Desecration

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Sat Apr 10, 2004 1:53 am

&nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp In his quarters, RedSirus sat on his couch, sullen and angry. Before him, floating in mid-air, was the holographic display of his personal workstation. Ever since he had made Captain, it was his primary tool when he was on Fenecia. With it, he helped manage the DTM's constantly in-flux inventory, sorted through a portion of incoming contract requests, and he helped double-check the payroll. He also kept up with the roster, adding to it and pruning it with mercs were finally accepted through their application process or when they left or were killed. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp That last item was what was on the display now, a complex and winding tree of names linked to each other through rank and assignment. Ten minutes before, he had been monitoring one particular branch of the tree, the branch that showed Bug's relation to the other mercs. It was a small branch, titled 'Special Operations', and it had a few leaves to it. Now it was gone, the names of the leaves having rearranged themselves to fall under other mercenaries. Bug's name itself was tinted red and disconnected from the whole tree. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp 'Discharged' was the subtitle underneath it now. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus couldn't quite believe it. He knew back on the Maelstrom that if he told Spec about Bug's torture of Mortok that Bug would be punished for it. He also hadn't had much of a choice in the matter, either--honor and discipline required that he tell everything that had happened at Cibile. Not to mention his combat recorder, which had recorded everything in great detail since Bug's scrap with Forty-Two, including Mortok's faint howls of agony audible in the night. Red was a tinker, but he was not a slicer, and even if he had wanted to modify the recording, it would have been obvious due to gaps in Forty-Two's story. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He had been between a rock and a hard place, really. He didn't like it very much, that was for certain, but no matter how guilty he felt about it, he knew his hand had been forced. But what got to him was that Spectre had taken Bug and punished him to the full extent of the CoC, expunging him from the DTM. Apparently, Bug's two years of flawless service meant nothing, nor did his long record of making seemingly impossible things happen. Couldn't Spec have demoted him? Hell, Red thought to himself, even corporal punishment would have been better than this. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp And the really hellish thing of it was this: In Bug's shoes, Red would have done the same. He hadn't thought that back on Cibile, but he'd had four days to turn things over in his head since then, and when he put himself in Bug's position, he couldn't find any other means of doing things that wouldn't result in the failure of Bug's quest. It was distasteful, yes, but Sirus knew what the term 'extenuating circumstances' meant, and he knew it applied to Bug here and now. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Why, then? There had to be a reason. Sirus wanted to get up right then and march into Spec's office and find out for himself. Then he thought better of it; if Spec's reasons hadn't been rational, there wasn't much of a point in risking getting expelled himself. But he had to do something. Sitting here in his quarters and stewing over the whole mess would just make him feel worse. What, then? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Hell with it," he muttered, and started putting on his boots. He'd get out, take a jog, and tire himself out. Not productive, but better than stewing. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus was just completing his second lap around the courtyard, enjoying the feeling of the exertion temporarily emptying his mind when he saw Bug duck into the armory. Bug was still in full armor, and watching him go into the shadow of the doorway was like watching a mirage melt away. Red supposed he was returning his DTM-issued weapons, which covered everything save for his blades. Was Spec going to require that he return the armor, too? Sirus thought it unlikely, since there wasn't anyone else the armor would fit. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp You know, maybe you should take the time to go in there and apologize to Bug, he thought to himself. Knowing Bug, once he gets the details here taken care of, he'll start on his quest for the egg in the most efficient manner possible. And that meant that there was an excellent chance that Bug would take the first ship off the planet after he was done in the armory, quite possibly never to return. Possibly? Why would he return? There was nothing for him here now. Well, nothing but a captain that had expedited his dismissal, to be precise. Who'd want to come back to that? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Cursing himself as a glutton for punishment, Sirus stopped his current lap and headed for the armory entrance. