Basilisk's night sky was deceitfully peaceful. Hundreds of tiny specks of far-away light pierced the darkness and glittered high above. The peace and tranquillity they transmitted was a mirage, an illusion. None of them hinted of the upcoming struggle, of the blood that would inevitably be spilled in this forgotten corner of Polaris.
Still, Vilke liked it. Watching the night sky soothed his worries, or some of them at least. He couldn't help himself but to tighten the grip on his weapon.
Stopec stood some distance away from him, crouched on the ground. He had laid there unmoving since they had reached the top of the barren plateau one hour or so prior. He was meditating, the only sound coming from him being the almost imperceptible hiss of his breath. He had wrapped himself with a cloak, shielding him from the night's cool air.
Vilke scowled. He had welcomed the silence at first, but it had progressively become unbearable, like a rusty chain scraping against his neck. He soon realized he had to either break it or shoot at something right there. As there were no worthy targets in sight, Vilke wisely chose the first approach.
He cleared his throat. "Stopec? May I ask you a question?"
There was a grunt coming from the older warrior. Unsure whether it meant he could or not, Vilke went ahead anyway.
"You . . . you were there, weren't you?"
A single amber-coloured eye creeped open and regarded him. "You'll have to be more specific, brother," Stopec growled, stirring. "I've been in a lot of places over the years. Any one in particular?"
"Fastoon."
All four eyes blinked open as one. He gave a chuckle and rose slowly back to his feet. "Ah, of course. Should have guessed it. Well, I don't think there should be any secrets between us. Yes, I was there."
He raised his left arm and with a claw traced the outline of an old injury along his scaly forearm up to the elbow. "Been there, fought there, and got the scars to talk about it, thought this is just the most visible one. Do you want to know something in particular?"
Vilke hesitated, looking away in a moment of discomfort. Eventually he said, "How it was? Being there, I mean."
"Honestly? It was beautiful," Stopec flashed him a grin, but it disappeared just as quickly. "Beautiful and horrifying. I was with the second wave when we hit the surface, you see, so I was spared from the fighting in the plains. Instead, we got the honour of hitting the capital itself."
He breathed deeply, his eyes staring off to the side as if memories were surging back. "It was hard work. You should never underestimate what a cornered animal can do once you step into his lair. We learned it painfully. The Ancient Enemy fought tooth and nail for every inch of soil; each building and skyscraper was a fortress to siege and storm." Suddenly, he scoffed. "And of course, we had Tachyon and his own to deal with. We might had been allied in that single instance, but none of us held any illusions. It was merely a question of who would stab the other in the back first. Besides, his forces were an asset in the same way a bullet in your leg is an asset during a race."
"I see," Vilke noted. Then another question came into his mind. A very particular one. "Did you also, well … you were there, so, did you see Him, ah-"
"Fall?" Stopec nodded. "Yes. Yes, I was there. I saw it." He blinked, and his eyes hardened, shining even brighter in the darkness. "It's one of those moments you can never forget, an instant engraved into your mind forever. So that when the moment finally comes, you may exact the harshest vengeance on the perpetrators, for their crime is still fresh in your mind."
He shook his head. "Why asking me that though? Are you nervous?"
There was no mockery in his voice, just simple curiosity. Vilke bobbed slightly his head. "A bit."
Stopec nodded solemnly in response. "Then you're less foolish that I thought." His eyes glanced upward, widening.
"It's time."
Above, one of the glittering stars grew in size, becoming brighter and bigger with each passing moment. It resolved into the shape of a landing dropship, four massive thrusters roaring and flashing as it descended. Hidden hatches popped open and landing gear unfolded outward as it touched the ground, its engines kicking up a veritable sandstorm around the landing zone.
The metal ramp went down, and more Kartisians quickly and silently disembarked. Their movements were deliberate and precise as they secured the landing zone, weapons drawn and levelled as they took point. They wore similar blackened suits of body armour, yet each sporting a slight addition to their outfit, either a battle trophy or other trinkets.
Vilke stood silently as he observed them. The fact that many of their armours showed signs of use in the forms of cuts and dents was not a particular lost to him. They were marks of pride, proofs of valour in past battles. Vilke fidgeted nervously at his cloak; he was aware that, unlike the newcomers, his own armour was crystal clean. He just hoped none of them would notice it.
Stopec did not have such worries, however. The older warrior strode forward confidently, a huge grin on his face. A Centurion came out from the dropship, a plasma gun slung over his shoulder. The two stopped a few steps away from each other and exchanged signs of greeting.
"Stopec. It has been a long time." The Centurion removed his recognizable crested helmet. The feathers covering his head had been trimmed considerably, yet Vilke could still recognize a yellowish colour.
"It has been indeed, Lytun. You look older."
"And you look uglier," he quipped back. The two shared a quick laugh amongst themselves before Lytun spoke again.
"I did as you asked. I brought with me all those that could be spared, thirty warriors in total, ready and equipped for battle. Do you believe it will be enough?"
"It must be enough. I've received a communication through our encrypted channels a couple of hours ago. Her Voice is coming here."
"Her Voice . . . here?" Lytun tilted his head to the side. "Then this place must be . . ."
"Precisely. You do realize its importance, yes?" The Centurion nodded solemnly. Stopec continued, "We cannot allow any interference, not even from the Blargs. Do not hesitate to wipe them out if they dare to stand in our way. This is vital."
