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Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Outer Planetary Limits

Within the confines of the strange ship, a diverse crew struggled with unfamiliar controls. It had been a hectic journey from Jersey City; initially the crew had been pieced together from the survivors of the Protectorate’s and Jan’s own attacks. He had convinced numerous soldiers that it was in their interests to follow him; initially there had been resistance, but his patient acceptance of incoming fire with no retaliation had finally convinced them of his true nature. Then there had been the journey to the damaged ship high in orbit, where it sat on contra-gravity, humming quietly to itself. Jan’s initial attack had disabled the vessel, but left it in better shape than anyone could have expected.

The hold still contained his erstwhile companion, although the Protectorate’s commands had disabled the machine totally. It was now of little more use than for spares, and Jan had made sure a few technicians had been co-opted into service.

Now these men and women had been called into duty; gladly they followed his instructions, with the chance of striking a blow against their enemy, too good to pass up.

*

No-one was in any doubt that the unknown ship was hostile. Missiles sprang easily forth from launching bays, targeting the few remaining fighters and the Protectorate Cruiser. Jan ignored them. His battle would be more personal.

His vision zoomed in to focus on the Cruiser’s structure; jets fired, as the large vessel manoeuvred into better position, although there was confusion as to which of the approaching enemy it should target. Logic dictated that more danger would come from the oncoming craft, but Jan’s dismissal of the fighters had caused some doubt. His approach was direct; at full thrust, he tore towards the Cruiser, his laughter cutting across open channel communication. The missiles mounted on his shoulder pods, would cause little real damage and so they decided; more fighters scrambled to engage him. That was to his liking.

He did not brake. His reinforced body slammed into one of the launch bays, smashing through an emerging fighter as he clawed his way in. The large opening afforded him easy access and the point batteries could do little to stop him. Automated lasers tried desperately to lock onto the fast moving object in futile defence. Jan ignored them.

Metal screeched in protest as he shouldered his way in, Gauss rifle firing as quickly as he could cycle power. Silvered death punched through superstructure, tearing the feeble atmosphere into shreds. Men died, as hardened glass shattered and their precious air disappeared. Armoured figures move in slow motion as his lasers speared them, one after another. Pilots screamed as he worked his way down the readied lines of craft, calmly destroying one after another, until he reached the crackling energy discharges of the ravaged installations within the open space.

There was never going to be an easy access into the ship; his size restricted the use of the corridors, but he created his own passageways. Now his missiles came into play, vapourising steel and wiring indiscriminately. Gaping holes appeared, bodies spiralling out where crewmen failed to use protective suiting. He had one single-minded purpose which became obvious to the Proctorate forces themselves - the Engine Room.

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Zone of Conflict

Sondra Laing stared at the serrated blade spinning before her eyes. She was mesmerised. Death would be painful and bloody. Closer it came, skin and blood flicking away as it whirred towards her. Even as she closed her eyes she could see the horrid sight and held her breath impotently.

Sudden silence made her risk one eye; the blade had stopped, almost touching her face, as had the metallic creature behind it, one leg raised as it prepared for the killing blow. Lights flickered across the parody of its face, yet it did not move. Slowly she inched herself to one side and scrabbled for her rifle. Still it waited. Sondra had all but raised her weapon towards it, when it exploded into movement, showering her with dust as it powered away. Jets flared and she heard the roar of its departure, as it shot back through the wall of the building and took flight.

She wept. What had happened? It could not have been her actions, nor those of her companions. Something had changed and the monstrous beast had rushed to face a new enemy. Sondra cowered, her mind struggling to comprehend what possibly could give rise to fear within the cold heart of such a machine

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Zone of Conflict


Smoke rose fitfully from the burnt out remains of jeeps and armoured vehicles, wafting a distinctive battle field smell to Sondra’s nostrils. She tried hard not to gag as cooked human remains added their own distinctive odour. She had struggled out of the building, dragging her blistered flesh behind her; one leg was testament to how close she had come to death. All around, others followed her meandering course; dazed by the brutality of the attack and the suddenness of its cessation.

No sirens wailed, announcing the arrival of aid, there was only the pitiful cry of the wounded and the crackling of fires, which continued on even now their instigators had left. She stopped one man, shaking him roughly when he did not respond to her questioning, but he had nothing to say. Gestatin had received a hammer blow, and none were available to explain what they should do next.

Topping a rise, she saw a group of soldiers huddled round a tented area. An officer strode determinedly about, pushing and pulling his charges into some form of order. Sondra staggered on, falling amid a cloud of dust and eventually reaching open ground.

“You. What unit?”

It took her a moment to realise he was talking to her.

