SECTION 03

SECOND CONTACT

DATE: NOVEMBER 16, 250 A.D.E.

TIME: 0751 HOURS

LOCATION: THE DOME, EAST SECTOR SEVEN, MOBILE FORTRESS HARBOUR, DOCKING PORT THREE

I wasn't surprised to find the Harbour in organised chaos. All around me, men and women were hurriedly running about, going through last minute checks and loading of supplies of the mobile fortress that sat in the docking port, the sounds of shouted orders and forklifts mingling with the mechanical groans of the six Vikings as their pilots loaded them into the boxy Assault Frame Transports, three to a craft.

I sighed as I gazed up at the large war-craft that overshadowed everything around it. The mobile fortresses themselves were a pride of the Military Police; a massive warship-like hovercraft capable of travelling across both land and sea. The Cerberus class was the smaller of the two classes currently employed. Like the twenty-two other fortresses of her type, the CMF Dauntless was an irregular L shape, two hundred and three metres in length and weighing in at around 22,500 metric tons. She was designed primarily as a destroyer and escort for the larger Saint George class dreadnoughts; a pair of double-barrelled 16" turrets, each sixty-six feet long, mounted to each side of the vessels island providing the primary heavy fire while a third was mounted behind to provide additional support to the rear. Other armaments mounted to various parts of this behemoth of engineering included fourteen AA batteries, seven surface-to-air missile launchers and a medium sized hanger to the rear of the craft with enough room to house five additional Viking Assault Frames. They had been designed with the intention of forcing their way onto American soil to create a proper foothold for the larger fortresses to make their landing, so you can imagine it was fairly ironic that most had never left their berths, let alone ventured out into the sea itself.

I sighed again as I slumped onto a bench near one of the gangways, tired of being pushed around or shoved to one side by people with actual jobs to do. I was worried, I wouldn't deny that. Sure my Dad and I didn't always get along, but I didn't want to see him on the MIA list…or even the KIA list. Nearby, the last few soldiers were saying goodbye to their families and loved ones. Several of my squad mates were here. I watched Fishlegs as he hugged his dad, then tried to stop a dark smirk from spreading across my face as Snotlout burst dramatically into tears, his father hesitantly trying to keep him quiet while his mother watched on in resignation. I felt a bit guilty for grinning though. No mission beyond the Isles' shores had ever come back without casualties of some kind. I couldn't see Astrid, but then again I really had no reason too.

A shadow passed over me, and I looked up to see the stern features of my own dad. Stoic stared down at me quietly, looking half surprised that I'd even shown up to see him off. Truth be told I was a little surprised myself, even though I'd come down to the harbour every time the General had left The Dome since I had been able to walk on my own two feet. I wasn't expecting any tearful goodbyes or heartfelt hugs though. General McKrillen was not about to get sappy in front of his men after all, not even for his own son. The fact our conversation last night was still weighing on our minds probably wasn't helping the situation.

"I'll be back," he finally said, turning to face the Dauntless, "probably."

Did he always have to be so dramatic?

"And I'll be here," I replied wearily as I stood up from the bench, "maybe."

That was about as close as I was going to get to a goodbye. At least when Gobber went off with him I got a cuff around the shoulder from my Superior, maybe a joke about his undies (don't ask).

Speaking of which…

"Is tha' it?" the Major lumbered up to the two of us with a disbelieving look. "The two of ye just gonna stand there 'til ya ship off?"

"Probably," we both replied simultaneously.

Gobber sighed, rubbing an undamaged hand across his face and muttering curses under his breath. He turned to Stoic with a tight smile.

"Alex would no doubt like ta tell ye that 'e'll miss ye, an' wishes tha' ye'll take out tha' god-f'saken Dragonoid installation, so ye can ease up a bit an' stop taken ye frustrations out on everyone, namely ye poor best friend Gus," he looked to me for confirmation. I shrugged nonchalantly. He gave me a nonplussed look before continuing to me. "Ye Dad would probably like ta thank ye for ye concern, an' would like ta add he'll miss ya too. So train hard, don' throw a house party, an' e'll do 'is best not ta become a smouldering crater on a Greenlandic beach somewhere."

"We're soldiers," Stoic muttered, just loud enough to be heard. "It's an occupational hazard."

"We're soldiers," Gobber grinned, glad to have gotten a reaction from someone. "It's an occupational hazard!"

"I said that part."

"Oh," the grin was quickly replaced with a scowl as Stoic headed towards the gangway, "Well excuse me for tryin' ta help, princess."

The general ignored his friend, preferring to give me one last piercing stare. Finally, he turned to Gobber, "I want him back in one piece, understand?"