"I understand. But what about the Lombax? He could compromise the mission if left unchecked. Are you not worried about him?"
"Yes, and that's why we must kill him quickly. The trap has been laid, now we wait him to spring it. The fact that our ambush lays exactly where She lays is either extreme bad luck or an extraordinary sign. I'm no Devotee though, so I leave the art of interpreting omens to them. Just focus on killing him; we must have his head for when Her Voice arrives."
Lytun nodded again. His four eyes shifted slightly to the side, finally taking notice of Vilke as well. "Are you sure you want him along? He does look a bit too green for this kind of operation."
Vilke blinked at first, then bristled with indignation.
"I have the utmost confidence in his abilities. I have personally trained him, after all." Stoppec said with a grin. "You won't find him wanting."
Lytun shot another unconvinced glance at the younger Kartisian. For his part, Vilke made sure to meet his scrutinous gaze with a glare of his own. Lytun eventually shrugged.
"I guess I'll have to take your words for it then. Now, if you'll excuse me for a moment, I have to help the others unload equipment from the ship." He turned around and left without another word. Behind, the rest of the Kartisian warriors were already busy dragging heavy metal crates down the ramp and opening them, so to retrieve their heavier gear for the battle ahead.
"Don't dwell too much on it," Stopec said, just as Vilke was about to open his mouth. "To him you are still a novice, and he has a point at that. You have a lot to prove."
"Haven't I done that already?" Vilke asked with some irritation. Stopec nodded.
"To me. But now, you have to convince them as well," he said, motioning to the rest of the warriors present. "Each one of them is a seasoned warrior in their own right. Your abilities will soon be put to the test, Brother."
Vilke nodded, adjusting the strap of his long-barrelled plasma carbine.
"I am ready."
Stopec did not answer immediately, his gaze turning towards Lytun and the others as they finished unloading the cargo. After that, came the last-minute equipment and weapons checks.
"Let's hope you are."
A soft whistle reached their ears as Centurion Lytun gave the signal that they were ready. The Kartisians warriors donned kaki and earth-coloured camo-cloaks and departed silently into the night, soon turning into hazy shadows quickening across the rugged landscape of Basilisk's vast Badlands. They had a lot of ground to cover before morning came.
The Next Day . . .
It should have been impossible, yet every time he stepped inside the office Clank had the distinct impression that the confusion was growing exponentially. He gave a polite knock to the door to announce his presence.
"Hello? May I disturb you for a moment, Quartermaster?"
Perched behind his desk, PDF Quartermaster Lunix glanced up from his monitor, scowled, and then went back to work, all over the course of a second. Clank's eye-lenses went slant in the best imitation of a frown.
"Do you have a moment, Mister Lunix?" he repeated.
"No," the Terachnoid said. His left eye twitched behind a pair of glasses. "I don't have a moment. I'm literally buried in work. I have to keep track of every single bolt, the smallest spare part, of each ammunition box and weapon, all the while making sure that the Militia has enough ammunition to go around so that they won't be forced to lob rocks at the Blargs any time soon." He breathed through clenched teeth. "And in the midst of all that, I keep getting pestered by a robot about a blasted Nav Unit!"
The Terachnoid finally glanced his way. "So for the last time no, I don't have a Nav Unit. I don't even know where to get a Nav Unit. A Nav Unit is the last of my priorities right now, cause the supply shipments are late and the only thing I'm receiving from those responsible is a bunch of useless excuses. And I can't even present those to the Major or he'll laugh in my face!" His face was flushed as he glanced back to his monitor, tentacles working on the keyboard.
"Was there something else?"
"I . . . uh," Clank said, clearing his speaker unit. "I am not here for the Nav Unit, actually. I was hoping to ask for your authorization so that me and Ratchet could grab a vehicle from the PDF motor pool." He pointed at the data-slate in his metallic hand, drawing Lunix's attention to it. "You are clearly busy though, so perhaps it is better if I disturb you another time. Once again, I apologize for bothering you," he finished, making to leave.
"Hold it," Lunix drawled. He tapped at his desk with a tentacle. "Slide it here and let me take a look." Clank turned back and did as was asked, taking a seat across the Terachnoid in the process.
"Uh-uh. Yeah, that looks easy enough. I just need to give a signature and- wait." The quartermaster stopped, plastic stylus hovering on the screen before glancing up. "Why is Captain Lucias authorizing this? She's in the Militia, isn't she?"
"Well . . ." Clank began, only for Lunix to shake his head.
"Nah, save it. I don't really care. I've got bigger stuff to worry about." He quickly scribbled down his signature before handling the pad back to Clank. "Just make sure you bring the vehicle back in one piece. Only the Zonis knows when we will get replacements."
"Oh? May I ask why is that?"
"Because this is what you get when you sub-contract your supply chain," Lunix hissed. "The hell are we paying them for anyway if the only thing we get from them are excuses? Our shipments are stuck at Station XC-75 cause some of the crews are afraid of ghost ships! What the hell is their problem?"
"Are we referring to a paranormal phenomena in the middle of space or-" Clank trailed off, clearly intrigued. The Terachnoid shook his oversized head.
"No idea. Maybe those pirates are at it again. I've never understood why the PDF doesn't just wipe them out for good. Anyway, here's the form back. Now, can I get back to work or what?"