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The armory, like it always had been, was a place that reminded Bug achingly of home. Its constant but cool temperature was like that of his hive, its long and winding entrance tunnel a reminder of the tunnels he'd guarded and patrolled in his youth. It was a cool place of stone and stalhlplast, buried under meters of rock and earth to protect against air strikes, as well as cut down on the damage that would be inflicted to the rest of the DTM compound should the ammunition magazine explode. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He stood in a corner, away from the glow cast by the ceiling-mounted striplights, and watched as Morgis did his work. Morgis was his usual self--a slightly jolly middle-aged man, highly skilled in the arts of entek, that had been a fixture in the armory for time out of mind. He was, as the more poetic of the mercenaries put it, a 'character'. Bug had always related well with the large armorer, for he had seen from the beginning of his time with the DTM that Morgis was no stranger to the rigors of battle. Faint scars--the flower-like remnants of flechette and laser burns--dotted him here and there, and his right eye was patched. The lower half of Morgis' face was lost in the depths of his bushy black beard and mustache, though it was common to see the gleam of his teeth through it when he smiled, which was often. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Morgis was not smiling now. "This is not the kind of work I like to do," he muttered as he directed the beam of a nanoplacer over the DTM logo on Bug's cuirass, which lay on his workbench under a strong light. "Seems a shame to remove the dragon, Bug. You wore it well, and it fit you just as well, from what I've heard from the others." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug nodded. "I cannot say that I enjoy this either, Morgis. I did, however, anticipate this event happening. It was not a surprise." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Still a shame, though. You know I always enjoyed the time you and Mr. Sirus spent down here with me tinkering with this suit." Morgis patted the cuirass with his free hand affectionately. "It was always a nice change of pace, you know--no nanoweave muscles to worry about, no sensors, no joints, just plain metal and shields, as strong as I could make them for you. The blades were a nice touch, I might add," he said, turning to look at Bug momentarily. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "This armor has served me well, Morgis," Bug intoned. "I believe it will continue to do so. Was the damage to the front significant?" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Naawww," Morgis replied nonchalantly. "A few passes with a knitterbeam and it was good as new. Mighty powerful blows, though, from the look of 'em." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Forty-Two is as strong as I am, and his carapace is far harder." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "That's that chrome-looking fellow you brought back with you, right?" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Affirmative." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Heard some of the others talkin' about him and the green ones," Morgis said. "Hard to believe that a polite-talking fellow like him did this to your armor." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Polite-talking fellow? Bug thought to himself. Then he did as I asked. Excellent. "It was a necessary thing, Morgis, and any rift between us has been closed." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well, that's good to hear." Morgis finished with the nanoplacer and set it aside. "There, that's done." The area where the DTM dragon had been was now smooth and blank, utterly impossible to discern from the rest of the cuirass. "You'd better try it on for fit, just to make sure I didn't warp it." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug did as he asked, coming forward and lifting the piece from the workbench. It was reassuringly heavy, and it vibrated subtly as he fitted it to his thorax. A moment later, he had engaged the clamps and it was a part of him again, cool metal against his carapace. "A perfect fit as always, Morgis. My thanks to you." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Morgis grinned at him. "I do try to make a good job of it, you know," he said. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Bug!" The voice was Red's, and Bug turned away from Morgis to see his friend coming into the main armory. Red was in his loungeabouts, as he called them--pants, shirt, boots, all grey. Small sweat stains darkened his shirt, and a concerned expression was on his face. "I got to you in time, then," he said. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "In time for what?" Bug asked. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well.... to apologize for what I did before you left," Red replied, a bit sheepishly. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Hrrrm, excuse me," Morgis muttered as he picked up his tools and receded further into the armory's maze of workbenches and tool-racks. "Got some entek to program, Bug." And with that, he was gone, lost in moments to the dim light. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Silently, Bug thanked the armorer for his discretion. "Sirus, I don't see what you have to apologize for..." Bug began, though he was not surprised in the least when Red interrupted him. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Spec kicked you out!" Red almost yelled. "And it's my fault, because I told him what you did to Mortok! That's what I have to apologize for!" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp If he'd had eyelids, Bug would have blinked in surprise. He was not surprised that Sirus had told Spectre--he had, in fact, expected it--but he was surprised that Sirus was taking the responsibility upon himself. Why should he? It was his duty to report everything that had gone on at Cibile; it had also been Sirus' duty for the entire duration of Bug's affiliation with the DTM to report to Spectre everything that he did, and Bug knew this as well. Why become upset about it now? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Red, you were required to do so. Why does that make my expulsion your fault? I was the one that broke the rules, not you." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus stared at him, his eyes hard for a moment before they softened. "You know, sometimes I feel you haven't learned a damn thing about us, and sometimes I think you've learned too much. I come down here to apologize and feel a little less guilty, and you make like a zen master with your one sentence answers to everything that happen to be right." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "This upsets you?" Bug asked quizzically. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Of course it--" Sirus began, and then snapped his mouth shut. He glowered at Bug for a moment, then broke into a soft chuckle. "Dammit, if anyone else but you had said what you just did, I'd be pissed. Coming from you, however, it makes sense. One of these days, you need to find a Sworder and sit down with him for a long, long chat. They'd love to talk with someone like you." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug, who had little experience with the Diamond Sword, filed the comment away for later perusal. It was obviously what Trinity Ash had once called a 'backhanded compliment'. "Thank you," Bug replied. "I am not leaving just yet, though." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "You aren't? But you've been discharged, Bug. Spec made you return your weapons, right? What else is left to--" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "True, I have been discharged, Sirus," Bug interrupted. "But all I have done down here with Morgis is have the dragon removed from my armor. I am returning nothing." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red blinked. "What gives? Spec's always been quite strict about having his gear returned." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "This," Bug said, and held up his copy of the contract he'd signed in Spec's office, which had been handed to him as he left for the armory. Sirus stepped forward and took it out of his hands, holding it close and reading it intently. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "...ambassador?" he said quietly as he read, then: "And the 'provide' section is blank? Do you have any idea what that means, Bug?" He looked up, startled. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug shook his head. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "It's legalese for 'you get whatever the hell you need', that's what." He handed the contact back to Bug. "Spec hasn't given out one of those since we helped the Hephaestus weaponsmith tribe out of that jam five years ago. We got a nice discount from them after that little brawl, too." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "What is the significance of this?" Bug asked, unsure of what Red was insinuating. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Well, I don't think Spec's gonna be uptight about it, but the general idea is that after you get the egg back, you do Spec a favor or two when your species gets back on its feet. A couple of big favors, probably." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "He did not mention this," Bug said. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red chuckled. "It's a human thing, Bug. I wouldn't worry about it right now. You have larger fish to fry." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "That is true. Now that my insignia has been removed, it is time to concentrate on my return to Homeworld." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "You're going back there? Isn't it dead now?" &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Then Forty-Two did not tell you everything, I see." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Obviously not," Sirus replied, irritation in his voice. So much for logical beings always being truthful, he thought to himself. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Be at ease, Sirus. I did not learn of Homeworld's secret until we began our trip home from Cibile. Forty-Two had his reasons, and they were good ones. What he told me is that there is a large reserve of his Steel brothers, hidden away from the BioDerms. They fled during the attack to a prepared chamber deep in the hive, collapsing the tunnels as they did so. There they wait, in hibernation. I mean to retrieve them and use them to take the egg back from the BioDerms." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "So you're not asking for DTM mercs to help you with the 'Derms?" Sirus guessed, peering at Bug as he did so. Reasons? What kind of reasons did Bob have for not telling Bug about the Steel warriors? He wanted badly to know the answer to that question, but something within told him now was not the time. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Not in a combat capacity, no. I could not ask, Red. Retrieving the egg may very well be a suicide mission. Anyone that's willing to come along voluntarily I will accept, however." &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Perhaps he's referring to that 'insurance' he sent off about, Sirus wondered. “I'll go with you, of course,” he said. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “I expected as much.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Well, somebody's gotta record all of this for posterity, you know,” Red smirked. “That, and you might as well name me your adjutant to the DTM right now, because even if you don't, I'm gonna have Spec draw up some orders for just that, whether you like it or not.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug laughed, genuinely amused for first time since Cibile. “You have a deal, Sirus. No one is more qualified for the job than you in any case.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Right on,” Sirus replied, clapping Bug on the shoulder. “Now let's get some food and get your plans worked out.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Deep within BioDerm-controlled space: &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The alarm was annoying. It buzzed and clanged, the sound of it bouncing off the walls of his tiny ship-bunk and penetrating his skull. Wearily, he reached out from under his blanket and slapped at the nearby wall panel to shut it off. His hand made contact with the cool plastic panel, but the noise didn't stop. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp "Whuzzat?" he said, sitting up and wondering why the snooze button hadn't worked. He turned bleary eyes to the panel he'd slapped, where he found his answer. The noise wasn't his wake-up alarm, but the notification for an incoming message. "...never enough sleep..." he grumbled, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his curly black hair as he swung his legs over the side of his bunk. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp The ice-cold floor woke him instantly. Damnation, why did he never remember to sleep with socks on? Startled to wakefulness, he examined the wall panel more closely. What he saw there made him groan--new orders. And he'd just been getting the lay of the land here in this section of the Wilderzone, where he'd been monitoring Gates and carefully following BioDerm supply-ships in his tiny scout craft. Just last week he'd discovered a pocket of gas that was coincidentally traveling slowly parallel to a major 'Derm supply route, and he'd been using it as a hide from which to provide excellent information to Fenecia. And now he was getting new orders, orders that would probably take him away from this lucrative space. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Rubbing his eyes again to fully clear them, he examined the panel closely. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp FROM: KOMODO-PRIME &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp SUBJECT: NEW ORDERS &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp AUTHORIZATION: JUNO ABLE HOTEL OMEGA YAMATO FOXTROT TANGO &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Text-only orders? he thought. Rare. Spec usually likes video orders, but then again, he waits for me to contact him first from a safe port before giving them. Must be important. The first words of the message confirmed the importance of it, all right. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp ABORT YOUR CURRENT MISSION. WE HAVE LARGER PROBLEMS TO DEAL WITH. CONTACT HOME VIA TOP-SECURITY VIDEO FEED SOONEST. PREPARE FOR EXTENDED SPACE SURVEY (EST. TIME ~2 MONTHS), AREA COORDINATES TO BE TRANSMITTED UPON YOUR CONTACT WITH US. ALSO, PREPARE 'LIZARD SUIT' FOR EXTENDED GROUND SURVEY. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp DO NOT REPLY OR ACKNOWLEDGE THIS MESSAGE. MAINTAIN RADIO SILENCE UNTIL VIDEO CONTACT MADE. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp KOMODO-PRIME OUT. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp MESSAGE ENDS. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp What, he wondered, could be a 'larger problem' than the BioDerms? Spec had sent him out here to keep an eye on the 'Derm supply lines and provide raid and capture targets. Boring, mind-numbing work, but with the Pact in its current shape, important work all the same. Dangerous, too, which was why he'd been picked for the mission. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Ravon Dark was his name, and infiltration/recon was his game. If it moved in the void of space or crawled under the shadows of rocks, he was the man that would find it and tell you about it, usually in great detail. There weren't many tribals like him; there were plenty that could fly a recon ship or crawl through mud for days on end, but there were few that could do both, do it well, and live to tell the tale. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp He'd hired on with the DTM less than a year ago, right after the Scourge turned their attention to the Wilderzone in a major way. None of the regular tribes wanted a rogue like him--said he wasn't trustworthy enough. The DTM, however, had been aching for scouts, and their application process was friendly and the pay was good, as was the camaraderie. As it had turned out, most of the other DTM'ers had checkered past as well, so he'd fit right in. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Again, he wondered to himself what could be large enough of a problem to pull him away from his current mission. The Pact had assigned the DTM to supply raids for the time being... perhaps their mission scope had been upgraded? It was both a welcoming thought and a chilling one; the former because of the greater glory that could be had, and the latter because it likely meant that some other tribe had been wiped out by the Scourge, and the DTM were being called in as replacements. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Whatever the reason, he had his orders, and he intended to follow them. Stretching as much as he was able to do so in the tiny bunk of his scout craft, he got his flightsuit off its peg and put it on before crawling up towards the cockpit. Within a minute, he had checked for contacts on the ship's passive sensor array, prepped the engines, stowed his loose gear, and started off for the nearest Gate back to Fenecia. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Fenecia: &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red watched his companion over the rim of his mug of cold beer, all at once intrigued and a little wary. The former because Bug was laying out plans and their requirements between bites of food and sips of honey-mead, and doing so in a fashion that told Red his companion had been thinking about going back to his homeworld for a very long time. The latter because Bug's earlier remark about Forty-Two not revealing everything right away was still rolling around in his head, and it made him a little worried. If Bug was actually the 'safety precaution' his mother had made him to be, wouldn't it stand to reason that every vital piece of information Bob had in that chrome skull of his should be given over without any hesitation? When you build someone to bear the weight of an entire species and bring it back from near-extinction, you either trust him implicitly or you scrap the idea entirely and go for an automated revival plan... and Bug was not an automaton. Did Bob's apparent mistrust mean that Bug was flawed somehow? Or had there been some kind of mistake made elsewhere? Or was it something else? Was it worth asking about? &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp There's a sixty-four-thousand credit question, Sirus thought, swallowing a gulp of his beer and setting down the mug. His gut told him that whatever was up with Bug was a Pandora's Box of unknown potential. He vowed to pick Forty-Two's brain as soon as he was able. He turned his attention back to his datapad, which he'd linked with Bug's earlier to grab a list of supplies that the mantis warrior had laid out. It was interesting reading, mainly because Bug's research into human history had exposed him to the grammar that the Cybrids had used. Bug, being his usual efficient self, had copied the style for his own personal writings; he claimed it was much easier for him to understand than plain written English. Given what Red now knew about Bug's past and how his hive communicated, he wasn't too surprised. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Reading carefully, he came across Bug's list of 'must-have' supplies for the trip back to his homeworld. “<Transports//dropships> must number no less than four. Efficient\\speedy recovery of <STEELS//warrior-brothers> dictates//requires no return trips. <Transports//dropships> should be heavily armored. Redundant\\backup ship electronics and engine parts recommended. Dust filters imperative\\mandatory. Calendar\\timeframe indicates that <HOMEWORLD:HIVE-PRIME> currently is experiencing storms\\Coriolis hell.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp At this, Red looked up from the datapad and at Bug, eyebrow raised. “'Coriolis hell'?” he asked. “What's that?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug stopped tapping on his own datapad and looked up. He was hard to read, but Sirus thought he'd dragged his friend out of some deep thought. “That's my own name for storm season on Homeworld, Sirus,” he said. “It is the time of year that my homeworld's climate generates extremely large and powerful sandstorms.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “How large and powerful are we talking about? Your list mentions redundant electronics and parts and dust filters as mandatory. Not terribly reassuring.