He didn't even wait for a reply. All I could do was watch as he strode up the gangplank, the Dauntless thrumming with energy as the large harbour doors yawned open ahead.

"Don' worry about it lad," I felt the heavy synthetic hand on my shoulder as I watched the fortress and its transports leave. "E'll be alright."

I shook my head as I pushed past the Major.

"To be honest," I replied grimly, "it's not him I'm worried about."

DATE: NOVEMBER 22, 250 A.D.E.

TIME: 0803 HOURS

LOCATION: ENGLAND, MILITARY POLICE ACADEMY ASSAULT FRAME TRAINING ARENA

"Welcome to AF Training lads an' lasses."

I adjusted the pilot suit's chest plate for the hundredth time as I lagged behind the rest of Nu Squad who strode eagerly into the Arena, my shoulders already aching from what was supposed to be lightweight armour. The dark green jumpsuit itself was fine; loose enough to be comfortable and held to the body by black fingerless driving gloves, mid-calf boots and a belt around the middle. It was the armour that was annoying me; a solid plate of onyx that extended over my upper chest, back and shoulders, as well as a matching helmet that encapsulated everything down to the neck, save for my face and chin and incorporated the radio headset into its structure. When you'd spent most of your military career in uniforms and maintenance overalls, wearing armour of any kind felt alien to me, even if it was padded on the inside.

The others seemed to be taking it in their stride. Astrid took the lead, walking purposefully towards where Gobber stood in the centre of the Arena. Snotlout was just behind her, helmet under his arm, the usual arrogant grin on his face as he tried to walk as coolly as he could in front of his sergeant. Ruffnut and Tuffnut were next, for once more interested in their surroundings then knocking each others' brains out, with Fishlegs trailing just behind, close enough to be a seen as part of the group, but far enough from me to tell everyone he wasn't with me.

The Arena itself was a fairly large complex around a half-hour drive from The Dome, nestled in the nearby forests so as to be kept an unassuming target. As its name suggested, its primary purpose was for the training of Assault Frame pilots, and as such had enough room for six Vikings to move about in various tactical scenarios. It was a massive hall that encapsulated you within concrete and steel, the mech sized doors at either end leading off to the Assault Frame hangers making me feel rather small as we approached the centre.

"I hope I get some serious plasma burns!" I heard Tuffnut proclaim eagerly as he tossed his helmet up and down.

"I'm kinda hoping for some mauling," his sister shrugged indifferently. "You know, something for the shoulder or lower back."

The more I listened to the Thornston twins, the more I became concerned about the sanity of the refugee district's children.

"Yeah sure," I smiled slightly as Astrid's sarcastic voice echoed up into the cavernous Arena, "it's only fun if you get a scar out of it."

"No kidding," I muttered quietly under my breath. "Pain: love it."

Not quiet enough apparently. The entire squad turned towards me, their face betraying their obvious surprise that I was following them. Only Astrid didn't turn around. She just kept walking.

"Oh great," Tuffnut spoke up, his narrow features scrunching up in disgust. "Who let you in?"

"I am a part of Nu Squad," I replied bitterly, adding silently, "And believe me, I don't want to be here any more than you do."

"Since when?" Snotlout snorted, glancing back to see if Astrid was watching. "Never see you on fire duty. Never see you run drills with us. You sure you're even with the Military Police?"

"Alrigh', tha's enough of tha' " Gobber's impatient voice interrupted any comment I might have thought of. Astrid had already reached him and the small pile of equipment lying beside his cybernetic foot. "Fall in, all of ye. Ye not here ta fight each other after all."

I ignored the grumbling of my fellow 'comrades' as we fell into single file in front of the major, helmets under our arms with me standing quietly beside Fishlegs. I had learned before even joining the Military Police I wasn't welcome with these people.

"I guess congrats are in order," Gobber's dark grin was hardly a welcoming one as he strode down the line. "Ye just one of five squads tha' has been selected for this course, so be proud ye've gotten this far. But if ye lucky, this might just be the start of ye glorious careers! Ta make things a little more interesting, we've decided ta grant the top ranking trainee of all five squads a promotion to commissioned officer status, as well as the honour of destroying their first Dragonoid in front of the brass, the Dome Council…an' anyone else who want's ta watch really."

Embarrassing myself in front of almost anyone from The Dome was hardly what I called a decent prize. Still, the likelihood of even getting into the top five list for me was remote, and I planned to keep it that way. I just wanted to get through this thing in one piece. The others save Astrid were grinning at each other eagerly, Snotlout whispering to Tuffnut about all the wonderful things he could do with an officer's salary. Our sergeant merely kept staring ahead, a determined look on her face. If anyone was going to get that promotion, I'd wager my own wage packet for a year that Astrid would take it hands down.

