Chapter 10: Gathering Storm
Hell's Gate:
Erasmus Killgore jumped from his inbound Samson before it even neared the ground and hit the ground with a roll. This was done out of haste, as he had had a bit of an epiphany on his ride back. With Augustine dead, in about a billion atomized pieces, that only left Sullivan as the galvanizer. Granted, with both dead the Navi might just continue fighting anyway, but at a distinct disadvantage. Namely, no human leading them.
Just as he was about to make a straight line rush to Augustine's old lab to follow a hunch of his, Acheron leapt out of a suddenly appearing portal directly in his path. "There's my Old Man." His son's hands clapped together once. "So come on, I've got to know, who or what did you Lazer?"
Irked to a slight degree, he nonetheless buried that irritation and responded to Acheron's query. "Doctor Augustine herself, at point blank range."
His son started laughing, showing no concern at all over volume. "Oh ho ho, that is fucking priceless. I can only imagine the look on her smug face when you said the line." An idea seemed to occur to Acheron. "Hey, what do you think, should I come up with my own meme spell? Huh? Be honest with me!"
At the risk of irritating his son, he did exactly as suggested. "Look, Acheron, as much as I would love to stick around and debate potential spells of destruction I believe I have hit upon an idea to permanently cripple the Navi war effort. So, could we perhaps pick this up at a later time?"
The junior Overlord simply shrugged, nonplussed. "Sure, do what you've got to do man. You know how to find me when you need me."
He paused, unwilling to take his apparent good fortune and run with it. "Wait, that's it? No anger, no indignation?"
Acheron's helmet came off, revealing a wide smirk plastered across the young man's face. "Yeah, why not? You and me dad, we're cool. I've pretty much decided that you're not nearly as bad as I thought you were; not to mention less than half as much of a stick in the mud."
The glowing, crystalline weapon on Acheron's hip added to the commentary. "What he means to say, is that he think's your pretty badass for an old man. At least that's what I get looking into his head, between the lewd thoughts of various women he's eyed in the past few-"
The young man clapped a hand over the crystal pistol, chuckling awkwardly. "Ok then, that's enough out of you for now babe." Acheron looked back up at him. "Seriously though, if you have some wild plan whirling around in that head of yours don't wait for me to put in into action. I've got plenty of things to keep me occupied while you mull stuff over."
He started to take the invitation to leave, but an impulse had him half-turn back only a handful of steps away. "And by 'things' would you be referring to Lisa Ryder?"
Acheron shrugged again. "I don't recall you staking a claim on her, unless you have?"
He shook his head curtly. "By the Netherworld no, she's far too young for me."
His son started laughing again. "She's 'too young' huh? Then why'd you get offended by me calling you old back in the Mermaid Bar? Remember, I told that hot mermaid waitress that-"
He finished the statement. "-That I was too old for her, yes, I remember. What I took offence to was the implication that my age prevents me from performing to the utmost."
Acheron's eyes widened. "Ok, a little too much insight there dad."
He chuckled at his son's discomfort. "Just remember boy, I can play the 'shock' game just as well as you can." An earnest smile pulled at his mouth. "At any rate, do enjoy yourself. I really shouldn't be all that long in my research, so I'll come along and collect you when I'm done. Sound fair?"
His son smirked. "Just make sure to knock."
He rolled his eyes as he passed through the airlocks of Hell's Gate and into the structure proper.
Hell's Gate: Repair Hanger
Lisa Ryder was grateful for the modicum of quietude she was currently experiencing. Sure, Pandora's avian population was as vocal as ever, and the ever present whine of military machinery coming and going from the nearby pads was there, but the AMP suit hangar was empty save for her. That was rare enough that she could appreciate it, especially after working her shift as communications officer on the command deck and the nonstop chatter associated. She was due for another in an hour or so, which made the quiet almost therapeutic in a sense.
Of course, "therapeutic" would have been more valid if she weren't throwing all of her slight weight against a monkey wrench to loosen a choice few bolts on her AMP suit's frame. The mechanics always made them too tight after every inspection. Sure, the leg or whatever wouldn't come off of the suit, but the damn thing felt so sluggish when she tried to move. It was just one of those finicky things that was down to personal preference. She'd never heard any of the other pilots complain after all, so maybe it was all in her head. That wasn't going to stop her though.
She let go of the wrench momentarily and fell back to her knees, breathing heavily. It seemed stupid that it should take this much effort to loosen a bolt half a turn or so, but Sparky was always damnably thorough.
