1 / 2 Biomass


    0 / 1 Mechanized


    -No production capacity-


    The Nanofactory churns to life, light appearing within.


    [Manufacturing capacity obtained]


    >Executrix Alaea: Hmmmm, this ability is kinda awesome, weird that it drained energy from you and Hygieia... But girl, I''ve got full control of the nanofactory. Oh, you''ve got five minutes before that Juggernaut recovers from the bioweapon''s EMP.


    >Terran Thena: Your initials should be AS for AssHole. Important into FIRST!


    >Terran Thena: Wait, which ability?


    >Executrix Alaea: Uhm... The only one that''s not greyed out? Says, Oracle''s Sonar. Level 1, it''s description reads ''base cost 50, activate to view an area remotely, will grant enhanced vision within the area for 1 minute. May expend more energy to increase duration. Will power unsecured devices within the area of effect.'' Yeah, so, it''s scanner sweep, but will also recharge your phone.


    >Matriarch Hygieia: i only have ''Neith''s Symphony'' level 0 / 10


    Their words send me to the floor, faceplanting exactly where I already was. Turns out I never got up after the demon healed me. A blessing in disguise as I now look through my internal HUD, smiling slightly as energy creeps up at a steady 1% per second. After my first ability ''Augur'', comes ''Neith''s Symphony'' greyed out and with no description, Oracle''s Sonar which is likewise inaccessible, and finally ''Voidwalker''s Paradox'' level 0. Level up to unlock.


    I inhale sharply, level up to unlock?


    Sharp inhalation after being shot was a mistake. Blood rises, nearly choking me. My gloved hands narrowly free my gasmask before a hacking cough purges my lungs of coagulating blood. All while a clawed figure tip toes towards me.


    "You ohtay Pfina?" Asks a small voice, her reinforced hands patting my back.


    Kerrigan is alright. Relief fills my heart, soothing my hacking cough. I spit, sending a wad or crimson phegm onto the floor.


    "I''ll live. Thank you." I gasp, rising to my feet and beginning to strip.


    Four minutes to execute ''Tychus''. Thank god I''ve got Alaea to help me. Nanofactory screens illuminate then run through a thousand schematics in nanoseconds, all skimmed and beamed to Alaea. How is she reading or thinking that fast? A shiver runs down my spine. She''s an eternal alien. Mrs. EarlyAccess got the luckiest roll of us all. I shake my head once. This nanofactory should be AI hardened, able to resist hacking attempts. A thousand ideas occur to me at once and I take the most obvious and appealing course of action.


    >Terran Thena: Hack the Juggernaut.


    >Executrix Alaea: Already tried, the person inside sent me pictures of cats flipping me off. -_- They’re wetware systems. Earthling core. Hope Whorely got turned into one of them. If she likes getting piledrived so much, she can try it with a spaceship.


    I cackle at the thought. Humor fighting off the terrifying abilities of an interstellar hacker. At least, it tries to. Alaea isn’t Athena anymore. But what if the reference is more like a model number. You wouldn’t name a human ‘Mount Goddess of all knowledge’ so why would an alien race name my other half exactly that…? Logic is quick on this simple problem. She’s an Artificial Intelligence. Or they plugged her mind -my mind- into some kind of computer. What can I do if part of me exists only in cyberspace?


    A snapping sensation fills my mind. It’s Ling-ling2 trying to fetch those Tulverian Pulsers.


    “Don’t bite the gun in half you idiot!”


    He cowers, tail falling between his knees.


    I sigh, these lings can talk, but they aren’t fully sentient either. Closer to a dog’s intelligence than a fully functioning human being. Or my cousin Carl, that dude is dumb enough to walk through a blizzard in his boxers. How he is still sucking air surprises me each Christmas. I gulp. There won’t be another Christmas with the family. Not this year. Or next.


    Lingling2 whimpers softly; reminds me of dad yelling at our golden retriever. Whether he pissed on the carpet and deserves it or not, everyone feels like a piece of shit.


    I temper my voice, these lings might be the only companions I have. Best treat them right. “Hey, look its fine. Go touch another one. Don’t bite it. You’re doing great.”


    Juggernaut''s engines roar back to life, their deep rumbling shaking my boots. Kerrigan appears at my side, pressing against my injured leg. I brace myself, expecting the sharp give of my sprained ankle; only to find it fully healed. Strong and steady, like a rock. That she demon weapon did more than just cure my bullet wounds. What exactly are the limits of her healing?


    But what was the price? I wonder, hoping I don’t have space cancer from the instant healing. After all, cancer is just rapid cellular regeneration. Unmoderated healing always carries an accelerated risk of cancer directly corollary to the amount of cellular tissue regrown.


    “Is Pfina otay?” Asks Kerrigan.


    I pat her head, too busy trying to execute ‘Tychus’. Just cause I know the plan doesn’t make implementation any easier.


