saw that the Med Bay was empty. The shiny metal robot next to me was acting agitated and beeping data.
“Body temperature back to normal and cellular repair is complete,” It said to me, and I just stared at it. “Get out!” It beeped at me.
My tub emptied, and I was ejected from it as it tilted. I landed on my feet and nearly fell over because I was still woozy. I hissed at the robot and was ignored in response. I was hungry. I sniffed the air. Food. I hurriedly put on my synthetic bodysuit. It was designed to adjust and fit the form of any wearer, and it was comfortable and warm. The suit came to my neck and wrists, covered my tail, and ended at my ankles. My clawed feet clicked on the metal floor, and I ran. I was quick. My tail extended behind me and above the ground as my head leaned forward. I was evolved to run through desert planes and tropical jungles. I flew through the myriad hallways of the space station Battle Base 151. I startled people as I rushed past them. I was 150 cm in length from snout to tail and was at waist level when I moved to most adult humans, so they had to jump out of my way or over me as I rushed. Nothing was to get in my way when I was hungry, especially after cellular repair.
Battle Base 151 was roughly a full five Kilometers in diameter of a spinning ring attached to a central cylinder docking station and held 1,550,000,000 cubic meters in volume with kilometers upon kilometers of twisting steel and ceramic corridors. Battle Base 151 had thousands of troops stationed, dozens of internal factories to manufacture fighter drone ships, and hundreds of operators to pilot them. It was equipped with turret cannons, missile bays, sophisticated weapon arrays for large-scale battles, and dozens of mess halls for food!
The mess hall I chose had a worker in line that liked me. She, I think she is a she, viewed me as a pet. In the Imperium of 12 planets in three star systems with a rough population of 23 billion souls, my kind numbered roughly 900 million. We were a small percentage, and many humans have never even encountered us.
According to the histories, when humans began exploring the universe and expanding their Empire, the first intelligent life form they encountered was the VeraTax. The VeraTax are much bigger than my kind and the humans. From snout to tail, they measured three meters in length and weighed roughly 300 kilograms. They were very vicious and aggressive and enslaved my kind. The humans and the VeraTax warred for centuries taking and losing planets as they fought. My kind found themselves freed, but not knowing freedom, we became like “pets” to our new human overlords because we were smaller and, I guess, cute. That was centuries ago; since then, my kind has developed and advanced socially.
However, I took advantage of my “cuteness” and was able to skip the line to get food.
“Hi!” My server friend said with a bright smile that showed bright white teeth under her blue eyes and blond hair.
She smelled like sweet fruit. I cooed to her in response, and she giggled. She gave me a large serving of steamed vegetables. She scratched under my chin.
“I didn’t know they allowed animals in the mess hall,” a man to my left said with crazy eyes. He wore a black and green camouflage bodysuit, which marked him as a Space Marine. The FORF color was black.
“They don’t, so you will have to leave,” I responded.
The Marine had a square head with a wide jaw and flat forehead. He had the soldier’s buzz cut and smelled like sweat and steel.
“What did you say, beast?” He asked his question with a growl.
I rolled my eyes at him. “So not only are you ugly as shit and dumb as dirt, but you are also deaf? The standards for the Core have dropped,” I responded.
Space Marines know two things: Following orders and aggression. Their training was the closest to FORF in terms of intensity, but they got the better gear. Fuckers!
I looked around and saw no officers in the mess hall. Ahh, shit, I should have kept my mouth shut. Without further comment or word, the blockhead Marine came at me swinging. I responded by snapping my jaws at his hands, which caused him to pause and gave me time to back up and create distance. My species were originally foragers, so our teeth were mostly blunted, unlike the VeraTax, with razor-like teeth designed to tear and kill. But our bite still can hurt an unarmored human hand.
“Where I’m from, we chase and hogtie your kind for sport,” he growled and circled me.
Fucking discriminating hick redneck planet was where he came from. He had a tattoo of a human skull on his pink-fleshed forearm. I never understood humans and their fascination with skulls. I associated skulls with failure. I mean, if your scales, flesh in the case for humans, fell off your skull, then that sort of meant you were dead and failed.
The Marine was a big specimen with corded muscle. He had a good thirty kilograms on me. His aggression leaked into his scent and was abrasive and stung my nostrils. My arms, compared to a human, were useless in hand-to-hand combat. They were good enough to hold a rifle but not striking or grappling. I had a tail that could hit pretty hard and had good reach despite my size disadvantage. I also have some sharp claws on my hind paws. Well not really that sharp since I had them trimmed. Fucking grooming standards. My legs were more densely muscled than a human’s, which allowed me to run faster. I ran, or rather I tried to run, but a crowd had formed a circle around us.