"Of course," Clank said, picking up the data-pad and jumping down the chair. "You have been most helpful, Quartermaster. I wish you a pleasant morning." He made his way out, not before his audio-sensors picked up a grumbling that might have resembled an acknowledgment from the Terachnoid.
As he walked down the corridors of the PDF Citadel, Clank couldn't help but to notice how quiet they were. On one hand that made perfect sense; it was early morning after all. In his previous visits there Clank had to carefully navigate his way through the hustle and bustle of clerks and administrative personnel, always with the danger that a coming orderlies might not spot him in their hurry and trip into him.
Clank frowned for a moment, the clatter of his metallic feet against the pristine tiles echoing further down the corridor. It had already happened a couple of times. No, he would not mention that to Ratchet, never mind how hilarious the Lombax would find the whole situation. Because of course he would, he was his best friend after all.
". . . the Lombax is gonna give us problems sooner or later."
Clank stopped, his trail of thoughts coming to a screeching halt. His sound-sensors detected voices coming from the office he had just walked past. He hesitated for a moment before curiosity got the better of him and finally decided to tiptoe closer. The bot shifted processing power to his sound-based sensors, amplified their receiving capacity, then calibrated them to eliminate background noise, as little as that was.
"The only problem I see right now is the one you're dropping in my lap. And frankly, I've got better things to do."
Clank frowned. That voice belonged to Major Pelensky. He pressed himself against the closed door so to get a better reading on his sensors.
"No, you don't. In case you haven't noticed it, major, we're in the midst of one big shitstorm and I'm not talking about the Blargs. It doesn't take a genius to realize that Apogee sent the Lombax Hero here to flush us out. That's the only reason why he would come to Basilisk III of all places. So, I say we deal with the problem before it gets out of hand."
The second, raspy voice was not one Clank's could recognize. From the other side, he heard the Drophyd chuckling.
"Are you actually proposing to kill him? As in, the guy that has proven again and again to be very difficult to kill? I was about to ask how you even got the rank of captain with that brain of yours but I think we both know the answer to that."
"Look, sir-"
"Don't you 'sir' me. We're done here. How about you go bother the colonel instead? I'm busy right now."
"A good idea, sir. I think I will. Have a good morning, sir."
"Yeah, whatever. Close the door on your way out."
Clank immediately stepped back as he heard heavy footsteps from behind the door. His eye-lenses swung around before settling over the only hiding place close enough, namely a trashcan right beside the door. He didn't jump inside though, reasoning that his smaller size would allow to hide behind it just as well. Besides, who knew how long it would have taken to get himself cleaned up.
He barely had the time to sprint behind the large container. The door swung open and a large, broad-shouldered figure wearing combat fatigues over magenta-coloured skin came out. What really caught Clank's attention though was the wide brimmed hat on his head and the vertical scar intersecting the corner of his mouth. His lips twitched, revealing a glinting golden tooth. He barely glanced around as he strode purposedly away, disappearing from view as took a turn into another corridor.
Clank waited a few more moments, an irrational part of him fearing that he might double back and discover him. When the figure didn't, the small bot came out of hiding and hurried in the opposite direction, as fast as his small robotic legs could carry him.
"So, that's sector Omega," Ratchet said, eyes narrowed and studying the hovering holo-map for what felt like the hundredth time.
"Yup."
"There is literally nothing there."
"It's a Wild Zone. They are usually empty."
Ratchet looked up. "Usually? Are you implying something, Captain?"
Standing right across from him, Captain Lucias shrugged casually. The very wide grin on her face however told an entirely different story. As with most members of the newly raised Tillos Lightfoot Militia, her outfit was a mishmash of everyday clothing and military gear. The body armour she wore dated all the way back to the last war, and a male model at that. She constantly had to fidget at its straps in order to adjust it. The only indication of rank proved to be the insignia crudely sewn on her shoulder. A worn snapback hid her short hazelnut hair.
"Me? Why, I would never. It's not like Colonel Dessabre has explicitly forbidden any of us from going there, not even on a recon mission. I'm implying absolutely nothing!"
"Right, of course," Ratchet replied with a small grin of his own. "Buuut if there was in fact something there, where would be the best place to start looking?"
Lucias tapped at her chin for a moment, then her fingers went for her personal data-slate. A blue icon popped into existence on the map, nestled between a couple of wood-covered slopes.
"Probably where Alpha Company got ambushed two years ago. They lost two APCs that day, so you should keep your eyes open for some old wrecks. Hopefully the Blargs didn't move them." She blinked, then winked at him. "Of course, that would be implying that there is something strange there worth looking for."
Ratchet nodded but remained silent, at least for now. His eyes drifted back at the holo-map, studying it once more. It was a rather pointless endeavour; he had spent the previous night staring at it to that point that he could almost recall it by heart. Rather, the Lombax just needed a moment to reorganize his thoughts.
"Are you using me?" he finally asked. That earned him a puzzled glance from the captain.
"What do you mean?"
The Lombax sighed. "Look, I'm not stupid. You and your colleagues spent yesterday evening talking about what happened two years ago, on how weird that whole incident was and if there was a possible cover-up. It was kinda ham-fisted, but I get it. You want me to take a look at it. Why?"
The captain shrugged. "Yeah, it was a bit sloppy. Brutus goes on long rants when he gets drunk enough."
"Don't change the subject. Why are you doing this? What's in it for you?"