"Don' look so worried lad," I glanced at Gobber as he took advantage of the excitement he'd brewed up. "Ye small an' weak. That'll make ye less of a target."

"Less of a target?" I asked exasperatedly. "I'm being shoved into a fifty-five-foot tall mech! How exactly will I look any different from these guys?"

"Ah, Dragonoids are good at sniffin' out the weak from the strong," the major grinned. "They'll see ye as sick or insane an' focus on the more soldiery teens."

I would have questioned the logic behind the statement had the major not turned to walk back down the line.

Wait a minute…did he say Dragonoids?

"Within this Arena, ye'll learn ta operate Vikings through fighting Dragonoids we have captured that are controlled by the onboard A.I.," I felt the blood drain from my face as Gobber continued to talk like he was describing the weather. "They might fight more aggressively than what ye'll face on the battlefield, but we feel tha' it's best to see these beasts at their worst, so anything else will be a breeze for ye when the time comes."

Again, I felt the flaws in this logic were staggering.

"Over the next few weeks, ye'll all fight models of Dragonoid that have been attacking The Dome within the past decade, including the Nadder-class Scout…"

"Speed rating: seven. Threat Level Upsilon," I glanced at Fishlegs beside me as the teen went into automatic pilot.

"…the Zippleback assault tank…"

"Armour rating: eight. Threat Level Upsilon."

"…the Nightmare Command unit…"

"Weapon rating: ten. Threat Level: Upsilon."

"…the Terror attack drone…"

"Stealth rating: nine. Threat Level…Upmph!"

"Upsilon," I gave my sometimes-friend a dark look as I elbowed him sharply in the ribs, "I got it."

"…an' finally," the Major wondered away from the group to a secure looking booth mounted into the Arena's wall, "the mainstay unit, Gronckle-class."

"Mobility rating: three. Threat Level…" I fixed Patrick with a hard stare, "…sorry."

"So what are we waiting for?" Snotlout asked impatiently. "Bring out the Vikings! Let's get this party started!"

"Ah, not yet," Gobber grinned as he entered the booth. "First ye gotta learn ta survive a Dragonoid attack without a Viking ta fall back on."

I suddenly felt very afraid, "And how are we going to do that?"

"Tha's the thing ya see," Gobber's voice came over the Arena's sound system as a pair of doors groaned open, "I believe in learning on the job!"

From within the darkness beyond, the sound of metallic clamps and EMP generators disengaging echoed through the Arena, followed swiftly by the heavy hum of a Dragonoid's power returning to it.

As it slowly moved out of the gloom, Astrid felt an eager grin spread across her face.

The Gronckle was the workhorse of the Dragonoids; a heavily armoured mech cast in bark brown metal and held in the air by six long wings, three to a side, beating fast to the point they were blurs at the Dragonoid's sides, a series of manoeuvring jets along the main body making sure the mech maintained stability. Its purpose was to provide heavy hitting power where it was needed, something it gladly provided via the two large energy turrets mounted to its sides and the plasma mortar slung to the underbelly just behind the bulbous head that housed the cockpit. The red-eyed camera was darting around the circular strip in the front of its head, eying each of the six humans before it, locking onto Astrid last.

The girl continued to grin as she strapped her helmet to her head. She was prepared for this. Fishlegs wasn't the only one who'd studied up on Dragonoids.

"Hey ugly! You just gonna sit there or…"

Snotlout was rewarded for speaking up with the first energy blast of the attack, the shot missing him by inches as the terrified soldier leapt clear.

"Today is about survival," Gobber's cheerful voice was barely heard over the roar of the Gronckle's rear thrusters as the squad scattered across the arena. "If ya get blasted, ya dead! So lads an' lasses, ya on the battlefield with only downed Vikings in sight. Whatcha gonna do?"

"Find a medic?" Astrid heard Hiccup call over the radio.

"Run for you your life?" Fishlegs squealed as a second blast narrowly missed his head.

"Find cover."

"Points ta Sergeant Hofferson." she was already running for the pile of equipment as Gobber congratulated her. "If ya caught on the battlefield with ya trousers down, cover or a shield will become ya best friend. A Viking in experienced hands can be started up in around thirty seconds. If ya have the choice between a downed AF or cover, take the cover!"

Astrid already had a riot shield in hand as the Gronckle fired again, the ground shaking from the blast as the others hurriedly followed her lead.