“Nowhere to run, lizard,” the Marine taunted and rushed me.
I couldn’t escape, so I swung my tail toward his ankles in an attempt to knock him to the ground. He stopped his lunge and leaped back. Hoping he was off guard, I pumped my legs under me and launched myself head-first toward his chest. Before I could connect solidly, he sprawled out, laying his chest on the top of my head and pushing me toward the floor. A wrestler, I should have guessed. He attempted to wrap his right arm under my throat, but I prevented that with my left forearm. He dropped his weight on me, and I held my ground with my legs, but it was a tremendous effort.
I wouldn’t be able to hold him up much longer, and eventually, he would take me to the ground. I had a chance to win this, and that was for me to drop and spin to bring my legs between us where I could scratch him with my claws. My groomed claws were not sharp, but humans have such soft and weak flesh.
I feinted with a strong shove and dropped down, spinning my legs. Blockhead reacted and adjusted by sliding to my side and pinning me to the ground where my legs were away from him. Shit! He was not kidding about his home planet’s discriminating recreational practices.
He slammed his knee into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. He shoved his forearm into my jaw and prevented me from biting him. He also locked my legs with his left arm and pressed his weight into me. I kept squirming, but sooner or later, he will start smashing me in my face with his fist. The snout smashing never came. Instead, I felt his weight lifted off me and saw him go flying past me.
“Nobody messes with Little Sammy here except for us,” Rickard’s deep voice boomed.
In my constant state of disrespect for him, I forgot that he was an impressively large human, as big as Blockhead.
Speaking of Blockhead, he got up furious. “You’ll pay,” he said and lunged at Rickard.
Rickard was not a bright man, but he knew how to fight. He had a smile on his dark-skinned face as Blockhead came at him with a wild swing. Rickard ducked and countered with a single punch that sent the Marine to the floor unconscious while the other marines surrounded us like a pack of feral dogs.
“Who wants some?” Rickard growled and roared, “Dying in Service to the Government is an Honor.”
The rest of my squad, myself included, shouted, “Huzzah!” in response. What can I say? I felt a moment of pride. On Battle Base 151, we were the only FORF squad. My unit had a ridiculously high mortality rate, so there were never many of us. However, the marines outnumbered us plenty. They surrounded us, ready to inflict violence. Rickard laughed and was excited about the possibility of being pummeled to death. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Grimes shake her head at the Marines, and they cowed like dogs with tails between their legs. The marines backed away and were followed by Rickard’s bravado.
“That’s right! FORF!!!!” Rickard Shouted.
“Attention! Officer on deck!” Grimes shouted and stood straight with a salute.
My squad mates responded instantly and rose. Captain Thorm Hanz was at the door to our barracks. He was a tall man, as tall as Rickard, thick-boned, and smelled of starch and cigars. He had squinty eyes, and whenever he smiled, he always looked nervous doing it.
“At ease,” he said, and we all relaxed.
Captain Thorm walked in, and like all seasoned military personnel, he had excellent posture and walked stiffly. “May I?” He asked as he stood before our access panel.
We all nodded, Thorm punched in some codes, and our room transformed with a series of loud clicks and vibrations. Thorm arranged for a conference table and chairs to be in the center of our barracks. He motioned for us to be seated. Since I had a tail, I had to adjust my chair into a stool, which I sat on like a saddle. One thing I liked about Captain Thorm was that he held briefings in our barracks. To me, it showed respect for the troops.
A holographic projector was located in the center of the table, and it displayed a three-dimensional image of Delta V, another miserable rock in space that we will probably be ordered to visit. On the plus side, this miserable rock was more temperate with deserts and jungles. More to my liking! The projector was linked to the Captain, and he could manipulate the image with his fingers. He could move it around and zoom in on points of interest.
Data appeared around the planet, listing names of cities, temperatures, and military hotspots. The Imperium controlled interspace commerce and travel. Rarely does it intervene with planetary politics, especially planets that were far out from the core planets, such as Delta V. In the core planets, there was more presence, more order, more technology, and more stability. Out on the fringe planets, it was more chaotic. I grew up on a core planet with culture, laws, arts, and music.
“Military intelligence was able to analyze the information you discovered on the ice rock. It shows that the Galactic Federation is searching for something on Delta V.”
“What are they looking for?” Asked Grimes.