“Sondra Laing…they’re all gone…”

Her brain wanted to give him her rank and serial number, yet her mouth flapped of its own accord. He grunted, pulling her upright by her arm, and motioned her to follow him. As she neared the tent, she saw the distinctive glow of screens and could hear a confused murmur.

“What…?”

The officer turned, seemed about to dismiss her and then thought better of it.

“We’re monitoring the Protectorate’s emergency channel,” he said, indicating the equipment, “it seems as though their withdrawal has something to do with an attack on the Cruiser in orbit. Who, or what, attacked them we do not know. We should only be grateful that they did.”

Sondra was not so sure. Whoever or whatever could cause the Protectorate concern would not necessarily be a lesser evil.

“And our forces?”

“In disarray,” replied the officer, “there are small units still operational, but we can only hope that the Protectorate is too busy to return and finish the job they started. We’re beaten.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, resigned to the annihilation of their planet. Sondra could not accept such defeatism.

“How can we be beaten?” she protested, “Only yesterday, we received confirmation of the arrival of the Second and Third Regiments, surely…”

“They’re gone!” he snapped in return, “Those machines ate them up and all we have are hand weapons!”

Sondra pulled her arm free of his grasp, “Well I’m not giving up!” she insisted.

Cruel laughter greeted her defiance.

“Feel free,” the officer muttered, “maybe you can find some others who share your opinion, although I find it unlikely.”

She followed his gaze and saw the remains of the vaunted Gestatin army in tatters before her, weeping inconsolably at the injustice of their fate.

“Now, get out of my sight, soldier,” spat the officer, “I have work to do!”

The urge to plant her foot between his legs was almost overpowering, but instead she moved away. Somewhere out there were others like her, and she intended to find them.

*

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Outer Planetary Limits


James Cameron had, in the last two weeks, gone through the rollercoaster ride of abject fear, temporary insanity, god-like worship, and now was once again trembling in terror. He had followed the booming monster into space, feverishly learning his new role and revelling in the ability to please his new master. Now, he could see the Cruiser filling the forward screen and he was petrified. Soon would come the order to board, and James was not sure he was ready.
The rifle in his hand shook, chattering against his armoured body and he was certain that all could hear it. Cocooned within their space suits, it was probably impossible for his compatriots to hear anything except their own rough breathing and the electronic voice counting down the time left to collision. Jan’s plan had been simple; ram, board and kill. He would take care of the main forces, and their duty would be to storm the Control Room and kill, or capture if necessary, all remaining Protectorate personnel.

James was not so sure of the simplicity of such a plan. He had watched the visuals of the three machines they left the planet, crashing through the ship’s skin in their haste to reach Jan. Explosions followed and still continued, and his master had been silent for such a long time.

“Prepare for impact!”

Cameron braced himself, clutching frantically at the recently welded handholds. This was going to be bad, he knew it.

The ship shuddered as its prow pushed against the hull of the Cruiser, scraping and scratching its way along one side. Rockets fired, sending steel hooks and their accompanying hawsers into the body of the Protectorate vessel. Laser batteries still fired, melting armour and auto cannons pounded away at the Cruisers own gun emplacements. He found it hard to hold on, as the ship’s crashing passage flung him from side to side.

“Go, go, go!”

His feet responded automatically, shuffling along behind his companions as they made their way to the outer door. It swung open with a hiss and he could see directly into his darkest nightmare; electrical fires sparked briefly, bodies twisted in the non-existent gravity and laser beams sparkled in defiance. One struck the man in front of him, piercing his visor and filling it momentarily with bright arterial blood.

“Move!”

Training pushed him on. Fear turned him from weakling to raging monster, held his finger on the trigger and sent madly screaming into the very bowels of hell.

I got to steal some of your writing mojo Rayo, keep up the good work!

Too many ideas...too little time

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Outer Planetary Limits

Jan concentrated. This was a delicate operation and his over-sixed appendages made life difficult. He initially pradticed on the remains of one of the machines, but over-enthusiasm had resulted in compaction, sparks and swearing.

Cameron was also interested in the outcome; the initial pilot removed, he had taken his place on the bloody seat under Jan’s urging. Sharp pain accompanied the needle entry points, as his neural pathways opened the necessary interface with RPB-762. Under orders, troops had brought the head of the lobotomised RPD unit to the cruiser and various technicians were following Jan’s suggestions carefully.

Disgust had given way to fear as simulated bodily fluids were pumped clear and blown dry, leaving the suppressed AI unit of RPB-762 visible for all to see. It was a recognisible brain. The tentative exploration of the newer model did not yield a similar sight; waver-thin metal curved back and forth intricately, mirroring humanity’s greater computer, yet enhancing its beauty.