"Get your hands off my shield!" the Sergeant looked back irritably as Ruffnut and Tuffnut began to squabble over the radio.

"There's like a million other shields!"

"Take that one. Someone drew a flower on it. Girls like that…"

The remark was cut short by the sound of riot shield against helmet.

"Oops. Now it has blood on it…"

"PLASMA MORTAR!"

Hiccup's voice came moments before a burning ball of purple separated the twins, the riot shield fizzing away into a molten lump of plastic as the pair were blown clear from the blast.

"Corporals Thornston, ye both out." the major seemed almost gleeful as the twins lay bemused and semiconscious on the floor. "Riot shields were obviously not designed ta deflect advanced alien weaponry, so try ta avoid direct hits. Speaking of Dragonoid tech, a plasma mortar has a limited number of shots depending on the mech mounting it. Any o' ya bright sparks out there know how many a Gronckle can fire off?"

"Five?" asked Snotlout hesitantly as another energy blast sent the splinters of a destroyed barricade scattering across his shield.

"No, six!"

"Correct! That's one for each of ya! Points ta Corporal Ingerman…" Astrid smirked as another plasma blast struck home against the large boy's shield, Fishlegs dropping the fizzling mess with a girlish scream before taking off across the Arena, "…An' points deducted. Ya out! McKrillen, get out there!"

The sergeant glanced over to where Hiccup sat hunched behind his shield near the edge of the Arena behind one of the barricades, pulling the protective slab closer to his head every time the Dragonoid even came remotely close to his position. She rolled her eyes in disgust. The battlefield was no place for a coward.

The Dragonoid smashed into the wall over the dressing room entrance as Fishlegs bolted through it. Astrid took advantage of its disorientation, leaping over the top of one of the barricades to come down with a heavy thump against the concrete on the other side.

"Oh, hey Sarge!" she had to use all of her willpower to stop herself from cringing as Snotlout's eager voice met her ears. Of all the barricades she had to choose…, "So anyway, I'm moving into my parents' basement. I got some weights for my birthday last year, maybe you should come by some time to work out…" The Gronckle had no doubt caught sight of her attempted escape, as it had turned away from its wall-side crater and was heading straight toward her, the mortar glowing its bright purple as she calmly counted the seconds. "I mean you look like you work out so I thought…"

Whatever Snotlout had thought of her was lost in a combination of her leaping clear and the sounds of a barricade being reduced to splinters. Astrid only glanced back to make sure the corporal was unhurt (A faint burbled groan confirmed it), before sprinting across the Arena to where Hiccup sat crouched before the Dragonoid had realised where she'd gone.

The only private under her command was clinging to his riot shield like he might fall apart without it. His face was paper white, his breathing coming out in deep gasps even though she suspected he hadn't moved very far from where he sat.

"Are you just going to sit back here until the Dragonoid calls uncle?" Astrid asked casually.

"Probably," Hiccup gave her an irritated glare. "Are you going to keep hopping around the Arena like a flea on coffee until…" she smirked as his face fell with realisation. "You came over here on purpose didn't you."

"Uh-huh."

The pair dived in opposite directions as the barricade exploded.

Astrid was laughing as she watched Hiccup scramble to find new cover, his riot shield half burned away. Only one shot left now. She ran confidently across the concrete floor. The first day of training hadn't even ended and already she had shown everyone there why she had been made sergeant of Nu Squad…

Such contented feelings quickly vanished as she heard the sound of the Gronckle's energy cannons at the far end of the arena, followed quickly by a panicked Gobber screaming Hiccup's name.

"What a wonderful day I'm having," was the sarcastic thought that came to mind as the wind was crushed from my lungs against the arena floor. "My pilot suit is trying to crush me, my instructor is trying to kill me, and my fri…sergeant is trying to help him along. What a wonderful day to be alive."

The thrum of the Gronckle's wings was loud in my ears as I pushed myself back onto my feet and forced them into motion towards the exit. I could feel the Dragonoid's camera on the back of my head, the downdraft of wing movement and manoeuvring jets against my back pushing me to run even faster. I was almost there, just a few feet more…

A second energy blast caused the ground to explode beneath my feet, the sheer concussion force throwing me heavily into the wall back first, before crumpling into a broken heap on the floor

"…Ow…" I felt the shadow of the Gronckle over me, its single red camera looking down at me like a predator moving in for the kill. Somehow, being blasted at point blank range by a plasma mortar on my first day of training wasn't how I imagined I'd leave this world.

"Mav gar sushir?"