“Our sources indicate some old technology, and they think it is a weapon. The Brass believes it may be powerful enough to give the Federation a significant advantage, and that is why we are assigning your team to find out. Your mission is to be Stealth Dropped to the coordinates we deciphered from your findings to where this ancient technology is believed to be hidden,” Thorn answered.
“What kind of trouble will we face?” Asked Jimmy.
“We expect that you will encounter agents of the Federation. Plus, Delta V is a tumultuous planet, and where you will be dropped is in the middle of a civil war in the kingdom of Thayra,” the Captain replied.
“Great,” I muttered and was quickly silenced by a glare from Grimes.
“Delta V is a low technology planet with chemical ballistic weapons and fossil-fueled powered vehicles. Our TCG-15 suits should be more than sufficient to stand up against their firepower,” Tool observed while reading data through his thick silver goggles.
“I’m not worried about the inhabitants. I’m more worried about the Federation’s agents,” Grimes said.
“Unfortunately, we do not have enough reliable intel to prepare you,” Thorm stated.
“As usual,” grumbled Jimmy.
Thorm rose, and the rest of us followed.
“Good luck. You are to report to the shuttle bay Z30 at 0400 hours. Huzzah, soldiers!” Thorm cheered.
“Huzzah!” We all replied.
We were in Shuttle Bay Z30. It was a large chamber where the white light from the lamps around us could not fully illuminate. After entering codes into one of the access ports, there was a cacophony of metallic clicks and vibrations where dozens of weapon and armor caches rose from the ground, followed by benches and worktables.
“Let’s get busy,” Grimes said.
For this op on Delta V, we were assigned the Combat Assault Rifle 72, otherwise known as the CAR-72. There were many variations of projectile weapons that the military used, from explosive plasma bursts to electromagnetic rifles. Each of the newer weapons utilized power sources that could be detected, and as usual with FORF gear, the CAR-72 had a non-existent power signature and was an old weapon. An oldie, but goodie.
The CAR-72 used case-less ammo, which meant we had to fill the weapon cartridges with conical-shaped bullets followed by an injection of ballistic foam. The foam was a high explosive that would launch our rounds at such high velocity as to penetrate the toughest armor. Click, click, click was the sound that could be heard as we sat around the worktable, loading 4-gram bullets into the magazines.
“Jesus! Can’t you fold that thing?” Jimmy asked as he bumped into my tail.
I hissed at him in response and injected ballistic foam into a filled cartridge. The other weapon we had was Rickard’s minigun, also known as the MG-452. This puppy could pour out hundreds of rounds a minute at such high velocities as to rip through several inches of steel. It required a small energy source and could also fire explosive rounds to take out armored units. A reasonable cost to our stealth capability and we only had this weapon because Rickard was a freak of nature large enough to use it.
“Let’s roll,” Grimes said when everyone was finished.
Delta V
Us grunts called the Stealth Drop the Ghost Drop because we sat in a ship like ghosts with a high probability of dying and turning into a ghost. Basically, we were placed into an unpowered vessel and launched out like a missile. We fly through space and appear as space debris to sensors for what could be days until pulled in by the planet’s gravitational force.
We sat strapped to our seats in a circular chamber facing each other in zero gravity. There was no sound, weight, or feeling as we zipped through empty space toward Delta V. The only power output was from the life support systems attached to our suits and the night vision embedded inside our visors, which provided us with a green-shaded visual. It was an ethereal experience.
There was a shake and a rumble as our craft was pulled in by Delta V’s gravity. Once we entered the atmosphere, the material that the vessel was made up of began to disintegrate from our high velocity and intense heat friction. This slowed our descent and we lay suspended and strapped to the top of the vessel with our stomachs facing downwards. The vessel’s bottom melted away before us, and for a split second, we hung above the world at 60 kilometers.
Our straps were released, and the moment of peace ended. Our suits protected us from the elements and friction, and we descended at over 800 kilometers per hour. At that speed, you could literally feel your stomach fall to your feet, but the world below you appeared unchanged even though we fell toward at speeds that broke the sound barrier.
Eventually, we needed to open our chutes. Another gut-wrenching feeling, and then we glided down to a location that was pre-determined mathematically. After landing, we checked our weapons, ammo, and survival gear.
Diaz walked amongst us, monitoring our vitals with a medical scanner smaller than a fist. Once we completed our check-up, we all unrolled our Sheet Computers and calibrated them to connect with each other. We were linked up using a short-range radio wave with a distance of up to five kilometers. Any longer, and it could run the risk of being detected by the enemy.