“So,” the voice boomed, “that’s what the frakker did to me…”

None of the technician’s spoke, instead replacing the shielded housing and coupling it to the older RPB unit’s body.

“How will this work?” asked Cameron, “the old connections were severed.”

Harsh laughter still echoed as pain paralised the young man, his limbs locked and held within the simulator.

“That, my young friend, is what we are about to find out…”

*

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Zone of Conflict

Something was wrong. Sondra was familiar with the unit markings, the equipment and the local accents. What she was unsure of, was the manner in which orders were given and obeyed. They were too sharp, rigid and it gave her an unscratchable itch.

Sargeant Vaughan seemed normal; aggressive, overbearing and downright vindictive, but he was not the problem. The officer refused to answer any of her questions, and his men had almost cordoned off his area of operation. They stood, facing outwards, weapons held across their chests and providing a physical barrier to any kind of access. Her unit, as such, had been hurried away and she was left on her own with her new-found worst nightmare.

“You will pay…”

Sonda raised one eyebrow and jerked in mock attack. The Sargeant reflexively started away, before noticing her sardonic smile.

“There’ll come a time when…”

“How long have you been with them?” Her sharp tone interrupted the man’s threats.

“What?”

“I asked you how long have you worked for him?” she jerked her chin towards the officer.

“I don’t.”

Now Sondra was really interested, “He’s not your officer?”

“No, he arrived shortly before you did, with his men. Simply took over. He’s got the rank and everything.”

“It’s not right,” she murmured, the Sargeant laughing at what he saw as envy.

“Those are the rules,” he grunted.

“Oh, I know that,” Sondra grinned, as a flashlight highlighted the officer’s belt buckle, “but we have to be on the same side for it to count…”

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Zone of Conflict


The darkness of the tent was broken only by a pulsing red light, which reflected off a strangely familiar shape. It appeared to throb evilly under the intermittent illumination. Sondra crept closer, it sat in the centre of the temporary accomodation. She peered closely at the weird symbols painted on the rear of the large cylinder, and shivered as she realised their import. Fear was quickly replaced by anger Two of the crude decals indicated perfectly the Resurrectionists’ intent, if not their reason why.  Something even worse than the Protectorate would be visited upon her planet, and all in the name of enlightenment.

The light itself came from a small control panel, in which the weapon’s state of readiness was indicated. As yet, it was stable, waiting for its mortiferous parameters to be set. Sondra could not let that happen. She reached for her belt and removed a small tool kit. It was useless, she was no expert, and any attempt to disarm the bomb might well have the opposite effect. It had to be destroyed, but how?

*

Outside the tent, Sargeant Vaughan stood in plain view, the second guard’s helmet on his head, and the dead man’s blood-soaked jacket belted over his own. Things seemed to be passing smoothly, until a small aircar approached from the south. He recognised his erstwhile commanding officer in the passenger seat and no amount of praying could wish away the obvious; the man was coming here with his crew. Vaughan could do nothing, slip away and leave Sondra, or do something stupid. The Sargeant raised his rifle, flicked oof the safety and fired.

*

Sondra heard the sound of the discharging weapon and knew her time was up. She had only one option. The small explosive charge she carried would have to do. Bombs like these, she had been told, could be destroyed, or at least put out of action without setting off a cataclysmic reaction. There was no other choice. In a matter of moments, she set the timer, stuck the charge near to the control panel and hurried out to join Vaughan.

“Time to go,” she gasped, “there’s a bomb in there and I’ve left a little friend with it.”

“Bad?” asked the Sargeant between shots.

“You have no idea,” she muttered, drawing her own weapon, “now, move!”

They used the cover of the vehicles to try and reach safety, but their pathetic attempts were easily foiled as harsh lights sprang into life all around them.

“You’re surrounded!”

The Colonel’s voice rang out via electronic aid, imperious in its unflinching certainty.

“Not for long,” Sondra shouted back, as she emptied her weapon towards the source of the sound, “the present I left in the tent is no party cracker!”

“What have you done?”

There was fear now, the condescending tone peculiarly absent.

“If that goes up…”

Darkness was shattered as the tent disappeared in a ball of fire. Stones rained down upon them, as they took shelter where they could. Then silence, broken only by the Colonel’s laughter.

“You’ve failed…”

In the tent, the weapon’s casing, bent and torn by the blast, gave way, a thin crack spidering its lower half. There was the hiss of escaping gas, becoming louder, and a grey-green mist hung for a moment over the cylinder, before slowly dispersing.

*

They only had a few rounds left, failure staring them plainly in the face.