Lucias smirked. "You mean, aside from returning home all in one piece? In case you haven't noticed it, Dessabre has been getting a lot more proactive since you two showed up. One month ago, he couldn't be bothered to deal with anything at all, even while we regularly exchanged fire with the Blargs here. Yet now he's planning on actually going on the offensive against them."
The grin disappeared from her face. "I want to know why. This whole mess began in Sector Omega, so I figure that's a good place to start looking."
If Ratchet wanted to say anything else, the sound of metallic feet behind him brought a swift end to that. He turned around and grinned.
"Took your time, pal. Did that guy give you any trouble?"
"On the opposite. Quartermaster Lunix was most helpful," Clan said, still holding the data-slate with him. He noticed Lucias's presence shortly afterward, greeting her with a small nod.
"And a good morning to you as well, captain. You will pleased to know that I have acquired the Quartermaster's signature." He handed over the data-slate, which she proceeded to quickly study before giving a satisfied nod.
"Perfect! Hand this to the motor pool, the mechanics should already have a hoverbike ready for you." Lucias handed it back to Clank. "Travel light and try not to get shoot at. Those things might be fast but they're still recon vehicles."
"Not getting shot at is in fact a suggestion applicable in many circumstances," Clank said. By his side, Ratchet held back a chuckle.
"We'll keep that in mind. You think we might find trouble on the way there?"
Lucias opened her mouth to answer but then hesitated. "I'm . . . not sure, actually. Now that I think about it, contacts with Blarg forces have been rather scarce in the last couple of days. Third Platoon nailed one of their patrols yesterday but that was pretty much it. The Blargs didn't even try to stand their ground. Besides, last night was calm, without a single incident nor a firefight, and that seems to hold true so far. Not one of the morning patrols reported any troubles."
Ratchet nodded. "Good. Maybe we'll be lucky for once and the Blargs won't notice us. We'll try to remain in contact through radio." Lucias shook her head instead.
"Let's not. If you use the comms Dessabre is going to discover that you are in Sector Omega against his explicit orders." She paused as she tapped at her data-pad. By Ratchet's side, Clank's eye-sensors began blinking intermittently.
"I'm handing your friend here our communication frequencies. You should be able to listen in no problem. I . . . well-" She hesitated, seemingly having second thoughts about the whole thing.
"If someone ask, I'm gonna say you volunteered for a recon mission. That should cover your back for a while, you just make sure not to take too long." She sighed, shooting a look around. "Well, guess I'll have to get going before the rest of my company starts enjoying my absence too much. Good luck out there and . . . well, that's pretty much it."
Captain Lucias gave them both a final nod and a grin before walking away towards the main barracks complex.
"Seems like we have our work cut out for us," Ratchet muttered after a few moments of silence.
"That is unfortunately truer than you think," Clank said with a nod. As he noticed the quizzical glance Ratchet threw his way, he shook his head. "I will fill you in on the details as we go. In the meantime, I suggest we get moving. We have a long day ahead of us."
Captain Lucias had been true to her word. Ratchet and Clank found a hover-bike waiting for them at the PDF motor pool, with the local custodian only giving their data-pad a quick and disinterested glance before waving them through.
The vehicle itself, which Ratchet easily identified as an Orion-45, was rather bulky for a hover-bike. Additional armoured plates had been riveted to the side for extra protection and it also sported a dome-shaped windshield in the front. Three powerful thrusters in the back helped compensate for the additional weight.
Unfortunately it had no apparent weapon, though Ratchet couldn't complain about that. He dropped a bag with a few supplies into the luggage compartment beneath the seat and helped Clank climb aboard. The Lombax settled himself into the driving seat and pressed the icon on the control screen just below the handlebars. He was immediately rewarded by a deep growl from the engine, the hover-bike thrusters already powering up.
"I like how she purrs," Ratchet said with a grin. Clank made a face by his side.
A few minutes later and the hover-bike flew out of the motor-pool's main hangar doors and into Tillos's outskirts, the PDF Citadel receding behind them. The houses and cottages quickly became scarcer, the rolling farmlands making way for trees and patches of wilderness growing thicker around them by the seconds. Soon any sign of civilization had effectively disappeared, replaced by the calls and hollers of the local fauna. The canopy of leaves above grew thicker to the point that only a few rays could effectively make their way through.
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Ratchet directed the hover-bike alongside a narrow path through the woods, barely wide enough for his vehicle and overrun by roots, rocks and weeds. That of course was not a problem, as the Orion-45 simply hovered over the ground. A low hanging twig would occasionally snap against the reinforced windshield.
Ratchet moved his eyes between the road ahead and the Nav-Unit, careful to follow the path Clank had highlighted. Maintaining his concentration proved however difficult as Clank took the chance to recall what had witnessed that very morning. The Lombax was scowling by the time he had finished.
"So you have no idea who that guy was?"
"I am afraid no. Given the circumstances of the moment, I deemed safer to avoid making my presence known. I can only assume, judging from his uniform, that he is part of the regular PDF and not the local militia."
"Can't really blame you for that, pal. Really, this whole thing seems so . . ." Ratchet hesitated for a moment.
"Suspicious?" Clank helpfully proposed.
"I was about to say absurd, but yeah that works too. I didn't expect to get dragged into this kind of mess when I came here. And the PDF was supposed to be on our side!"
"What were you expecting exactly?"
Ratchet shrugged, slowing the vehicle down just a bit before responding. "The usual, I guess. We come here, find the guy that hurt Grim, and then beat the crap out of him." A frown took form on his face, fingers drumming against the handlebars.