Tool unfolded a miniature plane that was about fifteen centimeters in length. The drone was equipped with long ranged cameras and an array of sensors. It was solar-powered, and its motors could fly in the sky for days. With a sharp hiss, it launched hundreds of meters rapidly into the air. In moments, it streamed data to Tool’s Sheet Computer. The dim yellow light reflected off Tool’s helmet visor as he read the coordinates.
“The air quality and radiation levels are safe,” Diaz said, and his visor parted from his face with a snap.
All our visors opened, and we sat around in a circle. Our entire mission hinged on whether or not Captain Thorm’s intelligence was correct. If it was, we would discover evidence of hidden technology, and our objective was to steal or destroy it.
“The coordinates lead us to those mountains,” Tool said, pointing to the rocky hills in the distance.
“You heard him! We got a lot of ground to cover and no time to do it. Grab your gear, and let’s roll!” Grimes barked.
I was designed for speed, so I sprinted far ahead of the others to do some recon. It was redundant since Tool had his drone, but there were things on the ground that it missed and that my Velocra senses could catch. Like the scent of a VeraTax Shock Trooper!
I was several clicks out from the mountain range when my snout caught the dusty metallic smell of the huge robotically enhanced reptile. I ducked to hide behind some thick desert fauna that dotted the flat rugged landscape. Using my rifle’s scope, I searched the area, and the giant VeraTax was not hard to find. It was crouched up in the rocky terrain. It had red metallic armor plates and several armaments adorned its large body, including a rocket launcher, plasma cannon, and a flame thrower. I immediately recognized it as a mercenary and knew our intel was correct because the Galactic Federation was known to hire cybernetic soldiers.
“Contact,” I said over the comms and pinged our enemy’s location.
“Good work Sam,” Grimes replied.
I stayed out of sight and watched the VeraTax as my squad moved into place. I saw on my helmet display my teammates spread out into different positions. We were highly trained, but so were our enemies. There was a loud crack from the mountain range.
“They shot my drone,” Tool said.
Flashes of light and the hum of plasma fire came from the mountainside as the energy rounds exploded in the vicinity of my squad.
“Sam, rush to the coordinates I just pinged you and take out those gunners! Johnson and Jimmy lay down some covering fire. Rickard, unleash the gates of hell and the rest of you on me!” Screamed Grimes.
Without hesitation, we acted. The dirt and debris were kicked up from the mountainside as my squadmates returned fire from their CAR-72s. My body was designed to run through the plains and jungles, and I was at the peak of physical conditioning. I ran fast! Grimes had me charge the left flank as she and the others charged the right with Rickard, Johnson, and Jimmy laying down heavy cover fire that kicked up massive clouds of dust from the mountainside.
I watched missiles spray outwards from the VeraTax’s location. They bombarded our area, causing a roaring cacophony of explosions and fire. Something struck my leg hard, causing me to stumble and fall. At my speed, I slid for nearly ten meters and kicked up a huge dust cloud before regaining my feet. My right leg felt numb, but my helmet reported no breech. The ceramic plates of my body armor had stopped the shrapnel. I continued onwards and launched myself as high as my hind legs could take me up the side of the mountain. My feet gained purchase as I scrambled up the rock face onto a ledge and behind a large boulder.
Through the inside of my visor, I could see the location of my squad as they tactically advanced forward. However, the enemy plasma rifles were giving them pause.
A hiss and a click from my radio, “This is not a fucking holiday Sam. How are we doing with the gunners?” Grimes asked.
I hugged the tan boulder and peeked around it while crouching. About twenty meters away, there were three enemy human soldiers in the advanced body armor of the Federation. They were firing heavy automatic plasma guns.
I aimed my rifle and steadied my breath. After a moment, I fired off a full automatic barrage of high-velocity armor-piercing rounds. The soldiers twitched, and there was a burst of a red mist exploding from their heads, and they collapsed face forward.
“Gunners down,” I said.
At that moment, I heard the buzz of a rocket launcher and looked up just in time to see the VeraTax shoot a missile toward me. OH SHIT! I thought and managed to duck behind the boulder before it exploded with a deafening roar. A tremendous force picked me off my feet and threw me like I was a wet sock. The heat was intense as it vaporized rock into ash, and I slammed against another rock wall several meters away. Shrapnel and broken rock had shredded into me, and I felt a sharp pain in my right thigh. The pressure in my head felt like someone had run over it with a tank track. The last thing I realized was that the ground beneath me gave away, and I was falling.