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Then prepare to not be reassured, Red. These storms can cover ten to twenty percent of the hemisphere, have winds that approach nine hundred kilometers per hour, are capable of hurling solid granite boulders the size of Beowulf assault tanks several kilometers at once, and they generally last anywhere from a week to a month. To be caught outside in one is certain death. If you do not suffocate from the sheer power of the wind or get battered to death by flying debris, you will very quickly be scoured to death by the sand, if not disintegrated outright by it.” Bug looked serenely at Sirus as he said this, as if the various forms of death he'd just rattled off didn't bother him in the least. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Ow. That hurts just thinking about it, Bug.” Red stole a quick glance at Bug's notes before continuing, more in an effort to collect himself than to refresh his memory. Well, that explains the smoothness of the Shadow's hull, he thought, remembering how he'd wondered what could do that to a dropship's armor plating. Dropship armor was notoriously thick, especially since dropships had to often cut back on shielding for sheer engine power so they could make it down to a hot LZ without being blasted out of the sky. That kind of armor was meant to take regular beatings and like it. Sirus wondered now how much thinner the Shadow's armor was now. He looked back up at Bug after taking a quick sip from his beer. “So, uh, your parts and supplies list here seems to suggest that we might be flying through one of these storms, Bug. Can any of our d-ships handle that kind of abuse?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “No,” Bug replied flatly. “Not in flight, at least. Any airborne dropship would be tossed around and battered to pieces on the nearest mountain. I only include such things because we may very well have to wait out one of these storms if our timing is not good. At the very least, I expect that we will have to outrun one when we leave, and even if we do not fly into or out of the outer edges of the storm itself, we will end up flying through the precursive dust that they kick up. The dust-winds can extend for several hundred kilometers in front of the storm proper, hence the filters.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus 'hmm'ed to himself. “Coriolis Hell is an accurate term for it then, I guess.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Precisely. However, with any luck, we will not have much to worry about. We can monitor the weather from orbit before we land, an advantage my Queen did not have back in my youth.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “But you're not taking any chances,” Red said, stealing another glance at his datapad and noting that Bug had included a month's hard rations for the dropship crews in his list. Not to mention a full complement of hand-tools for breaking rock and compacting sand. The last set of items on the list made him blink in surprise. “Ten days of canned air and the masks and armor fittings to go with?” he asked, furrowing his brows. “I don't get it.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Even without interference from the coriolis storms, we will most certainly need the air supply, Sirus,” Bug intoned. “The hive was, in my youth, large enough to require a constant effort by specially-modified workers to circulate and clean the air within it. It's undoubtedly larger now; I suspect that Tath had her workers dig even deeper into the roots of our overhead mountain range in order to hide her Steel warriors from the other Queens' mental probes as much as she could. The air will most certainly have staled in most of the hive, and I'm sure that in some places, it will be rotten or even deadly by now since there are no living workers to move it.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yeah, but ten days' worth, Bug? How deep does your hive go?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Deep. At least three kilometers straight down, probably more by now.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Red muttered a curse under his breath. “You and your kind don't half-ass anything, do you?” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Bug chittered quietly to himself in pleasure. “No, we do not, Red. I do not intend to fail in my mission.” &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp “Yeah, I see that.” Sirus put down his datapad and stretched in his chair. “What say we go check on Bob and your brothers? All this talk of tunnels and storms makes me want to get into the sun for a bit, you know?” Bug nodded. “Agreed,” he said, picking up his own datapad and stuffing it into his carryall. &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp &nbsp Sirus got up, put away his own pad, and quickly drained the remainder of his beer before he turned and followed Bug out of the mess hall. The outside sun would be welcome, that was for sure. Edited by: <A HREF=http://pub141.ezboard.com/bxmenclan.sho ... bug>Ambush Bug</A>  <IMG HEIGHT=10 WIDTH=10 SRC="http://www.xmenclan.org/images/x.gif" BORDER=0> at: 4/10/04 3:04 am