"Instead we are stuck, Aphelion survived the crash due to sheer luck, off-world communications are shaky at best, and it turns out that the Blargs are the last of our problems cause even our allies have painted a target on our backs. And . . ." he trailed off, his expression morphing in one of pain as he bit his lower lip.
"Ratchet?"
"I hope Grimm is okay. He was on an hospital bed, and I went looking for the one responsible instead of . . . shit, I just hope he's okay." Only then he realized that his hands had tightened as fists around the handlebars' nylon cover. Grinding his teeth together, he forced himself to relax but without much luck.
"You are feeling responsible for what happened to him."
"What? N-No! I mean, I . . . yeah, a bit. It's not just that though."
"Ah, I see," Clank hummed to himself. "You blame yourself from immediately rushing here in an effort to catch the perpetrators. If it makes you feel any better, had you not done so they probably would have resorted to other methods to catch your attention."
Ratchet blinked as the full weight of those words hit him. "Wait, you mean they could have gone after someone else? And just to get to me?"
"I am unsure, but considering that their first attempt involved a bomb, well . . ." Clank let out a sigh. "I do not believe that those we are looking for know the meaning of the word subtlety. This was admittedly the least bad choice we had."
Ratchet gave him a weak nod, eyes returning to the road. It took Clank a mere look at his friend's face to realize that something else was bothering him.
"That is not all, is it?"
Ratchet shot him a sidelong glance, then he chuckled.
"Damn pal, since when can you read me like an open book?"
"I did a lot of practise over the years."
"I bet you did. But yeah, I've been thinking about what Pelensky said yesterday, about Orxon and the Blargs. On how Solana was actively trying to wipe them out after Drek's stunt."
"Maybe he was just exaggerating."
"That's the point. We don't know, and . . ." Once again, words failed him for a moment. "Don't get me wrong, Drek had it coming for what he tried to do. Veldin might have been an inhospitable dustbowl, but it was my inhospitable dustbowl. Still, he was right; Blargs really needed another planet to live on."
"Should we ignore the fact that he proudly admitted his family's responsibility in reducing Orxon in the state it is now?" Clank pointed out.
"Yes, he was a piece of shit, you'll not hear me denying it. But that doesn't change the fact the Blargs needed another home, nor it excuses Solana for whatever they were trying to pull after that."
'And right under my nose. Was Sasha aware of what was happening? Zonis, I really hope not.' He shook that thought off as soon as it took shape in his mind. It had been some time since he and Sasha had actually spoken, during the Zogg Affair, but he knew her. She was not the kind of Cazar to just stand idly by if her own government was doing something heinous.
"Allegedly," Clank pointed out. "Though I do see your point."
"I just hope nobody in the PDF is stupid enough to start an actual shooting war with them."
"You think they might?"
"I hope not," Ratchet said. "I'm all in for dealing with pirates, bandits, or whatever villain is causing troubles. I don't want to shoot someone looking for a place to live cause their previous home is now a toxic ball in space."
"A fair point," Clank nodded. "Perhaps it would be better to avoid violence should we run into them. It might improve the chances of them finding a nonviolent solution with the locals."
A small grin appeared on Ratchet's face. "That would be a first, wouldn't it? Us not shooting our way in. Okay then, I guess we can try that for now-"
Whatever he was trying to say died in his throat a moment later. Ratchet ears flicked up as they registered something else. It was not the humming from the hover-bike's engines, nor the sounds of the surrounding fauna. The latter had in fact grown strangely quiet.
The new sound was different; an electronic buzzing coupled by a soft whistling, nearly melting in the background were not for the Lombax's sensitive ears.
"Ahead!" Clank shouted. Any further hesitation ended there.
Ratchet swung the handlebars hard to the side, foot smashing down on the brakes. The force from the sudden deceleration slammed into him, but the Lombax held on. Fortunately, the Orion-45's designers knew what they were doing; the vehicle additional weight, coupled with good manoeuvrability and a low profile, meant that the hover-bike skidded to a fluid halt without simply tipping over.
That proved to be a good thing as the ground a few meters ahead of them exploded. A hailstorm of armour-piercing rounds ripped into the earth, kicking up a cloud of dust and sending broken roots and leaves flying.
The barrage stopped, only for the buzzing and humming to grow louder. Bursting through its concealment in the canopy, the occasional red and brown leave stuck into its metal frame, the hovering combat drone made its appearance. The body had a bug-like shape with two whirring propellers to the side. A pair of smoking automatic guns hung from its metal underbelly.
An array of red-glowing sensors moved around in their mounts as the machine swung at either side, searching and scanning for its target. Eventually they settled on Ratchet and the machine brought its armaments to bear. It had been a moment too slow.
Through a combination of adrenaline rushing through his veins and senses honed by uncountable battles, the Lombax whipped out a Burst Pistol, lined the shot, and squeezed the trigger.
The first plasma burst struck the drone's left propeller, the spinning blade exploding on impact. The machine pivoted on itself as it spun violently in the air, it's flight path completely random. Its weapons went off with a loud staccato of automatic fire, spraying wildly at its surroundings. Raritanium-tipped rounds cut through trees and leaves or slammed against the ground. The hoverbike windshield exploded in front of him. Undaunted, Ratchet kept on firing.