I woke up under dust, rocks, debris, and lots of pain. Everything hurt, from my tail to my snout. I slowly moved, and that meant my spine was intact. Luckily, I did not feel any sharp pain, just intense aches and soreness. That is a good sign, meaning nothing seriously broken. Next, do I have a weapon? I glanced down and saw that I still managed to hold my rifle!
“My drill sergeant would be proud of me! That asshole,” I rasped.
The beautiful weapon still worked. An oldie but goodie. Next, I need to check my comms. The visor on my helm was cracked, and much of my suit was heavily damaged. I knew my luck could only go so far, but I was alive, armed, and able to move. Overall, a win!
I glanced up, and the hole I fell through was blocked by an avalanche of stone. I was lucky to be alive! I kissed my scratched and torn body armor. When I looked around, my eyes went wide. I was at the entrance to an ancient building.
The oddly shaped heavy doors were not rectangular or square but more like a trapezoid, and when I approached, a scanning light ran over me.
“Access granted!
I shook my head. The language used was Velocraian! The language of my people.
“Is this possible?” I asked out loud.
The doors opened into a hallway that felt right for someone my stature. My entire life, I’ve interacted with buildings designed for a human. Doors and ceilings that felt too high for me, and chairs. Fucking chairs!
This hallway was perfect. The lighting is perfect. The spacing of the doors and the hallway was designed for someone with a tail, someone with my build! Was this place built for Velocra? Or by Velocra?
“Where am I?” I wondered.
The place felt old, yet the technology still worked as the lights turned on upon my entrance. I wanted to explore this place more, but a loud commotion further down the steel hallway drew my attention. It was fighting! Maybe my squad made it inside? I rushed to investigate and found a vast chamber lined with computer terminals. In the middle was the red-armored VeraTax rampaging about. The cyborg was firing its weapons across the room, exploding terminals and tearing down the ceiling. What was it fighting? I couldn’t see my squad in the massive chamber, but they may need me. I had to figure out how to deal with the VeraTax mercenary.
I glanced up and saw that I had entered through a large set of steel blast doors. This chamber was a launch silo of some sort. The blast doors were opened, and I discovered a control panel. Whoever designed this place, the control panel was the same as all other control panels. I suppose technology has not changed much over the eons. Using a multi-tool that all FORF soldiers carry, I popped open the panel and began to rewire it. The door hissed and vibrated. Yes! I can close it, and they should do the trick.
The VeraTax continued to destroy the room around him. It was looking for something, and I needed to get its attention. I circled the chamber to get into a better position and fired my rifle at it. My rounds sparked against its back armor, and it whirled on me with red rage-filled eyes. It opened its massive jaws that were a mixture of flesh and steel, and let loose a fearsome roar.
“Oh shit,” I said as I ran.
Grenades, flames, and plasma blasts trailed me and left a swath of destruction as I fled for my life. I slid to hide behind some terminals as the VeraTax began to reload its arsenal of death. I needed to act now! I popped out and fired shots at its face. The VeraTax flinched with annoyance and blindly returned plasma blasts that missed. I continued to pepper its snout with my CAR-72 and really pissed it off. My eyes went wide as it launched itself into the air in my direction. I ran just in time as the creature smashed into the spot I was just in. It twirled and swung its razor edge tail and uprooted computer terminals and steel support beams.
I ejected a spent magazine and loaded another to begin shooting the cyborg dinosaur in its face again. It was so close I could nearly taste victory, and I just needed to anger it some more so it would charge. Sometimes it’s not the best to get what you wish for, for the beast charged at me, which was terrifying. I nearly slipped as I spun to run away with the killer monster fast on my tail.
I slid through the heavy blast doors and to the terminal, the VeraTax right behind me. I had a brief moment to connect the wires to override the safety protocols and prayed that it would work. The wires sparked, and the blast doors came crashing down. When the smoke cleared, I found myself staring face to face with the giant maw of the VeraTax. Its jaws laid open and would never close again. I reopened the blast door, and across the chamber, I could make out figures in the smoke.
“Lieutenant Grimes?” I called out.
It might have been the injuries I sustained to my head from the fall and the smoke in the room that I failed to detect that the figures before me were not my unit. The other clue was that they fired plasma rifles at me.
“Shit!” I cried as I ducked behind the corpse of the Veratax as plasma blasts exploded around me.