I blinked in surprise as the metallic monotone voice spoke from within the Gronckle. The Dragonoid hovered above me, its camera somehow looking less threatening. The turrets were pointed away from me, the plasma mortar powered down.

"Mav gar sushir?" it repeated, just loud enough for me to hear.

"I…I don't…"

Something exploded against the Gronckle's side, the Dragonoid rocking from the blast as heavy footfalls announced the arrival of a Viking Assault Frame.

"Tha's enough for taday ye overgrown toaster!" Gobber's voice resonated from the mech's external speakers as it unloaded another round from the smoothbore cannon into the Dragonoid's side, "Wait for 'em ta pilot the Vikings, then ye'll get another chance."

The Gronckle turned towards the Assault Frame almost angrily, but any attack was cut short as it found itself caught in the large cables fired over it by the Arena's Dragonoid handlers. I watched in confused awe as the team of two yellow-clad civilian modified Vikings and five soldiers wrestled the great machine down to the ground, the Gronckle fighting valiantly struggling against its bonds until a local EMP generator was slapped in place over the primary power source. The entire mech slumped, and the camera's glow slowly died. The machine itself was silent, but the A.I. was intact to be fought another day.

"An' tha' lads and lasses leads us quite well to the most important lesson for today," Gobber sighed grimly as he dropped down from his Viking's cockpit. "Be it A.I. or piloted, a Dragonoid will always," he cast me a warning look, "always…go for the kill."

I frowned as the medics swarmed over me, making sure nothing was broken or bleeding, before turning my gaze on the Gronckle as it was towed away. I didn't speak a word of the Dragonoid's language, but the mech hadn't seemed like it was going to shoot me. It was asking me something. Maybe it was asking me if I was ready to die, but none of its weapons had been active or pointed at me. Did A.I. even know how to gloat? This Dragonoid hadn't looked like it was about to kill me, and all of its shots had disarmed the others of Nu Squad.

It also wasn't the first time I'd looked down the barrel of an alien weapon and lived to tell about it.

Too many questions, not enough answers. If a Dragonoid always went for the kill no matter who or what was piloting it, why had I managed to survive both encounters?

TIME: 1455 HOURS

LOCATION: ENGLAND, SIX KLICKS SOUTHEAST OF DOME TERRITORY

I'd managed to get through my first day of training with minor cuts and bruising (Or as Gobber called it: "Just enough ta keep ye on ye toes."), the pilot suit's armour absorbing the brunt of the attack against my back as I'd hit the wall. The rest of the lesson had been far less…interesting. Apparently, our esteemed teacher only saw fit to release a Dragonoid on us once a week, (which suited me just fine) with the rest of our time was spent running survival drills against the Vikings themselves. The next time we would see the alien mecha in the arena, it would be through an Assault Frame's camera suite.

That said, I could still feel a slight ache in my joints as I walked cautiously down the broken road towards the other end of the village, the leg I had broken off the EMP stinger loose in my hand. It was a blind hope really; a stab in the dark that might give me the answers I wanted here.

I had no idea where the Night Fury or its remaining pilot had flown off to on that day a week ago. The logical part of my brain was telling me it went back to Washington Crater, but another part reminded me the Ca'furor was the only Dragonoid in the database that used a duel seat design. With one pilot dead, that small part grimly hoped that meant the Dragonoid might have crashed again, perhaps even close by.

Of course, the reason some old aircraft used to have co-pilots was in case something happened to the normal pilot, but like I said, it was a small hope. And sometimes a small hope will grasp at what straws it can in its bid to be right.

So this is why I found myself making my way down one of the smaller broken roads that led to the main road, shivering against the cold in the shadows of the trees that overshadowed the broken tarmac, my boots rustling the layers of dead foliage. I had decided to leave the bike back at the church ruins. The broken roads had been hard enough on my butt getting here, I wasn't going to risk the weathered, root strewn roads and try to explain to Gobber or my dad as to why the Military Police was short one motorcycle.

I was a bit more careful on this trip too. I'd changed into civilian clothes of simple black cargo pants and navy turtleneck, a warm beige windbreaker for the cold and Wellington boots for the anticipated mud that I might encounter after the heavy rains we'd been having over the last few days. The motorcycle's IFF signal, that which had given my position away to Astrid, had also been deactivated. If the Night Fury was still around, I wanted to make sure I was the only one who knew about it.

Speaking of which, I let a small military medical kit swing listlessly in my hand as I continued to walk towards the main road, a potential peace offering to the co-pilot…if it was still alive…to show I wanted to help in exchange for my answers.

Helping a Dragonoid pilot. If Dad ever found out, I could pretty guarantee my life was forfeit.