The second burst caused half of the combat drone's sensor array to explode in a violent shower of electronic components. The third one, and last, caught the machine as it spiralled towards the ground, burning a hole through its unprotected under-belly and hitting the ammo storage. Ratchet was rewarded a moment later by a violent burst of flames coming from the drone's rear, the detonation kicking the machine forward. It finally crashed on the ground and went still, guns silent. The rotor blade spun a few times before coming to a stop.
Ratchet let out a breath between clenched teeth. He kept his weapon on the drone up until its sensors went dull, only then deciding to lower it. The fight had lasted barely five seconds.
"You alright, Clank?" he finally said.
"A bit shaken up, but yes I am fine," his friend replied. "How about you?"
Ratchet reached up with a gloved hand to touch the wetness he could now feel on his right cheek. It came out bloody, no doubt as a consequence of the windshield exploding in his face. Though nanites could probably heal it, he didn't feel like wasting them for something minor. He could live with one more scar.
"Could be worse," he replied. He glanced at the now destroyed combat drone, eyes narrowing. "I guess our pacifist attempt ends here."
Captain Hakeswill laid back against his chair with a heavy frown, chewing on a smouldering cigarette. Buzzing statics kept on playing on the console in front of him.
"That didn't work," he noted with a groan. There was a rustling behind him, scales brushing against smooth tiles.
"At least now we know why we have actual drone operators," Dessabre's condescending tone announced his presence. "It turns out you can't just put someone behind a screen and expect them to do a good job."
"I almost had him," Hakeswill countered.
"Did you? Because that was the worst drone piloting I've ever seen in my long career."
"We just need to send out another-"
"No, we don't," Dessabre snapped. "You had your chance, captain, and I was willing to entertain this 'plan' of yours up to now. But you are not wasting more PDF military assets." The scorn in his voice was palpable.
"So what, we just let him go? What if he-"
"Captain," Dessabre said, letting out an exasperated sigh, "why don't you let me do the thinking from now on?" Hakeswill skulked but said nothing.
"Now, if you are so worried about the Lombax, then I suggest you to get moving on our agreed plan. By the time he gets back I expect matters to be already in motion." He turned around, making to leave. He stopped by the doorway one last time.
"Oh, and Captain Hakeswill? I'll take this chance to remind you that just as we will always share the fruits of our success, the same can be said about our failures." The captain blinked, confusion evident on his face.
"Sir?"
Dessabre sighed. "Oh, for the love of- It means that if things go bad, I'm dragging you in the mud with me. Is that clear enough for you?"
He nodded enthusiastically. "Crystal clear, sir!"
"Good. Then get to work."
Hakeswill waited until the colonel was out of view before muttering a curse through his teeth.
'The things I do for a buck.'
He smothered his cigarette in a nearby ashtray before switching on his earpiece, giving him a direct line with the rest of Alpha Company. He needed a favour right now.
The growling from the Orion-45's engine faded as Ratchet switched the power off, the heavy hover-bike settling down gently on the earth as the grav-repulsors lost power as well. Ratchet jumped out, boots crunching against the soil, whipped out his Burst Pistol and scanned his surroundings for possible threats. Only after he had made sure there weren't any, he signalled Clank to come out as well.
"According to the Nav-Unit, our destination is five hundred meters north-west," Clank helpfully provided as he settled himself on the magnetic array on Ratchet's back.
Ratchet nodded. "Alright, let's get going then."
With a slight tap of his foot, the Hoverboots flared to life and lifted him up. From there, it was just a matter of angling his body weight in the direction he wanted to go and letting the thrusters take care of the rest. He hovered past towering and bulky trees, their branches forming an intricate and thick canopy over his head. Ratchet's eyes darted around as he advanced, weapon in hand, waiting for a trap or ambush when he least expected it. And in Tillos's Wild Zones there were hiding spots aplenty.
His mind flashed back to an hour before, just after their encounter with the combat drone. Clank had taken some time to examine the remains, and what he had found had only increased his suspicions.
"It appears to be a Blarg model, judging from the beetle-like body," Clank had said. "However, running a check on the drone's ID code through the local PDF database, it appears that the machine was disabled by PDF personnel during a skirmish and captured. That was three months ago."
Ratchet could feel his eyebrow furrowing the more he thought about that.
'Someone just tried to take us out with that and blame the Blargs for it. They really don't want us to be here. But why?'
An icon flashed before his eyes as Clank highlighted something on the HUD integrated with his helmet. A few seconds later and Ratchet could finally get a visual on their destination. Partially concealed amidst the tall shrubs and trees, three vehicles stood immobile and arrayed in a haphazard column. As to why, that soon became clear as they got closer. Ratchet turned off his Hoverboots.
All three vehicles, two PDF-marked APCs and one heavy-load truck, were in pretty rough conditions. The fact that they had clearly been abandoned for some time had little to do with that, as a quick examination revealed. The first armoured vehicle sported several holes in its chassis, the armoured plates twisted and deformed, caused without a doubt by heavy-calibre weapons. The second APCs was much worse; an explosion had gutted it from the inside out, effectively ripping the heavy vehicle in two. Pieces of metal, broken scraps, and the occasional spent bullet case still laid all around. Extensive scorch marks covered all over the armour.
As for the truck, it was in rather good shape compared to the other two vehicles, though that was relative. Plasma holes riddled the engine compartment; the windshield was gone, shattered completely. Russet sprays were visible on the two seats in the front together with the signs of gunfire.