A voice came from behind her. "Well hey there."
She let out a short yelp of surprise and spun while standing to face the younger of the two Overlords. Hesitantly, she replied to the query. "Uh, hi, is there, um, something that you wanted?"
The golden-eyed man leaned against one of the other AMP suits with his elbow. "Not really, just thought I'd track you down and chat for a bit." A light chuckle escaped the shadowed helmet. "Unless you absolutely need to be alone for some reason?"
Nervous, and not just because of Acheron's prior comments about her, she again responded. "No, uh, I mean no I don't have to be alone." She tried to deflect the direction of the conversation. "I was just doing a little bit of fine-tuning to my AMP suit."
Acheron's interest apparently shifted to her new topic. "Really? What kind of tuning?"
Slightly relieved that her little gambit had worked, apparently, she gestured to the large machine. "Uh, here…" With a light touch she powered up the suit and opened the cockpit before climbing in and grabbing the controls. "…Let me show you." She moved her right arm while her machine dutifully imitated. "You see how smooth and fluid that was? I already fixed that arm. Now for the leg I was working on…" She shifted the corresponding limb, in this case her right leg. "…You see how it seems a bit jerky?"
The young Overlord looked back and forth between her and the AMP suit's leg three times. "You know, I honestly can't see a difference."
Embarrassed, she felt her face heat up. "I, ah, it might just be in my head."
Acheron shrugged. "Hey, whatever makes you comfortable, right?" The man's gold eyes seemed to stare at her for a second. "About how big is this cockpit thing?"
Before she could work out an answer for the sudden question the man had taken one quick hop and was squeezing himself inside the AMP suit along with her. A "tight fit" was an understatement, she could barely move without touching the, exceptionally built, man.
Acheron either did not notice, or did not care about their close proximity. "Well, this is cozy. It must get pretty warm in here when it's running."
She shrank from contact with the young Overlord, feeling exceptionally warm already. "It can, on occasion."
A clunk rang through the small space as the tines on Acheron's helmet collided with the roof of the cabinet, prompting the man to look up and finger one of those spines. "Huh, I'd probably fit in here a bit better if I ditched the helmet, don't you think?"
She opened her mouth to say the opposite, that he should keep the helmet on and just step out of the suit and her personal bubble, but clearly the question had a been a rhetorical one; because Acheron doffed the helmet anyway without waiting for her to say anything. Her objection caught in her throat. Her adolescence wasn't far enough behind her that she had forgotten the almost rabid allure of a hunky boy's face, like the last boy-band lead musician or dreamy singer. Acheron had that kind of face, mixed with an action-movie star's heartthrob machismo.
That "movie-star" face started chuckling. "What, you see something you like, doll?"
Numbly, she nodded her head. Heart pounding with anticipation at what her body already knew was coming.
With one deft tug Acheron shut the hatch on the AMP suit before starting to draw even closer, seemingly as slowly as the line of dawn or dusk. "Well that's good, because so do I."
Hell's Gate:
Erasmus stepped outside of the main building, tipping his head skyward for a moment just to let his plan run through his head when he wasn't focusing all of his attention on it. He'd found more than one error in his past plans like this, which made it a worthwhile habit. Like his plan to sack the Forbidden City in China almost ten years ago. He was going to be so subtle, employing assassins and such to scale the walls and assassinate the Emperor, presenting his severed head to force a surrender of the city. That was when he recalled that the city was severely under garrisoned. Sure, that example only differed in efficiency and not in risk/rewards, but the overall theme was the same.
He stopped a passing soldier with an extended arm. "A moment of your time?" When the man stopped he asked his next question. "Have you seen my son?"
The soldier started laughing. "Ha ha, 'seen'? No, I haven't seen him. I have heard the player over at the repair hanger."
He stood still as the soldier walked away laughing. There were two key words to that statement, "heard" and "player." He could surmise that Acheron had made a move for his next conquest.
He sighed as he started walking towards the hanger. "That boy…"
The doors were wide open, presenting him with a long line of empty AMP suits. However, all of the suits he could see were vacant and open, save for one five units down the line that was closed. Also, the clear glass was completely obscured by steam. He was no fool, he knew what that meant. And just to confirm it, someone's pale, feminine back was briefly pressed to the glass. He averted his gaze immediately. Not that he was squeamish; it was just that watching his own son perform coitus crossed a line.
He kept his eyes on the ground, willing his ears to hear nothing, and approached the AMP suit, turning his back to the machine before rapping his knuckles against the glass. "Acheron, do not come out of there. I am just stopping by to inform you that my research took far less time than I anticipated." He paused, unsure how much more he should add. "Meet me on the command deck when you are again available."