I'd considered bringing food, but I had no idea what these aliens eat, or even if Earth food agreed with them. Better to play it safe and offer something I knew it could at least partially use and use food at a later date if I learned anything new about the species.

The only other thing I had decided to carry with me was an audio Dictaphone. For all expectations, it was the Night Fury's onboard database I was hoping to get a look at, as long as the EMP hadn't fried that too, but the phrases I'd heard, from the Dragonoid co-pilot and the Gronckle A.I., I wanted to know what they meant, and the translation matrix back in The Dome's central computer would no doubt find it easier to translate someone who spoke the language fluently than my half-remembered attempts at emulating them.

I'd decided against bringing a weapon with me this time. Besides, that last thing I needed to do was antagonise the co-pilot again…if it was still alive.

If. This whole venture seemed to be made up of ifs. If the Fury had crashed. If the EMP hadn't fried the database. If the co-pilot was alive…Too many maybes, not enough definitelys.

The forest abruptly dissipated as this despondent thought flitted through my mind, a hand shielding my eyes with a wince as I took in my surroundings. The surrounding area was surprisingly clear of trees, the nearby fields only overgrown with tall grass and weeds, once trimmed border hedges now wild and out of control. A majority of the houses had been clustered here, surrounding the crossroads of the village's centre and the local school now all in varying states of weathered decay. Most had stood up to the test of time, but I couldn't help but notice the odd hole in the lines that denoted the occasional collapsed structure (the school itself currently had a fallen oak half-buried in its Main Hall), their stripped out windows and doors giving the place a wholly lonesome feeling.

Across the road from the school lay a large field, perhaps the size of a small football ground and probably once the hub of activity for village fetes, school races and charity events. Now long grass swayed in the autumn winds across the open grounds as vines of ivy crept up the rotting wooden fence that split up the remains of a small playground from the rest of the field, the wrought iron fence that lined the road's edge quietly rusting in peace.

I sighed bitterly into the quiet that surrounded me as I let my shoulders slump in defeat. Admittedly, this entire 'expedition' had been a long shot at best, but the fact I'd wasted a colossal amount of time getting ready, travelling beyond The Dome's borders without being seen and investigating the area made me feel even worse. I should have been at home, studying up on Assault Frame start-up procedures or good ion pump maintenance.

"This was stupid," I muttered aloud, if only to break the near silence. There was nothing here, not even a sign that a Dragonoid had even passed through, let alone a Night Fury. I sighed again as I turned to head back towards the Church…

Only to stop as a weak moan rose up from the grassy field.

I listened to the quiet of the village, praying the noise hadn't been the wind or an animal in the grassy ruins.

I frowned for a moment more the silence was only broken by the birds overhead. Perhaps it really had been nothing. As I turned to leave once more, however, a second pain ridden groan rose up from the field.

I didn't miss a beat as I bolted into the wild grass. What I found surprised even me.

Around a third of the way in, the ground suddenly dropped away down a steep slope into a massive crater that engulfed most of the playing field beyond. Twenty metres deep at its base, it had obviously been made some time ago, the craggy sides of earth and dirt eroded with the rains and sprinkled with greenery. Grass and weeds covered the wide crater floor, save for a small basin near the centre where rainwater had collected from the autumn storms. Most likely it had been made by a poorly aimed shot from one of the mass drivers, the remains of the shell probably hidden under the water, but any such thoughts I had on how this hole in the ground quickly disappeared as I recognised a familiar dragonish form lying close to the pond's edge.

The Night Fury had returned to its' Dragonoid form, a shallow trench of mud in the grass behind it telling me the landing had been far from smooth. Even though it had crashed twice within a week though, I couldn't see any major damage to the armour or general structure. The only other thing that looked out of place was a small black mass near the edge of the pond…

That was shifting slowly towards the water, whimpering as quietly as it could. It didn't take me long to realise what it was.

As I scrambled down the crater's crumbling side, I could see the Dragonoid co-pilot was still fully encased in its pilot suit, helmet and all. The water was its obvious target as it pulled itself along the ground, not even strong enough to walk on its own two legs. Somehow though, I doubted it was thirst that had completely reduced a pilot of one of The Dome's most feared targets to a crumpled heap. The wound on its arm had been badly bandaged, light red already soaking the fabric crimson entirely. A horrid feeling developed in my stomach at the thought that the gash in its arm might have been infected. It wasn't a good sign under normal circumstances, but if there was a specific reason the Dragonoid pilot suit had been pressurised…like, for example, no immunity to Earth's microbiology…an open wound could a death sentence. The hole in its' visor made by yours truly probably hadn't helped much either. If the Dragonoid species wasn't able to handle the microbes of Earth, it was a miracle this one had lasted as long as it did.

