First Contact

Chapter 162: (Nemta)

Night had just started to fall when Nemta got up from his nest made of aerogel packing that normally would be inside of a house to act as insulation. The other survivors had each given him a little of their own aerogel from their own nests. Nemta had been grateful to not sleep on the ground, although wrapping himself in aerogel seemed strange. It also felt weird to wear the strange device on his chest, a device that made his back teeth itch but supposedly would keep the Precursor machines from being able to detect his life signs. He yawned and left his small shelter, moving over to the latrine and gratefully using it.

When he came out he looked at the middle of the encampment.

The fire was still burning around the big metal orb, twice the height of Nemta. A few of the others were sitting around the fire, chatting with one another, piles of sticks next to each person. There were piles of wood as well as boxes of various types of rations.

There weren't very many boxes left.

"Ah, friend Nemta, you are awake," the Hamaroosa said, moving forward on her cane. "Are you refreshed after your sleep?"

Again, Nemta noticed the glitter of madness in her eyes.

"I ache slightly, but I am no longer fatigued," Nemta replied. He looked around. "Where is the Terran?"

The Hamaroosa smiled, showing teeth. "He has left to acquire parts that we need to activate the Creation Engine."

Nemta saw the others make a fist, their thumbs on top, and bring the knuckle of their thumbs up to their foreheads.

"Once we have brought the great engine to life, then we will being the Great Task," The Hamaroosa said, still smiling.

"The Great Task," the others intoned.

Nemta felt his fur on his back raise up.

They're mad, went through his mind again. The Precursor Scream must have driven them mad.

Nemta moved around the great metal orb, staring at it. It had a single flat part with an iris in the middle easier taller than Nemta. He could see circles on the metal of the orb, rectangles grooved into the orb, and Terran script. There were strange designs on it, painted onto the orb.

"How will this save us? I see no way to use this. How do we even apply power?" Nemta asked.

The Shevashan reptilian Shevvasti looked up. "The assistance of our friends 821 and 303 will assist with that, with the help of Human Friend Terry."

"I do not understand how this works," Nemta said.

The Hamaroosa shrugged. "Terran Might and Magic," she laughed.

"Might and Magic," the others said seriously.

"Why have you been here so long? What brought you here? Why are there Precursors here?" Nemta asked. "It doesn't make sense. Why were you abandoned here? Why was Terran Terry abandoned here?"

Shevvasti looked at the others and giggled, a strange sound coming from the normally quiet and stoic reptilian species. "He doesn't know."

The others all giggled. "He doesn't know."

"I was present at the briefing. This system contained nothing of interest, just a single planet capable of supporting life, no native sentience, nothing beyond the system itself," Nemta said.

All of the gathered survivors giggled again. "He doesn't know."

Nemta closed his eyes. He knew better than to antagonize the insane. That was the quickest way to get them to engage in violence. When he opened them they all still sitting around the fire, sitting around the orb. Two of the survivors, Nemta had not learned their names, were looking at him curiously.

"What don't I know?" Nemta asked.

They all giggled again, except for the Hamaroosa, who banged her walking stick on a rock.

"Enough. Do not mock our newest friend. Friend Nemta had no way of knowing what we know," she said. "He has no way of knowing what was written in the stars that only we can read."

The rest ducked their heads in submission.

The Hamaroosa turned to Nemta. "It is no fault of yours. Your leaders simply did not see fit to inform you of what went on here," she said. She turned away, leaning heavily on her cane, and led Nemta over to a crude chair where she sat down, sighing in relief. "I shall tell you what we read in the stars.

"There was over six million beings here when the Ancient Enemy arrived," she said. She lifted up a ration tube, tearing it open with her teeth, pouring the powder into water in a rough drinking container. She stirred it with a finger as she spoke. "Within days, most were dead. The Overseers, the Lanaktallan, had fled at the first sign of the Ancient Enemy, taking the only starships we possessed. The Ancient Enemy, they swarmed this world with their machines, attacking the cities and factories first."

She took a long sip and smacked her lips. "So much better than tree root tea," she sighed.

"What are the Terrans doing here?" Nemta asked.

The Hamaroosa took another long drink from the carafe and sighed.

"There was a fight. They appeared. Thus it is written in the stars," the Hamaroosa said, giggling.

"Thus it is written in the stars," the others said.

"Not many. Two ships worth. One a battleship, one a troopship, sisters in the service to the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol. Both damaged from struggles unknown, they knew not fear and did not flinch. The Ancient Enemy screamed its warcry and as one the two sisters denied it. One sister took the fight to the Ancient Enemies in the night sky among the stars, the other sister landed upon this world to succor the damned and lost.

"The sisters saved all they could. The sisters fought to the bitter, ugly end, as the servants of the Wrathful One do. One sister, CSFNV Endurance

"Blessed be the Sister Endurance."

"Fell from the sky, burning, into the gas giant, as the corpse of the last Precursor space vessel broke apart from the last blow of her mighty sword," The Hamaroosa said. "The fight was... proof of the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol's might."

"Blessed be her wrath," the others intoned.

"But she was with us, in our time of need. The troops ship expended every Terran warrior, trading each Terran life for one of ours as they took each of our people onto their troops ship. Each tank, each aerospace fighter, each self-propelled artillery piece left the CSFNV Berlin," the Hamaroosa said.

"Blessed be the Sister Berlin," the others intoned. "Blessed be her hull, blessed be her engines, blessed be her troop bays, blessed be her hangars. Blessed be the Servant of the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol Commodore Nocktrey and blessed be his Holy Command Staff."