And with that he started walking away, still mentally deafening himself.
Hell's Gate:
Erasmus Killgore stood above the seated Max Patel, glaring down at the dark-skinned man with undisguised contempt. In his mind, the time to play their hand was now, and that would require a little bit of coaching on his part to the resident traitor.
He knelt, bringing his eyes level with those of Patel. "Now, Mr. Patel, I realize you must not have changed your mind on how the situation on this planet is. I'm sure you hate me and the rest of the RDA now more than ever. But, should you perform a small service to us, this confinement you are placed under currently can be lifted."
The ex-scientist did not seem convinced. "You want me to betray Jake and Augustine again."
He nodded once. "In a word, yes. But in the long run I think you would agree that it would be better for your precious Navi if they accepted that were in the presence of a superior power and that submission is better to extinction, no? Put another way, more of them will be alive when mankind leaves this planet behind if Sullivan were not agitating them further." Almost as an afterthought he added; "Oh, and you need not worry about betraying Augustine any longer. She is quite beyond the point of caring what you do."
Patel, clearly rattled by the news, numbly shook his head. "No, I'm not going to do it."
He let out an exasperated sigh. "Very well, let me rephrase my argument, you will do as I have asked or I'll have another rat visit you. And this time I will let it burrow through your entrails before I do anything about it. At which point I will have my blue minions heal you so the rat can keep eating."
A look of abject terror, which hopefully would remain for Patel's upcoming performance, settled on the pudgy man's face and he nodded silently.
He returned the gesture. "Adequate, but just remember to word things exactly as I have instructed you to do so, deviating even slightly will bring those harsh consequences I have already mentioned." With a quiet sigh he stood and exited the small, computer-equipped room which Patel had been given for the performance, monologueing to himself under his breath. "I swear, I always attempt to be so civil, but people always just throw the effort back in my face. Spoiled rotten do-gooders, they think that just because the hero always wins in the stories that real life will turn out that way as well." He gestured to one of the tech experts nearby. "Kill the lights, let's proceed with this charade."
The door closed on the darkened room, now lit only by the glow from the computer screen situated in front of Doctor Patel. Of course, he knew this from an empirical standpoint, not from visuals, as he was standing outside and listening through the paper thin walls of the impromptu chamber. Other people were watching that would cut this off if Patel started giving Sullivan visual hints that this was a setup. His performance would come, but the conversation between traitors had to be at the right moment first.
On the other side of the wall Patel was whispering. "Jake, Jake can you hear me?"
After a few seconds a male, unsurprisingly, voice responded. "Max, what's going on? Why do you look so upset?"
This was the moment of truth, so to speak. Patel would either ruin the operation or his fear would get the better of him and he would go along with the plan. If Patel cracked and let his so called "morality" get the better of him it would be only a heartbeat till the fat man died, he silently swore this.
The pudgy doctor responded at length to Sullivan's query. "It's Norm, they got Norm. That big guy, the Overlord, he executed Norm for treason. Just three days back."
He witnessed several small signs of celebration among the RDA personnel taking part in this little drama; a pumped fist here, a smile and a nod there, the latter adorning the grizzled visage of Colonel Quaritch himself. So far so good, now Patel only had a few more lines to deliver before exhausting his usefulness.
Sullivan, in typical "good guy" form, sounded distressed. "Max are you crazy? If they find you talking to me then they'll kill you too!"
Patel played his next part perfectly. "Jake, it's the Tree of Souls; they're going after the tree!"
He signaled the soldier standing by the door, who promptly proceeded to bang on the metal slab. "Doctor Patel, open this door immediately."
An almost genuine note of panic entered Patel's voice. "Three days Jake, you have three days to stop them, please, you have to-"
He stepped up to the faux door. "Allow me."
He picked up his right boot and kicked, crushing the hunk of metal inward and stepping through the threshold in the same motion. He felt that was dramatic enough, but he was far from finished.
He unlimbered Soul Edge from his back whilst glaring at his unwilling actor. "Doctor Patel, your services are no longer required."
He whipped the blood red blade forward, decapitating Patel before the man could even comprehend what was happening. Perhaps, in the scant partial second before the doctor's soul was consumed, Patel realized just how honest he had been when he offered a "release" from confinement.
Satisfied that the charade had gone as well as it could he looked towards the screen. A twinge of surprise striking him when he saw that it was still active; and the face of a Navi was looking through it at him.