Guest · Post by **Guest** » Fri Jan 21, 2005 5:15 pm

----
Well, since the forum is wonky about formatting, and I am a complete primadonna when it comes to the 'look' of my work.... I give you the next piece of Desecration, as an RTF file.

http://webpages.charter.net/joelgray/dese6.rtf

Read and enjoy, and with any luck, I'll have something nice set up on my charter space soon enough.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Sun Sep 05, 2010 3:21 am

Bit of a gap, but then again, life has been arbitrarily exciting since I last wrote. Read, enjoy.

https://docs.google.com/document/edit?i ... XNOA&hl=en

XMEN Ashaman DTM · Post by **XMEN Ashaman DTM** » Sun Sep 05, 2010 4:51 pm

Sweet Baby Jesus! Thanks, AB!

Post by **XMEN Gambit** » Mon Sep 06, 2010 12:49 pm

I like the google docs format for this, Bug. Gives you a lot more freedom than forum posting. Story looks good too, what I had a chance to read.

*edit*

Hey, Bug, did you ever read Joel Shepherd's "Cassandra Kresnov" trilogy? If not, I think you'd really like it. It's kind of similar to your stuff.

Spinning Hat · Post by **Spinning Hat** » Wed Sep 08, 2010 9:27 pm

damn.. 33 pages! No wonder it's taken 5 years.

Can you upload the other parts to google docs, so I can print and reread them from beginning to end? or at least so i can read them on my phone or something..

Give me a call sometime when you're coming up to Minneapolis. We need to get together again before our annual visit to Rochester in march.

Spinning Hat · Post by **Spinning Hat** » Tue Sep 14, 2010 7:12 pm

Ok - Finally got a chance to read the newest installment.. Let's not wait another 5 YEARS for the next chapter, OK?

As far as the story, I like where this is going. Multiple plot lines, and I can't wait to see how they all come together.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Jun 14, 2013 9:58 pm

Well, this is it--the game-changer.

Memory.

This is why it took me ages to get to this point--I wasn't sure I wanted to do this. But after much consideration...it'll make a better story this way.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Jul 05, 2013 12:43 am

Yup, a faster update.

Discovery

I've embedded a link into the document, this time for a piece of music. I'm going to start doing that when a moment has a particularly suitable theme to go with. This particular piece is "A Cloudy Path" from the Supreme Commander OST.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Jul 26, 2013 6:40 pm

Heyas! I'm sure we've all been afraid of the dark at some point. Sirus gets re-acquainted.

Darkness

No links this time.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Fri Aug 02, 2013 9:46 pm

Another chapter! When you figure out just how much you're going to hurt your characters, it gets a LOT easier to write.

Departure.

The maxims, by the way, are The Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries. Damn right I'm a Schlock Mercenary fan.

No soundtrack for this chapter. Don't worry, when the action picks up, I have soundtracks ready. When I finish "Descration" (and I will) I'll publish the character sheet, which has leitmotifs for the main characters.

**edit**

For comparison's sake, Bug masses about 771lb when he's strapped on all his armor. Steel warriors, naked with no weapons, go about 250lb. You can see exactly why he was able to push Sixty around--he was given the strength necessary to deal with that much weight. Remember! Hammersteel shoved over a block of stahlpast weighing 3900 kilograms last chapter! Tribal armor is strong.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Sun Nov 10, 2013 12:26 am

Divestment

It's that time again, folks, another chapter update. I promised screenshots earlier, and now you've got 'em. They're at the end of the doc. First screenshot is one of Praxx's DTM skins, second is a compare shot I grabbed off of Google Images.

For those of you without Tribal experience, this ought to give you a nice idea of how big various hardshells are.

Hammersteel always wears a Juggernaut. At seventy-five, he's no fool.

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Tue Dec 10, 2013 2:21 pm

A little character development and a tiny bit of action.

Datum

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Mon Jan 13, 2014 8:52 pm

AKA: "And With Edward James Olmos as Spectre[DTM]"

We are moving along now, folks. Got some proper action for you this time, plus a couple of Geek Bonuses. Bring your calculator!

Daunt

Ambush Bug · Post by **Ambush Bug** » Wed Jan 29, 2014 4:20 pm

Folks, meet the Aeolus. It's really good at two different things.

Design

Three links in this one, two tropes and some music.

Rogue's gun has a name.
Seventeen's particular aesthetic choice.
Rogue's choice in music.

Desecration

Re: Desecration

Yeah, I updated. I've been remiss.

Memory

Discovery

Datum

Daunt

Design