Ratchet began his search from the truck. After all, why would a PDF platoon bring a heavy-load truck with them in the middle of nowhere. The thing even had a telescopic crane in the back. A quick search of the driving cabin produced little though; old Gadgetron pamphlets had been stuffed in the glove compartment, and there were papers scattered all over the dashboard. Ratchet was about to give up, until he spotted a glint just beneath the passenger's seat. Reaching down with a gloved hand he pulled out an old smartphone, the screen cracked. He tried to turn it on, but the battery was out.
"Think you can find something interesting in there?" he told Clank, handing him the broken device over his shoulder.
"Of course. It should not be too difficult." Satisfied by the answer, Ratchet kept on looking. Ignoring the destroyed vehicle in the back of the column, the Lombax moved to examine the leading APC, an ugly box-shaped monstrosity with sharp edges and six wheels, all deflated. The loading ramp in the back was down, but just as he stepped through it the Lombax flinched back, eyes watering.
"Zonis, what is this smell?" And then he stopped. He blinked, his integrated HUD adjusting to the darkness in the passenger compartment, details coming into focus.
There was a face staring at him.
With a start, Ratchet pulled out his Burst Pistol. The face remained there, its empty gaze boring into him. Then, the Lombax lowered his weapon.
"Ratchet? Is everything alright?"
The Lombax blinked, then shook his head. "Yeah . . . yeah everything's fine. Seems like the PDF forgot to recover one of the bodies."
"Oh dear," Clank muttered. "How bad is it?"
Ratchet sniffed, covering his nose. "Bad enough that I regret having a sense of smell."
The alien body, still donning PDF fatigues, laid on the passenger seat in the far back, angled towards the door. They lurched forward, the seatbelt across the chest and shoulder taunt, keeping the body from falling over. Half of their upper head was missing; a quick look down on the metal floor revealed where it had ended up. As he stared into those glassy eyes, the face's muscles around them stretched taunt by decomposition, Ratchet thanked the fact he had skipped breakfast that morning.
A glint on their chest stopped Ratchet from leaving altogether. Reaching out with a gloved hand, and braving the smell once again, the Lombax's gloves seized the object dangling from the body's neck and pulled. The weak chain snapped as the dog tags came free. Their owners didn't seem to mind.
Moving back outside and into fresh air, Ratchet glanced at the twin pieces of aluminium in his hands. Uniform characters were engraved on them.
'Private First Class Helen Coyen, Polaris Defence Force.'
'Alpha Company, Second Battalion, Thirty-First 'Rifles of Galtan' Brigade.'
'Age, twenty-three.'
"We should keep those with us, at least until we head back to Tillos. Maybe hand them over to the family if we get the chance."
"A considerate choice," Clank agreed. "I have run a quick scan through the smartphone you have provided me, and I am glad to inform you that most of the memory is still intact. The last function before running out of battery seems to have been a video recording."
Ratchet nodded. "Alright. Mind uploading it on my HUD?" Clank quickly obliged. Ratchet blinked as a loading bar appeared before his eyes. A window opened up as the recording started to play. The first image that greeted him was a grinning, blue-skinned PDF trooper. Ratchet could hear the growling of engines in the background.
"Alright, I reckon it's working. Hey, Paul! Smile for the camera!"
The image shifted to another trooper in the driver seat. The visor covered most of their upper face, but a grin was visible as they glanced the recorder's way. Those had to be the two who had been driving the heavy truck.
"Put that old piece of junk away, will ya? I'm at the wheel now."
"Not a chance! You know how long it took me to make it work again? I need some way to record the absolute waste you're going to drink yourself into tonight. For posterity."
"Zill, that ain't gonna happen."
"Of course it will! Because today-" the image shifted back to the grinning passenger, Zill apparently. "Today is Paul's birthday!"
"Great way to spend it, by the way. In the middle of fucking nowhere."
"Oh, you know how Hakeswill is. Gotta keep the colonel happy, somehow. Anyway, once this is done, we're hitting town tonight! Helen found this very nice place and-"
The grin waned. "Hey, why are we stopping?"
"No idea. Give me a moment." A crackle of static as he punched a couple of buttons on the on-board comm-array. "Viper One, Two here. Why are you stopping, over."
"Viper Two, One speaking. I think we've just hit a road sign. We're checking for damage, stand-by."
"How did they manage to hit a road sign in the middle of a forest? Is the driver blind?" Zill chuckled as he kept on recording his surroundings. The small column had stopped exactly where Ratchet had found them. Paul drummed impatiently his fingers on the wheel. The radio groaned again to life.
"Viper Three to all, I've got something on the scanners. Is anyone getting this-"
The recording shook.
The truck rocked as a cloud of smoke slammed into them from behind.
The windshield detonated.
Paul slumped against the steering wheel, a bleeding crater where his heart should have been.
The klaxon blared.
Zill had dropped the phone by then, and nothing else could be seen.
There was only the roar of gunfire, and screaming, and cursing, and shouting. And dying.
Especially dying.
Ratchet tapped at the side of his helmet, bringing the recording to an end. He had heard enough. The Lombax gave a last desultory glance at his surroundings, towards the broken vehicles still bearing the scars of a old battle.
"There doesn't seem to be much else here. Looks like an open and shut case to me."
"Indeed. The few things we have found corroborate the story we know so far. It does appear in fact an ambush. There is no sign of the Blargs though."