    >Terran Thena: Can you use the lings as targets for teleportation? The far away ling is trying to bring me a Tulverian plasma rifle.


    >Executrix Alaea: Yes, and I’ll do you one better.


    AA heads-up display flickers into my vision, offering simple controls for teleportation. I can mark anything I’m touching- no, more than that. Anything within ten meters of me or another linked creature in our hive mind., including anything the lings are physically touching. There are other options too, like a tagging system to mark distant objects, the touch restriction is just a filter. A way to limit the options and not spam me with ten thousand buttons or alerts. Neat-


    -Bullets cut through smoke flying a foot over my head as the Juggernaut reactivates its weaponry. We’ve got a moment or two before the Juggernaut reboots all systems. Less if the pilot is experienced enough to manually control the vehicle. Part of me prays this is a newborn Earthling.


    “Kerrigan, if that tank comes in here I want you to run down that tunnel. Do not look back! Don’t worry about me.” I hiss, ducking and circling around cover to the Nanofactory’s product port.


    Nanofactories were ubiquitous across Singularity and Technocracy armadas. A portable piece of human equipment that could churn out any pre-designed hardware you could imagine, great for repairs or minor fabrication. Not so great at full system construction. Sorta like an industrial sized 3d printer, complete with customizable metal injection and rubber analogs. Power armor or motorcycles are about the maximum limit of this specific machine’s dimensions. Although it might be able to unfold and accommodate larger objects, like SUVs. Its capture should have me ecstatic, and it does… If I could feed it materials or had any chance of protecting this bunker.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    “Ith Pfina gonna weaff me behind?” Kerrigan asks.


    “No. I’ll be right behind you. So do not stop running. Understand?”


    She nods, so trusting, so unguarded. I wonder if this is what the Singularity demon once was: small, alone, naked to the world, utterly exposed to violence before they had any concept of humanity.


    The nanofactory pauses, its mechanical limbs momentarily still as it loads another crate of supplies. A fragile silence settles over the bunker, but then -deep in the distance- I hear it. A low, guttural rumbling, the sound stretched and smothered by the sheer scale of it. Then come the booms, heavy and deliberate, the deep-throated cough of long-range artillery firing in unison. A rhythmic death knell echoing across the battlefield.


    What little light entering the bunker vanishes, occluded by a tank so far advanced it would be more at home in the Korpulu sector. The Juggernaut is here.


    >Terran Thena: THOR IS HERE! Where is my armor?


    >Executrix Alaea: Already sent the order to the factory. Check its readout.


    [progress halted]


    [loading supplies]


    I stay motionless, hidden behind the nanofactory’s bulk, my only vision of the outside world coming from Alaea’s scan. The Juggernaut hesitates. Then, inexplicably, it reverses, retreating the way it came. But something is off. It lurches, stops, then starts again. A mechanical hiccup. Three times it repeats the motion, awkward, erratic. Did the pilot botch a reboot?  If I didn’t know better I''d say he was a psychopath that plays with inverted controls and someone just swapped out his controller.


    >Executrix Alaea: Oh! I gotchu fam.


    Lights fill the bunker illuminating the space with a thousand blinking LEDs. Lingling2 crawls to me, staying low. Pressing a shoulder against me in a protective squish, a way of shielding me with his body, a vestigial gesture from his originating race, and almost meaningless in the face of thermal sensors. Internal movement warns us of manufacturing progressing to the final stages within.


    The retreating juggernaut raises itself, aligning upper missile tubes to the trench’s mouth. Just in time for three Juggernauts to roll over the trench outside. Treads gore the earth, leaving indents wider than I am tall. One goes up and down the ramps, the other across missile tubes, metal screams as it tries to support the weight of the warmachine. While a third does the absurd. It locks every missile inside their launchers, then sets the rack to maximum inclination. Scores of missiles fire; combining their exhausts to help the Technotank hop thirty feet. It’s like watching a ballerina fart nukes and fly, if that ballerina was two semi trucks glued together with lab grown meat and called the Killdozer ‘daddy’. Autocannons unleash hatred, spewing thousands of rounds towards human conscripts. I know they’re dying. These tanks are killing other earthlings.


    *Chink*


    [+1 Technician power armor]


    Work complete the nanofactory ejects its most recent project, a suit of powered armor, painted shitbrown with gray accents. The most beautiful turd I''ve ever seen. 10/10 would shit again. Plan Tychus is simple, infiltrate the enemy’s armor and shoot em in the ass. Just like the Tychus did with the Odin. An infinitely more elegant plan than blowing myself sky high to kill one lousy Juggernaut.


    >Terran Thena: Need a second.


    >Executrix Alaea: Okay… I’m making five. Factory is too heavy to beam up right now.


    >Terran Thena: Can you make one half sized? There’s a girl down here, child.


    >Executrix Alaea: A child? What- NO! Don’t explain. Uhm. No, remote control won’t let me alter designs. I’ll have to get it on board.


