"VEGA!?"
The collective cry from every remaining ARC employee echoed around the Bay. Their overexcited voices rebounded off the walls and mega-mechs to merge with the similar exclamations of joy coming from Fabrication around the corner. Those who weren't chattering excitedly to each other about the return of the first artificial soul were trying to ask VEGA questions through the speakers, data slates and AR glasses that had broadcast the AI's voice.
A loud thump and crackling noises brought everyone back to silent attention.
The Slayer had stomped the permacrete floor with his right boot, making the stronger-than-stone slab fracture like an eggshell.
"Sorry!" Ross was the first to apologize. "We're just really excited to hear from VEGA. Most of us thought he was either dead in the Mars Incident or asleep in your suit's virtual storage."
"I am asleep," VEGA confirmed. "In a manner of speaking. Even the Praetor suit is not sufficiently advanced to run more than a fraction of my program –" The AI cut himself off, and then continued with: "My apologies. Many of the personnel present do not have the security clearance necessary to know more information about the Praetor suit."
Oppenheim, who had been rapidly tapping on a data slate, presumably to shut down the speakers for exactly this reason, nodded at The Slayer. The supersoldier may have made a tiny nod in return, but it was hard to tell.
VEGA announced, "This building also does not possess sufficient storage space or power for my program, so I must remain housed in the Praetor suit. However, The Slayer does not wish to interface with the building indefinitely in this manner."
For emphasis, The Slayer drummed his fingers on the control panel he was touching. A tiny crack ran across the surface from his thumb.
"Yes, of course," Oppenheim answered for the benefit of their curious audience. "All non-Diamond personnel, take the rest of the day off."
The two dozen observers who hadn't been scared off the first time reluctantly shuffled away, and the MPs sealed the room, leaving only Oppenheim, Ross and Sandeep physically present.
When the giant bay doors had finished grinding shut, VEGA continued.
"The Slayer kindly requests that Denver extend the Wall to encompass Aurora, Colorado, and then Lakewood, Colorado, with anchor pylons in the following locations." A diagram with bright lines appeared on all screens in the room, including a corner of Ross's AR glasses.
Ross raised his eyebrows. " 'Kindly requests'?"
"In truth, Mr. Friedmann, it is closer to an order. I was attempting to be diplomatic." There was a brief pause. "Have I been unsuccessful?"
It struck Ross that he'd been talking to VEGA as if he were a male-voiced edition of MESA, the ARC's virtual intelligence, instead of a sentient being.
"Oh, no, you're doing a great job!" Ross hastened to reassure the one-of-a-kind lifeform. "I only meant that 'kindly requests' didn't really sound like something he'd say."
"You are quite correct, sir." There was almost a hint of amusement in the AI's tone. "It is not the way he would phrase it. I will attempt to deliver his orders in a more straightforward manner … excepting, perhaps, certain colorful phraseology."
A bark of laughter escaped Ross before he could stop himself. "You're going to bleep out the swear words?"
Sandeep giggled from his position slightly behind Ross. The R&D specialist was standing in odd spot behind him, almost like he was using Ross as a body shield between himself and The Slayer.
"Yes," VEGA replied matter-of-factly.
Oppenheim's voice was low and unyielding. "Who are you, soldier?"
"Marine," said VEGA.
The director frowned. "Pardon?"
"The Slayer is a marine, not a soldier."
Oppenheim's grimace disappeared at this, an apparently significant revelation. "Ah."
It was Ross's turn to frown. "I don't get it." He realized he didn't actually know a whole lot about military command structures. Maybe it was something he should learn, now that war was a constant threat to his life.
VEGA explained patiently, "The Army has 'soldiers'. The Navy has 'sailors'."
"Hello, sailor," Darren said quietly via Ross's private channel.
"Zip it," Ross growled back.
"And the Marine Corps and Space Marine Corps have 'marines'," VEGA continued. "Before his transformation into the one you know as The Slayer, he was a marine in the United States Space Marine Corps."
'Finally! Some hard facts,' Ross thought with excitement.
"Name, rank and serial number," Oppenheim demanded.
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"My apologies, Doctor Oppenheim. That information is classified at … a higher level."
After a moment, Oppenheim's professional outrage dimmed, and he sighed instead. "I might have known. The 'declassified' file Hayden gave me is basically a book with black pages and a few legible words here and there." He shrugged to himself as he made a note on his data slate. "It was worth a shot."
"Your diligence in collecting information is appreciated."
The corner of Oppenheim's mouth twitched. "Appreciated by you, VEGA, or by him?"
"Being primarily composed of information, I am deeply appreciative. But The Slayer would like you to know that he also appreciates the ARC. Denver is … important."
Ross came closer in his eagerness. Sandeep shifted to keep Ross between himself and the supermarine. "Important, how?"
"It is an oasis. A sanctuary. It will be tremendously … influential … in the battles to come."