"Our people marched aboard the holy vessel, the gift of the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol," the Hamaroosa intoned. "Even as the Terrans marched off to make room for our people. They smiled as they went, for each was trading their life, their might, for the lives of our people, as they are born to do."

"Blessed be their Will. Blessed be their Courage. Blessed be their Love," the others intoned.

Nemta was aware the sun had set, the only light was from the fire around the creation engine. The glitter in the Hamaroosan's eyes was one part fire one part madness. Nemta was filled the overwhelming urge to flee, but was afraid if he did, the others would fall upon him and devour him.

"Far and wide the blessed servants of the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol scoured the land for survivors. For fifteen days and fifteen nights they fought on, fought against numbers without end. Each shot, each soldier, each vehicle, each death, buying freedom for another lost soul."

"Blessed be those who redeemed the damned."

The Hamaroosan sipped from the carafe again.

"Finally the sister's arms were full, her bosom could shelter no more, and she was forced to flee, carrying with her, into the stars that we once called home, those she had rescued from the jaws of the Ancient Enemy," the Hamaroosa said. She looked up. "The Sister Berlin (Blessed be her name) carried them away."

She sipped at her drink, then looked at Nemta. Her eyes glittered with madness and fire.

"But some were left behind. Both Ancient Enemy and the people. In fear they moved, always avoiding the Enemy. But then came the Day of Succor," the Hamaroosa said. She heaved herself up, bracing herself with her walking stick. She slowly made her way to the side, toward a chunk of wreckage.

She stopped, briefly, to get a torch, and slowly moved to the chunk of wreckage.

There, scorched, faded, scratched, was a picture of a Terran female, scantily dressed in chainmail, wielding a sword, curly red hair flowing around her. Her face was a study in primate fury, blood was spattered on her, and she was hacking at shadowy enemies with her sword.

"Here the people found the image of the Mad Arch-Angel TerraSol, proof that she had not forsaken those struggling few," The Hamaroosa said. She touched the hard metal. "Within, the two green caretakers were found, slumbering, next to a wounded angel of battle. When the people, riven and harried, awoke the caretakers, the awoke our savior."

Nemta licked his lips. "Friend Terry."

The Hamaroosa smiled, all bright shiny sharp teeth and glittering eyes.

"Friend Terry," she agreed. She looked at Nemta and shook her head. "You disapprove of how we speak of what happened."

Nemta shook his head. "I will not judge," he couldn't take his eyes from the picture of the Terran woman, her hair flowing around her, her metal clothing, her cruel sword, the blood sprayed on her skin. Her eyes seemed to stare at him, as if to warn him that he would be next if he did not kneel before her and worship her as she deserves.

The Hamaroosa turned away from the image, hobbling back over to the chair and picking up her carafe. Nemta stood, staring at it for a long moment, then moved back over to her.

He was almost there when he felt it. A growling crackling feeling, like static on the nerves. He winced slightly as the others giggled.

"Friend Terry approaches. He has again protected us," one of the survivors around the Orb said.

Nemta looked around and saw the human, who looked even bigger than he had last night, moving into the camp dragging a sled full of parts. The human had dried blood and smears of carbon on his skin where the adaptive camouflage armor was torn.

"Ran into a Clanker," Terry said. He dragged the parts over and let them go, sitting down on an empty crate.

Three of the survivors, a Hamaroosan, a Telkan, and a Shevashan, ran up to Terry.

"I'm all right," the Terran tried to say. The Hamaroosan shushed him, assisting the two others in stripping the armor from him.

The Terran had bruising, clotted blood filling gashes, and punctures. Nemta blinked at the patterning, which looked like plasma packet impacts and kinetic round hits.

Nemta moved over to the boxes of food, searching it and finding something he could eat. He sat and watched as the three survivors coated the wounds with capacitance gel, liquid armor bonding agent, pressed wads of superconductor wiring against the wounds, and other actions that made Nemta wonder if they were working on a robot or a living creature.

He turned away, staring at the creation engine. He wondered not only how it worked, but if it worked. He kept ignoring the crackling feeling in the back of his head that made his ears tingle. Partway through his meal the crackling feeling went away.

What if, in their madness, they cannot see if it works? What if they have hinged all their hopes on a dead piece of metal? he wondered. Did the Precursor Scream drive them mad or was it being around 'Friend Terry' that did it?

When he was done eating he turned and looked, his eyes widening when he saw Friend Terry standing up. The wounds were healed and he was eating out of the high capacity super-dense capacitance cell, scooping the gel out like it was pudding. He had on a helmet with the face shield removed, and as Nemta watched the Terran used his teeth to snap off a chunk of the polycarbonate and start chewing on it. He looked bigger, bulkier somehow.

The sight made Nemta look away.

The equipment Friend Terry had salvaged was being sorted. Wiring, computer components, molycirc blocks, hologram emitters, chunks of armor. They were being sorted according to what was working and what wasn't and another category that Nemta didn't understand.

Nemta moved over to the Hamaroosa with the walking stick, who was watching the other survivors sort everything out while Friend Terry just watched.

"What are they doing?" Nemta asked.

"We need computer parts to activate the Great Orb," the Hamaroosa said.

"Why are you calling it that when you know the real name?" Nemta asked.

The Hamaroosa laughed, the harsh brittle edge of madness in her voice. "Those were the names you would understand. We call them by their real names."

She smiled and took a drink from her carafe.

"It makes you sound mad," Nemta told her.

"Don't worry. Soon you will sound mad too," the Hamaroosa smiled.

"I don't want to sound mad. I don't want to be mad," Nemta said, shuffling back slightly.

"It doesn't matter. You're here. To be here," her smile got wider. "Means to be mad."

Nemta suddenly wondered if maybe he would have been better off as a POW of the Terrans.