    >Terran Thenao: YOU HAVE A SHIP?!?!?!


    >Executrix Alaea: It’s not my ship. I’ll be hiding the nanofactory in my uh... closet? Eh, more like under my bed.


    I don’t have time to scream and swear at this ship shaped wrench, I’m too busy jamming empty artillery shells and spare rations into the suit. At eight feet tall it’s highly reminiscent of Terran Marine armor, big shoulderpads, dual reactors on the back in a sort of backpack, with the front being covered in sensors, lights, and a ton –literally– of armor to counterbalance.


    “Alright Kerrigan, hop in the armor, it’ll keep you safe!” I say, lowering her into the suit through the neck hole.


    The Juggernaut outside rotates again, its missile tubes smashed flat after cosplaying a bridge. What a maneuver. Part of me respects the enormous balls on this warmachine, and the other part of me warps two Tulverian plasma rifles aboard Alaea''s ship. They’re valuable, despite having no place in ‘Tychus’.


    Still, missile tubes are semi disposable. I know cause there are about a thousand of them lining the bunker walls. Hydraulics hiss, the Juggernaut lowering itself once more and turning to face us.


    I thank god the nanofactory’s completion port isn’t facing the trench, though logic corrects me. This was no act of fate. No idiot would give enemies a straight shot into the factory’s internals. Kerrigan’s hips and shoulders slide right in, head disappearing for a second before it pops back up. A sharkish grin across her face.


    “I know armor! Red guy showed me how to uthe this. Before he lefth me behind.” She says, moving the arms and legs.


    Visor hisses shut, how her lil arms reach any controls is an elastagirl miracle, but she''s mobile and waddles behind the factory with me. We have no heavy guns, no capacity for killing tanks. Only a zergling. So I give the panic order that all zerglings receive when an overwhelming force is bearing down on them.


    Burrow.


    Lingling2 obeys, claws flaying steel grates in two swipes before scooping pawfuls of dirt out of the way. Treads whine, metal howls. The Juggernaut is entering the bunker, crushed tubes scraping the excavated walls. Another Juggernaut rocket jumps the trench, closer, smoke fogs the our vision, drowning us in black rocket ejaculate. My mask filters it out, air tasting canned like it always does, but the zerglings wheeze, giving away our position. I rest my head against Kerrigan’s armor, there’s nothing left for us to do other than stay quiet. In the total silence I hear a sound that makes my heart stop. Kerrigan’s radio buzz, and the orders of an angry Juggernaut.


    “Tech, replace my tubes.” Echoes through her helmet.


    A voice I’ve heard often rises from Kerrigan’s throat, but it’s not hers.


    “Piss off bolt brain! Got shot to hell! Look around you man, there is a tech hanging from the ceiling! Can''t you see my squad is dead? We shoulda stayed evacuated. Now my damn suit’s buggered. That’s why I’m making a replacement.”


    “Don’t make me come down there you little cun–”


    “Oh yeah big boy? What you gonna do?” Says Kerrigan, using MY voice. “Gonna waste your last bullets on me. Then head to the next bunker without a single round? Blow hot air out of your ports. Ah, look. I don’t even have bullets for you. Quit bitching. Get rolling.”


    Chinks and chunks warn that the Juggernaut is manually operating several weapons, contemplating if he should blow us away. He doesn''t have a clear shot to either of us, but Juggernauts are not known for being stable. The type of person who can accept being surgically implanted into a tank and forced to fight until death is not your average human.


    "Sorry. Can''t help without a new suit." Says Kerrigan.


    Servoes whine to the tune of a screaming man. A sensor ping rips through the bunker. One last wail before the juggernaut turns and drives away. That was closer than shaving balls with straight razors!


    A second suit appears in front of me, chest open. Inviting me into the warm microcosm of safety. I scramble up the suit, using its hands as footholds to get above. From here I can shimmy in, hips catching on the inner confines. It’s not built for an unaugmented woman, let alone a fit college gal with double Ds. The Technomancy probably considers those unnecessary. Damn cyborgs must feed babies motor oil or something. I have to undo my mask and shake my hips like Shakira to get inside. All while wondering how much the Novan Techs remove to get in and out comfortably. But at this point I’m too desensitized to even shudder.


    Besides, the sudden feeling of being encased in protection settles my heart. Not even the steaming fumes of this world can crush my spirits now.


    Crush my spirits…


    I’m in armor.


    Before my visor shuts I look at Kerrigan, “Get that Juggernaut back here, I’ve got a plan.”


    Visor hisses shut. But for a second I can taste the steaming fumes of this world. Its rancid stench of cooked bodies. As if ten thousand men cut their throats and bled into one parking lot, then sat in the sun for a week it wouldn’t smell half as vile.


    And I intend to cut one very large throat.


    [+1 Technician power armor]