Navi-Sullivan spoke, disbelief apparent. "Max, you, you killed him."
He crouched closer to the screen, not about to let this opportunity to read his enemy pass him by. "A fate, I think, that traitors really deserve in the end, no? Besides, how would we converse with him screaming our plans for all to hear?"
Sullivan's face contorted with fury. "You have no idea what you are trying to destroy-"
He interrupted. "On the contrary, I know exactly what I'm going to destroy, your precious Eywa, the brain and soul of the planet as Augustine was fond of calling it in her notes."
The traitor snarled. "It's not that simple, you'll kill the whole planet-"
Again, he broke in on Sullivan's heroic rant, the pig-headedness of the traitor aggravating his temper as he knew it would. "I doubt that very much, and since you seem to so strongly identify with your adoptive people that you would rather dwell in that flesh sack than your own body, I will address you as I would any other simple-minded animal in that jungle."
That "flesh sack" bared its fangs. "The Navi have so much more to teach humanity-"
A crass snort escaped his nostrils, his mind dredging up a similar line from Augustine's research that was laughably pitiful. "Silence, primitive, and spare all of us here your wash of pity. You endlessly espouse your connection to nature, your ancient knowledge, but what has it brought you? Where are your voyages of discovery? Your marvels of engineering? Your profound insight into the workings of the universe?" He was on a roll now, and not stopping anytime soon. "Even at the basest level of mankind, when we lived in caves and trees as you do, hunted our prey as you do, lived at the mercy of nature as you do, we did far more than simply survive, exist. We prospered; we built wonders, the Great Pyramids, the Colossus of Rhodes, the Taj Mahal. We made great journeys; the voyage of Ferdinand Magellan, the travels of Marco Polo…" He raised his arms to the sides to gesture at his surroundings. "…Mankind's very journey here. Our past is the fabric of epics. Your people have nothing." He started to draw fully on what Augustine's research had revealed, and his own take on it all. "You Navi speak so proudly of the plugs dangling from your skulls, little realizing that they are merely strings and you puppets. Every miniscule accomplishment of your pathetic race is attributed, by yourselves, to the grace of Eywa, who is nothing more than the voices of your countless dead echoing for eternity. Your Eywa is little more than an anchor, an immovable burden that drags your people down into the mire of the past, keeping you all as a sad imitation of civilization that lacks the special spark to become something more." He gestured to the men of the RDA. "Mankind has come to this world in search of resources, resources to fuel our efforts to ever greater achievements. If, by some incalculable twist of fate you manage to drive man from this world, or the far more likely eventuality comes to pass that we take what we wish and move on the end result will be the same for you Navi. Mankind will depart from your world, leaving you and your people behind in our wake. And in a thousand years nothing will have changed, you will remain in your trees, stalking your prey, in communion with your so-called goddess. Your contact with a civilization not your own will not have changed you, your glimpse of something sublime will have had no impact. And so you will remain until your star burns out and your world dies." He jabbed an accusatory finger at the screen. "And above your barren tomb, the stars will belong to us."
Sullivan's Navi face looked dumbstruck for a few moments before the screen died, but that did not cause silence. A roll of applause and thunderous adulation was rising. Cacophonous calls of "that's what I'm talking about" and the more explicit "fuck yeah" shook the walls.
A smirk stretched his lip as he looked towards the assembled personnel of the RDA. "Men, we have work to do."
Hell's Gate: Perimeter
Acheron Killgore crested the stairs leading to the top of the outer wall, where he had at length been told his father had gone. The twinge of awkwardness he had momentarily felt whilst waist-deep in Miss Ryder demanded that he apologize in some respect, not that he was ashamed of himself or anything, he just, well he couldn't exactly make sense of it. He looked out over the area between the walls of Hell's Gate and the tree line, finding to his surprise that the RDA soldiers were using some of those giant, yellow, mechanical monstrosities to clear brush and dig trenches.
His father's voice floated over the din of moving metal and the grunts of labor. "…And those three trees there, the cluster of behemoths shadowing the work zone, I want them cut down and moved to the base of the wall in a staggered line. The men will need cover from the Navi arrows and I plan on giving it to them."
The elder Overlord stood surrounded by men in hardhats with clipboards in hand, turning to each of them in quick succession, rattling of order after order without so much as a blink of hesitation. It occurred to him that perhaps his father was at home in this kind of environment, war, as much as he was back in the Netherworld, maybe even a little bit more so.