I didn't try to hide my approach as I slide down to the muddy ground, so I wasn't surprised when the co-pilot jumped at the squelching thud. It rolled onto its front, trying fruitlessly to get back on its feet, but all it could manage to do was fall back on its knees, and even then it had to hold itself up with one hand.

"Demagolka," its high voice was weak and raspy, pain evident in the single eye I could see, "ni jorhaa'ir gar…aht…shekemir ni!"

"Take it easy. I held up my free hand warily, "I'm here to help. See?" I showed it the medical kit, "I just want to help…"

"K'oyacyi be'chaaj…teh ni!" I frowned in irritation as the co-pilot shrank back. Vaabir'naas olaror gebi…Demagolka!"

I really wished someone had had the brains to build mobile translators, because this conversation was getting me nowhere. I was recording everything the co-pilot said of course, but hearing probable insults and such a good deal of time after the events had occurred hardly seemed to be productive.

Getting nowhere through talking, I knelt down and opened up the kit, searching through the small vials until I found the one I needed to sedate my 'patient' and loaded it into the hypoinjector; a roughly pistol-shaped object with a barrel that narrowed down to a thin blunt tube, the clear three centimetre cylinder inserted into the rear of the device now loaded with a semi-transparent orange liquid.

Of course, I had no idea if the stuff inside the vial would put it to sleep or kill it, but with the state the co-pilot was in, I felt it was better to at least try and help in any way I could, even if it meant putting it out of its misery.

"Nayc…K'oyacyi norac…" the alien fell backwards as I approached with the hypoinjector in hand. "Gar nuhaatyc…ni nuhaatyc…trattok'or…"

It was so weak and trapped between me and the pond. The single eye stared at me with incredible pain, its head falling back against the grass as I came up beside it.

"Just relax," I tried to smile, pushing away the reminder I was trying to help humanity's greatest enemy. "I know you can't understand me, but I am trying to help. This might sting for a moment…"

The co-pilot only whimpered quietly in protest as I removed one of the gauntlets, the long fingers of its bone white hand twitching weakly pressed the hypoinjector's tip into the vein.

"Takisit ni…Al'verde…"

The body went limp as the eye rolled up into its head, a peaceful sigh muffled slightly by the helmet's mouthpiece.

I carefully laid the hand down, feeling slightly relieved at the sound of even breathing. The co-pilot was asleep, at least for now. After making sure it was in deep slumber, I began the process by removing the bloody bandage and rolling back the sleeve.

I lost track of how much time passed as I patched up my 'patient'. I'd cleaned up the infection with what I had and bound the wound with a fresh sterile bandage. All I could do now was hope it would pull through.

Having done all I felt I could do with the co-pilot, I turned towards the Night Fury, a determined look overcoming my face.

If the alien couldn't help me, maybe the A.I. would.

A rancid stench met my nose as the hatch opened for me effortlessly at a touch of a button, a clear sign that power had been restored. The Pilot's body hadn't been removed from the front seat, now lit by emergency lighting. Spending a week in the warmth of the cockpit hadn't helped the decaying corpse smell any better. Its head was still at the same ugly angle, the blood now congealed and glistening against the armour plate. I could only assume the co-pilot's injury had prevented it from moving its comrade. Leaving the body seemed disrespectful if you could do something about it. Not that I could do much better. Even if I managed to get the dead pilot out of the cockpit, I had no tools with me to dig a grave, and leaving the body has food for the scavengers didn't sit right with me.

Holding my sleeve to my mouth, I passed the front seat to the Co-pilot's chair, sitting down before the console and trying to ignore the carcass in front of me.

The first thing I noticed was how much…taller the Dragonoid pilots were. At 5"8 myself, my feet dangled uselessly a good foot above the pedals, my hands unlikely to move the large control sticks mounted to the armrests. All the buttons were labelled of course, but the jagged lines and triangular shapes of the Dragonoid language were…well…alien to me. I couldn't tell which switch began the startup sequence from the one that fired the energy cannons.

Then there was the A.I.. above my head. The dome that housed its central intelligence was still dark. A.I.s had a separate power source from the rest of the Dragonoid. The Military Police had learned through trial and error how to take down a Dragonoid without deactivating the A.I.. To see the dome inactive when every manual told me it should be lit (even when the machine itself was powered down.)…concerned me.

"Why aren't you active?" I wondered aloud into my sleeve as I turned back to the console. "Why doesn't your pilot just…fly away?"