Ratchet nodded, scratching the back of his head. "Ready to go back? It'll probably be midday by the time we get to Tillos."
The answer he received was the sound of the magnetic harness behind deactivating as Clank jumped down.
"Of course. There is however one last thing I want to check before we leave. Would you please come with me?"
Ratchet shot his friend a quizzical glance, only to then shrug casually and follow the small bot as he made his way to the front of the column. He came to a stop in front of the leading APC, tapping his metallic chin with a soft clinking as he studied the vehicle. His eye-lenses narrowed as he glanced down, then widened. He pointed at the vehicle right side, specifically at the front wheel.
"There is something trapped under it," Clank said. Ratchet squinted his eyes for a few moments until he finally caught sight of it. The heavy wheel rested on top of something, a large rectangular piece of metal.
"They mentioned hitting something in the video. A road sign apparently." By his side, Ratchet shook his head.
"In the middle of a forest? What are the chances of that?" And then it hit him. He pulled out his Omniwrench. "Alright, I see what you mean. Stand back, pal."
With the practised ease than only years spent working around and on vehicles of any shape and size could give, Ratchet placed his Omniwrench beneath the vehicle and perpendicular to the ground. With a slight touch on the staff, the weapon turned into a versatile tool, extending slowly in length. The APC shook violently as it was jacked up from the ground, effectively tilting in the opposite side. That gave Clank ample time to rush in and drag the mysterious object from under the front tire, despite taking more time he would have preferred.
As he saw Clank placing enough distance between him and the vehicle, Ratchet gave the Omniwrench another tap, and the shaft slowly retracted back to its original length, bringing down the APC with it. Deflated wheels sunk back into the ground beneath.
"So, what do you reckon it is?" Ratchet said as he scooped back his Omniwrench and joined Clank's side.
"I am unsure," he admitted candidly. "There's a lot of dirt covering it. And rust."
Ratchet nodded, reaching out with a gloved hand, trying to wipe it clean. Signs across its metal surface became apparent. Clank tilted his head to the side, eye-lenses blinking.
"Ratchet? Are those . . ." He hesitated. Ratchet didn't.
"Lombax characters," he muttered under his breath.
There was no chance of mistake. The sharp-edged characters, shaped like cogs and dented wheels, were something engraved into Ratchet's mind from the very first time he had seen them, almost a lifetime ago. Back when his and Talwyn's relationship could be described as somewhat solid, Ratchet had actually taken his time to try and learn the language of his own kind. The results had been mixed, even with a girlfriend capable of speaking it fluently.
In the end Talwyn had been a bad teacher and Ratchet an even worse student. Still, the Markazian's persistence had at least left something. Ratchet's eyes narrowed, studying what had been written on the rusty metal sign. Instinctively, he began tracing the characters' contours with a index finger, trying to drag back their meaning from a dusty corner of his mind. Clank had effectively disappeared by his side as seconds turned into several minutes.
"Right . . . so, this word here." He pointed to the first series of symbols. "That's a warning. Though not in the danger kind, more like a heads-up. As in, hey there's something here."
Clank nodded thoughtfully, watching him as he moved to the second series.
"These ones are not exactly a word. Like, the first part totally is. It means 'base' or 'facility', though more in the fortified sense."
"A fortress, you mean," Clank mused. Ratchet nodded at his friend.
"Yeah. After that it's just a series of letters and numbers. A serial number, I think. Base T1-770Z. Now, the third group of characters is where it gets interesting, cause they are more readable from the rest. It says, co-ownership by the Institute of Advanced Technologies and the . . . uh. I don't know what this part means."
"Ministry of War," Clank helpfully provided. "I believe that is the most accurate translation."
Ratchet nodded absentmindedly, up until something clicked in his mind. "Hold up a moment, you can read it?!"
"Of course I can, Ratchet. Talwyn downloaded the entirety of the Lombax dictionary in my database years ago."
Ratchet blinked. "Then why . . ."
"Because I believed this was a good chance for you to practise it. You never get the chance back at home. I am glad to see you still have familiarity with it."
Ratchet rolled his eyes. He couldn't hide his annoyance, though he couldn't deny at the same time that it felt good to finally see those lessons pay off.
"So you already know what the last part says, right?"
Clank tilted his head in amusement. "Yes. The question is, do you though?"
"Of course I do!" Ratchet snorted. "It says . . . ah . . . well, it says . . ."
"Yes?"
Ratchet frowned, focusing his attention back on the metal plate and away from his grinning best friend.
"I . . . I think it's an indication. Four kilometres north, and then door."
"I think that stands for main entrance."
Ratchet shrugged. "Close enough. So, professor Clank, how did I go?"
"Very good, actually. I would say you earned a solid seven out of ten. You need to put some serious work on your vocabulary though."
Ratchet rolled his eyes once again, though it was in amusement this time. "Thank you, prof." His face shifted into a more serious frown.
"You thinking what I am thinking, pal?"
Clank nodded. No words were necessary between the two. Clank quickly climbed back on Ratchet's back. The Lombax's heels clicked against each other and the Hoverboots flared up once again. In silence, he spun around and headed north, following the faint traces of an old trail cutting a path through the wilderness at either side. The remains of the convoy disappeared behind.
Ratchet suppressed the tingling in his hands as he weaved past the trunks of centuries old, moss-covered trees. Only the destination remained in his mind, and all the implications that came with it.
There was a Lombax installation on Basilisk III.