We exchanged weapon fire, and I was pinned down. This was it, I thought as I ducked behind the soon-to-be vaporized cyborg corpse to load my last magazine. When I popped back up to return fire, my enemy was slumped over dead. I didn’t hear rifle fire, so I don’t think it was my squad. I sniffed the air and caught a familiar scent. I saw movement beside me.
“Hi,” was all I could say as a tail from a red-scaled Velocra struck me across my head.
“Why are we staying behind for this Sasson?
My head hurt, and I found myself once again waking up. Through blurry eyes, I saw that it was the red Velocra that was talking to another. He had two small horns jutting from the back of his head and one milky white and scarred eye. My Velocraian was poor, but did he call me a Sasson?
“Pet?” I asked in Imperial Common.
Red scale snorted at me, and as my vision cleared, I saw that two other Velocra were standing over me. One of them was like Red Scale with horns, and the third had feathers on their head like me, and she was beautiful. Okay, granted, I’ve been in the service for the human military and have not been around Velocra for years. Yet, despite my poor reference points, I was certain that she was beautiful, with purple scales. She looked at me, and I smiled at her.
“He saved us from the VeraTax,” she answered in Imperial Common.
I was sure her language choice was for my benefit, and I nodded in gratitude.
“Saved us?” Red Scale asked, and I saw his suit shimmer and form a sharp blade at the end of his tail.
“We saved him,” the other Velocra hissed.
Their outfits were really advanced with nanotech fibers. They were beyond even the most sophisticated battle armor that the Imperium had. The fibers form-fitted their bodies, and there were no discernable power sources.
“We must go,” the other urged, and the fibers rippled to cover their entire body and formed a sleek battle suit.
“I wish to talk with him,” the beautiful female said.
Red Scale scowled, and his battle suit formed around him as he and the other departed.
“What is your name?” I asked.
She tilted her head and answered, “I would imagine you have other questions, and yet you ask my name? You may call me Velena.”
“I’m Sam. Who are you?” I asked as I rose unsteadily to my feet.
Velena glanced in the direction her companions had left, and there was a rumbling of a spacecraft starting up. She turned back toward me.
“We have little time. Allow me to show you,” Velena said as she placed gentle hands on my forehead.
“You are psionic?” I asked, surprised.
She nodded, and images flooded through my head. She showed me history, how the Velocra ruled a mighty space empire, and they genetically created the VeraTax to be their guardians. Then civil war, and for some, the VeraTax turned from guardian to slave master. But, now I learned a different history lesson where the other Velocra continued to live unchained, free, and rulers of their own society. Velena showed me a wonderful planet high in technology, where all doors were the right size and not a single chair! A world where Velocra were both laborers and presidents. Free from discrimination and free to choose their destinies! The images stopped, and I gasped.
This planet is what the Galactic Federation is searching for, for their technology!
Velena nodded and explained, “there are facilities like this one all across the galaxy. Remnants from our civilization and accessible to you and all Velocra.”
“Now, you are destroying them.”
“No, only removing the information that can lead to our homeworld. You can come with me,” Velena said.
I wanted to, and we both tilted our heads as we caught a scent. Velena’s suit morphed to encase her entire body into a battle suit, and a shimmering blade appeared on her tail. The scent was my squad. Despite the wonders I saw, my place was with my unit. My family, but I needed to show the Velocra in my community that more is possible for them. I didn’t need to say that to Velena. She was psionic. Her suit parted to reveal her face and hand as she gently stroked my cheek. And then she was gone.
“Holy shit! It’s Sam!” Jimmy exclaimed.
The dark-haired soldier rushed over to me and removed his helmet. He embraced me.
“We thought we lost you, little buddy!” Rickard nearly shouted as he grabbed me in a huge hug.
“What the fuck? Put me down, you big oaf!” I cursed the big man but only received a giant grin in response.
Flute came next and whistled. “You responsible for all of these explosions? Nice work!” She said in her high-pitched voice and gave me a pat with her slender hand.
Diaz had connected his medical scanner to a workable port on my suit. “Everyone, be easy on him. His body is in bad shape. Sam, good to see you, but stop moving around,” he ordered.
“Good work with taking out the Veratax. This brute was giving us problems,” Grimes said as she stood over the large carcass.
Tool was standing by the panel and studying the wiring. “Hmm, I find it interesting that circuits are the same across alien civilizations. Kind of like mathematics,” he said.
I felt Johnson squeeze my shoulder, and I just tapped his hand. That was all that was communicated. What a weirdo!
“Alright, enough of the love fest, everyone. Let’s get off this rock!” Grimes barked.
I nodded and grinned. This was my family.