Soul Calibur whispered in his head. "Feeling a little command envy?"
He whispered back. "Hell no, the big man can keep the spot light here so far as I'm concerned. I'd rather not have all those people coming to me for answers."
The gun/sword giggled a little. "Not that you'd have those answers even if they did, right?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, rub it in why don't you?" He dropped the conversation with his weapon and stepped towards Erasmus, calling out a short, "Hey dad!"
His father looked away from the cluster of engineers and responded. "Ah, Acheron, exceptional timing." The senior Overlord waved away the engineers. "Give us a moment." Then came the obligatory awkward bit. "So, ah…"
He answered the question before Erasmus fully asked it. "Yep, I had a great time with Lisa. Let's move on."
His father let out one short laugh. "Ha, well that's good. I was wondering how I was going to broach the topic." The god gestured back towards the flight pads. "I'm going to make a standing recommendation that you join the bomb flight on the morrow. I think it would be wise to spread the trump cards, which would be you and I of course, across the conflict to better our overall odds."
He shrugged. "What do you mean 'odds'? We're going to beat those sissy aliens into the ground a thousand times over by the end of the day tomorrow. We've got guns, they've got fucking bows." He chuckled. "That and you could incinerate the whole mess of them with your lazer, or a badass firestorm."
Erasmus shot him a wink. "Well, try not to be too loud about the full extent of either of our prowess. We want the RDA to earn their win after all, not have it handed to them." A cry from the base of the wall drew the older man's attention. "Pardon me Acheron, but would you mind if I returned to preparing my battlefield? I still have a lot of things to arrange before night falls and these men need to get a decent rest."
He nodded his acquiescence. "Sure, I'll head over to where the fly-boys are gearing up and figure out where I can get the best firing line for my flight." He drew Soul Calibur from his belt and twirled her around his finger. "My girl is just itching to makes some more blue freaks explode into shrapnel."
His father responded without looking at him. "That's the spirit my boy." A shriek shattered the relative silence and a sigh escaped the god. "If you want something done right…"
He stood still just long enough to watch his father vault the railing and practically fly to the tree line before making a quick about face and heading for the flight pads.
Hell's Gate: Command Deck
Erasmus Killgore stepped out of the lift into the darkened command area, following the one light source to the office of the resident Colonel. He found it strange that Quaritch should request his presence at such a late hour, but saw no reason to not oblige. Really, he was curious more than anything. He stepped around the corner into the small office, finding the Colonel seated sideways on the desk, sipping a clear amber liquid while staring at the red, white, and blue flag he had taken notice of earlier.
Either his subconsciously silent footsteps had failed for once or Quaritch saw the glow of red eyes in his periphery vision. The veteran started speaking. "I trust that you've arranged the defense to your satisfaction?"
He answered honestly. "That I have. The trenches are lined with improvised spears and there will be additional fire hazards placed early in the morning with spare engine fuel. The men are to be organized into three firing lines each set behind a sturdy wooden barricade, and I have had metal plates welded to the wall guns to make them far more difficult to de-man for the Navi sharpshooters."
The Colonel nodded silently through his explanation and raised a question only at the end. "What did you use for the spears?"
He responded quickly. "Scrap metal from the junk pile, mostly what the troops called 're-bar' or something similar."
Quaritch's eyes only briefly left the flag on the wall. "I see." The veteran reached down to the desk and offered him a short glass filled with an identical amber liquid. "Are you a drinking man?"
He accepted the glass as he answered. "Not to the extent of my eldest, but I have sampled my fair share of liquor." He took a short draught, savoring the strong bite of the alcohol before swallowing. "A good year, scotch whiskey I think?"
Quaritch briefly raised his glass. "Exactly, I was saving it to celebrate the end of these damn mining operations. Along with these…" The man pulled two long cylindrical objects out of a small wooden box on the desk, cigars. "I figure if things go south tomorrow and I wind up dead, it'd be a shame to have let these go to waste."
He felt the corner of his right eye twitch skyward. "A rather fatalistic approach, no?"
The Colonel laughed once while lighting his cigar. "More like realistic." After a long draw Quaritch paused, eyes still for the most part never leaving the flag. "Look, I don't say this kind of thing often or lightly. But I wanted to make sure you knew that, despite your unsettling countenance, the men, myself included, really appreciate what you and your boy have done for us. So thank you, from all of us."
He smiled, draining his glass. "Don't thank me yet Colonel, not until the Tree of Souls is a smoking pile of tinder."
Quaritch laughed lightly. "I'll drink to that."