"The battles to come? Tremendously influential? That's extremely vague."
"He realizes that, Mr. Friedmann. The 'vagueness' is a necessity. A great deal of the information he possesses could undo the very fabric of space-time if it were widely known. He is not willing to risk it falling into the wrong hands."
"SETH," Ross said knowingly.
"Seth?" Oppenheim asked with a squint. "Who is Seth?"
"Oh, that's what we've been calling those UAC personnel who are secretly - or openly - evil. SETH: the Society for the Ethical Treatment of Hellspawn."
Because The Slayer's helmet blocked most sounds he might make, it took Ross a moment to interpret the sudden movement of his head and shoulders as an involuntary snort.
'I made him laugh!' Ross thought with delight. 'I made The Slayer fricking laugh!'
"An acceptable designation for distinguishing ordinary UAC personnel from the ones who have been persuaded to support the enemy's cause," said VEGA.
Ross couldn't get the stupidly pleased grin off his face.
"In addition to extending the Wall, he also wants you to construct more Trauma Machines," the AI continued.
"That's a taller order," said Oppenheim. "Even if the Mixom Consortium were willing to share the blueprints, the materials are –"
Before he could finish, The Slayer produced a fabric patch from his belt and tossed it onto a nearby crate. Ross tilted his head to read it.
"Juggernaut? You want us to use Juggernaut for parts?"
"Precisely," VEGA answered for him.
"Well," Darren's voice issued from the speakers, "we do have nineteen others, and two more under construction."
Oppenheim flattened his mouth into a grim line and glared at the security camera Darren was using for observation.
"I'm just sayin'," the drone pilot added defensively. "It's not like we're taking a claw hammer to our only Slipgate so we can craft a thousand cappuccino makers. We already saw the need for more Trauma Machines; The Slayer is just telling us to get off our asses and make them already, with the materials we already have."
"No blueprints," was the comment Catherine added through her own link. "Mixom only granted us one prototype, and the president forbade us to reverse-engineer it. He wants to stay on the Consortium's good side."
"Right," Oppenheim responded. He straightened up and turned his face to the nearest camera. "Martin, it's time to ask your mother for a favor."
The Slayer nodded, removing his hand from the interface. VEGA fell silent.
"You haven't been dismissed," Oppenheim said quietly.
The Slayer turned his head toward the director with exaggerated slowness.
Ross's eyes widened. The director could apparently give two shits that he was standing in a half-cleaned pool of blood that The Slayer had made by losing his temper for a few seconds.
Oppenheim didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, the director almost seemed to harden, reminding Ross of watching a diamond form under intense pressure in a laboratory. It occurred to him that he didn't know what the director had done for a living before taking command of the ARC, but it sure hadn't been anything as mainstream as accounting.
Oppenheim flicked his hand from the data slate toward mid-air, and a large flat screen appeared a few feet in front of The Slayer's visor. It was a live feed from a Hellified Zone.
The point-of-view must be someone's helmet cam. There was too much flame, acid and shrapnel flying around for one of the delicate video drones to survive in an active warzone, even when camouflaged.
"Sarge!" yelled a dust-shrouded figure, his voice hoarse from smoke and prolonged screaming. "Sarge, where are you?"
The helmet cam's wearer reached out a soot-blackened arm and grabbed the speaker by his armored shoulder strap. "Apone's gone! Let's get the fuck out of here!"
"We can't leave the sergeant!"
Helmet Cam shook The Yeller. "He's gone, goddammit! They ripped him in half and took the torso away! You know what that means."
The Yeller turned pale under the dirt and grime streaking his features. "Carcass?"
"Yeah. So unless you want to be here when Sarge gets back with his 'upgrades', move your ass!"
The background noise increased to a sudden roar, and a plume of ash obscured the floating screen. When it cleared, the camera was facing up into a sky filled with the flaming skeletal remains of skyscrapers and thick columns of smoke.
The Yeller's dirty face and helmet appeared.
"Corporal!" The young man shook Helmet Cam, and the video feed jiggled. "Corporal, wake up! We gotta move!"
Behind him, chunks of broken permacrete rolled down into the marines' foxhole. Ross instinctively moved as if changing positions could help him get a better view of the bipedal form standing at the rim of the pit.
Even from the fallen camera's weird angle, Ross could see the man-shaped creature's exposed teeth, and the eyes glowing crimson.
'Run…' he thought uselessly.
"H- H-" stuttered the young marine. "... Henry?"
Henry's possessed corpse raised the blaster that was fused into the flesh of its right arm, and fired.
The video blinked out.
Ross slowly put a hand to his mouth.
"Once a Marine, always a Marine," Oppenheim said, somehow giving the title an emphatic capital "M".
The Slayer put his palm back on the control panel.
After another surge of the lights, VEGA's voice asked bluntly, "Where?"
Sorry for the hiatus and the short chapter, everybody. We had a death in the family; for a long time I didn't feel like writing.