As I had thought before, the console before me looked almost identical to the one below. I couldn't figure out why the co-pilot hadn't simply just made a beeline for Washington Crater. It had managed to transform after all. Surely flying away couldn't have been much harder?

I frowned as I slumped back in the large chair, my hands falling short of the armrests either side. I blinked as I felt my fingers brush against something on the way down, a small pocket swaying in the semi-darkness. It looked as though someone had stitched into the side of the chair by hand, for it lacked the finer craftsmanship of the rest of the seat. But it was inside the pouch that made my eyes widen.

Schematics, pages of them! An entire makeshift book on everything that had gone into the construction of the Night Fury-class Dragonoid. Blueprints of fuselage structure, weapon designs, A.I. construct protocols, it was all here. Admittedly, what writing there was written in the Dragonoid language, but the pictures were incredibly detailed. Someone had also scrawled tiny notes in the margins and edges, arrows pointing to various parts of mechanisms and devices. On a page dedicated to internal blueprints, for example, someone had written in large bulky letters, as though it was important, a pair of arrows pointing towards a large block towards the rear of the Fury in Dragonoid mode and a smaller module I couldn't identify sitting right beside it.

Who'd ever made this booklet had done so for their own benefit, that much was clear. Just how inexperienced did the Dragonoid co-pilot have to be to keep its own personal 'How To Maintain Your Dragonoid' manual in the metaphorical glove compartment?

Any other thoughts were quickly pushed from the back of my mind as the sound of thunder rumbled overhead. Another storm was coming in, which meant the broken roads of the village would be quickly turning to mud if I didn't get back to The Dome before the downpours came.

So I slipped the manual into one of my windbreaker's inner pockets for later study and crawled out of the cockpit, just in time to feel the first droplets of rain splash against my nose.

DRAGONOID TRANSLATIONS

"Mav gar sushir?"
(Will you listen?)

"Demagolka. Ni jorhaa'ir gar…aht…shekemir ni!"
(Monster. I told you…not…to follow me!)

"K'oyacyi be'chaaj…teh ni! Vaabir'naas olaror gebi…Demagolka!"
(Stay away…from me! Don't come closer Monster!)

"Nayc…K'oyacyi norac…gar nuhaatyc…ni nuhaatyc…trattok'or…"
(No…Stay back…you can't…I can't…fail…)

"Takisit ni…Al'verde…"
(Forgive me…High Superior…)

Author's Notes

How to Maintain Your Dragonoid was the original title of this story, but was shortened to Dragonoid for reasons I hope become apparent as the fic progresses. In addition to the title drop this chapter, the last remnant of the old title's influence is that chapters are labelled as Sections, as in sections of a tech manual. The idea came from watching anime like Gundam SEED and Code Geass, which labelled their episodes as Phases and Stages respectfully.

A lot of Dragonoid's early world building was very much 'Write What You Know'. The ruined village is based on my hometown, as it made it easier to map out where everything was without having to create a new map from scratch.

Speaking of writing what you know, VFR6 was asking me about why technology hadn't developed much further beyond today's (or rather 2009/2010s) standards, so I thought I'd post my reply here too.

From an in universe perspective, I would say the lack of advancement stems from a lack of necessity. Machines like the Vikings appear more advanced because they have been shown to be effective against the Dragonoids, and so are developed more strenuously. On the flip side, the Stinger Missile system pales in comparison and thus wouldn't get as much development. It does what the Military Police wants it to do, so why change it? A real world example: the Browning Hi-Power pistol, created in 1935, is still in production and is still used by several armed forces across the globe. Also, considering this is a post-apocalyptic world, resources are scarce, so development projects must be chosen wisely. Take Fallout 4 for example, where the Brotherhood of Steel chose to develop airship technology rather than new power armours.

From a writing perspective, I used the Stinger system because I hoped people would be able to identify it without much explanation. Stingers have appeared in a lot of the modern shooters, such as Call of Duty, and as it pretty much disappeared from the narrative after the introduction of the Night Fury, it didn't make much sense to develop a new weapon from scratch or describe a new MPAD system that wasn't going to feature predominantly in the story (for example, compare the description of the Night Fury to that of other Dragonoids). You'll probably note as the story develops that I mostly keep Human technology around the late twentieth/early twenty-first century level, giant robots notwithstanding. Again, I did this in order to help readers identify with the tech without unnecessary explanation.

That's all for now. I know I said I would talk about Toothless' personality implementation, but I got my chapters mixed up. I'll talk about it next time for certain.

Thanks for reading!