“Time for a brave gest…” her voice trailed off as the Sargeant crumpled to the floor, hands clutching spasmodically at his throat. Blisters appeared on his face and exposed skin, as he thrashed uncontrollably. He coughed, blood and vomit spearing out amidst a strangled cry of pain.

“Oh ******!” mouthed Sondra, as she too felt the first touch of the now airborne virus, her throat constricting sharply, her vision blurring, “What have I done?”

Oooh goody! Made-to-order "zombies".

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Outer Planetary Limits

Cameron was used to his new body now; at least he had not attempted suicide for the last twenty-four hours, and the Technicians took that as a good sign. Jan had quickly become bored and left, the draw of prisoners to torment was certainly more interesting than the whimpering Cameron.

James was, at last, let out of the confinements of the temporary operating theatre and stomped his way to the Main Hanger.  He needed space, although the trailing guards still did not relinquish their watchful duty. It was laughable. With his augmentations, James could destroy them easily. All of his limbs had been replaced with newer and more powerful models, his body encased in armour and his head added to. He carried a helmet under one arm which had been modified to enclose this hasty addition, his purpose less than clear.

Arriving at the cavernous hanger, which still held battle-damaged craft and whose walls were scarred with Jan’s hasty entrance, Cameron made his decision. He settled the helmet over his head, the hiss of the seal comforting him. Data flashed before his eyes as he concentrated; his new link allowing him access to the ship’s main data banks, which gave him exactly what he wanted. Unthinkingly he moved, brushing aside his escort and reaching the shiny exoskeleton which stood half-hidden behind two shuttles.

Alarms began to sound, but James ignored them, settling back into the structure and allowing the clamps to engage. They had given him more than they knew and James was not inclined to turn the favour down. He stood, his new musculature easily handling the extra weight. Synaptic connections allowed him to power up his new ride, the jets flaring as they came on line. Cameron grinned, for the first time in a long while, facing out towards the main exit as he commanded full power.


Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Zone of Conflict

Sondra was impatient. Her hunger demanding instant gratification, yet what little control she maintained over her mind, kept her in check. Not yet. They would escape.

*

Captain Theo Sharmer was worried. Detectors had screamed when the virus had been released, activating this operation. He had no doubt that the Colonel was dead, yet he had been trained in containment and clean-up. The Scientists needed information and the twisted corpses could give them that. His team followed, unrolling the body bags ready for specimen collection. Although the detectors had long since gone silent, not one of them was eager to de-suit, nor risk the touch of contact.
He beckoned one of his men forward, having found what was left of the Colonel. The taste of barely suppressed vomit added to his discomfort, but he did his job, checking the dead for the less ravaged, the more useful.

It was as he poked one corpse with the barrel of his rifle, that the nightmare took an even more macabre twist. Something grabbed his ankle, hard teeth ripping and tearing at cloth and then flesh. Sharmer screamed as he fell back, his finger tightening on the trigger of his rifle.

*

As the Captain went down, Sondra smiled; she was not alone. Two more corpses stirred, clawed and bloody hands reaching for the soldiers. As the first volley blew one of her fellow survivors apart, she struck, her teeth biting through cloth and hungrily reaching the inviting flesh beneath.

Not all them rose, but it was enough. Their unexpected attack, manic hunger and powerful muscles dragged the soldiers down. Mere bullets did not stop them. They felt the hunger, pain was inconsequential in comparison. Soon, the only sound was that of grunting and slobbering, as Sondra and her new family dined.


Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Outer Planetary Limits

Troops hurried to stop James, plasma rifles live. It was laughable. He killed the jets, his feet picking up the beat without problem. Although the support frames weapons systems were not loaded; missiles, plasma and rail-gun showed empty, that was not all that they had cannibalized from RPB-762 and his brothers. Twin segmented arms snaked forward, curling over the rapidly moving James’ shoulders. At their tips, one carried a whirring saw blade and the other a sharpened point. Who needed missiles?

Blades whipping from side to side, James sliced, diced and skewered as he moved purposefully towards the exit. From his vantage point nearby, Jan watched, and laughed. He would let his protégé have some fun, kill some people. After all, he could bring him back whenever he wanted.

Gestatin
Third Ecclisiarch Protectorate
Zone of Conflict

As she gorged, the virus worked, reknitting bone, regrowing flesh and revitalising body. The beast within Sondra did not notice, as body mass was reduced to its constituent parts. Blood and gore streaked her face, mouth and hands, but this time it was self-inflicted. When she rose from her kill, replete, no-one would have believed that she had been diseased, death a-walk. Sondra Laing stood, wiped her red-brown hands on the remnants of her clothing and strode away. Behind her, others stood and followed.