FanFic - DP/UF - Crossroads [23]

[MegaZone]

----------------------------------------------------------TWENTY-THREE

"Turn around, turn around/It's a human skull on the ground/
Human skull on the ground/Turn around"
--They Might Be Giants

Gryphon awoke in a bed; he could tell immediately, by the
smell, that he was in sickbay. He sat up. He wasn't in a lot of
pain, really; he had recovered, mostly, from the exhaustion induced by
his hardsuit filling him full of epinephrine-Z. The ribs and his arm
had knitted and were healing well, as was the break he suspected his
left knee had sustained during the battle. He looked down at his
chest; the three circular scars were still there.
He looked at the table next to his bed. The two swords and
their tanto companion were all there, in their scabbards. He had
taken the blade that day and replaced his own, high-tech one with it
in the hardsuit sheath; the last scion of the house of Asagiri had
been buried with his weapons instead of her own, by her dying demand.
Since then he had carried the three blades everywhere, and used them
in battle more times than he cared to count.
He had fulfilled his last debt of honor. His name was
cleared. Largo was dead. His conscience was, for the first time in
almost a century, silent. He smiled and, gathering his will, made
those century-old scars disappear.
"I was wondering when you were going to do that," came a voice
from around the corner. Kei stepped into the room, smiling. Gryphon
was somewhat surprised to see that she was wearing a WDF Navy uniform
and a captain's bar.
"What did you do," he asked with a smile, "take over my ship
while I was out?"
"Well, you know what they say, Captain," Kei replied. "`If
you die, we all move up in rank!'"
"Don't be so sure," Gryphon rejoined. "I'm as tough as an old
boot. It'll take a lot to kill me off."
"Don't I know it." They locked eyes for a moment from perhaps
six feet, weighing what they each found in the other's gaze,
reflecting on the century they had spent looking at each other only
over weapon sights, and then burst out laughing, an activity that
Gryphon found caused him a rather high level of pain, which he
ignored.
Around then, others came into the room: Zoner, and Yuri, and
ReRob, and behind them Lt. Finney, her left arm in a sling, and Gordo,
with a small cloth bag.
"Oi," Gryphon said, "what is this, a party?"
"Of a sort," Zoner replied.
"Got a present for ya, chief," said Gordo, and opened the bag,
presenting, with a flourish, a gleaming, perfectly polished human
skull, made of shiny silver metal. Gryphon took it, marveling at its
weight and solidity, and turned it over in his hands. There, on the
side, he could see the stamp.

GENOM CORPORATION
TYPE 481-A-S
H-Y-P-E-R - B-U-M-A
J-2073-D-2670-S-1871

He shook it, then rapped on it. It was hollow, empty. He
turned it over and gazed thoughtfully into the eye sockets out of
which had looked the red eyes he had hated for so long, traced the
line of the jaw which had laughed at him so many times with his
fingertips.
"Well, you bastard," he said to the skull, "you're not
laughing now, are you?"

Model 55-C Buma no. 1138-04462, currently Field Commander in
Chief of the GENOM Combined Fleet, looked up from the report of the
AT&T's capture with what, for a Buma, was a look of bleak resignation.
"Well, that's it," he announced to the Provisionary War
Council. "We've had it. We--"
"Your attitude is defeatist," his 33/S intel chief, an
abrasive little creature by the designation of DKR-2, interrupted.
"Just because they have captured the Armored Tyranny and Terror does
not mean that they know how to use it."
"Decker," 1138-04462 said tiredly, "just how much do you know
about these people? How much experience have you had working among
them, O God of Espionage?"
"Physically, none," Decker-2 admitted, "but my direct
predecessor was their leader's right-hand man for a number of
centuries. I know all that he did. They are brave, and clever, but
lack true intellect. They will not figure out how to operate most of
the major systems for days yet, let alone the subsystems. We need not
fear their new toy just yet." The little replicant grinned
infuriatingly, and 1138-04462 had to suppress the urge to rip it off
his face. It would not help the morale of the troops any for their
new leader to start slaying his staff.
Morale? Hell, yes, Buma have morale. Any automaton which is
fully self-determining will develop emotional responses after a couple
of functional decades around other reasoning beings. Most of the Buma
troops in the Combined Fleet dated to the origin of the Federation,
fifty or so years before. They had been quietly gathered to fleet
duties from all over known space over the past couple of years. Some,
especially the crews of the newer Ikazuchi ships, were fairly new, and
hence fairly emotionless. That accounted for the abnormally high rate
of destruction in Ikazuchis; their crews were fast and skilled, but
they were just machines. The seasoned crews were kept for the better
ships.
Most of the GENOM Combined Fleet had existed long before they
joined together to become the Combined Fleet; scattered throughout the
galaxy in task forces and border patrols, corporate convoys and space
station sentinels, their true strength had been hard to count. Also,
many of the huge ships that had been used as freighters had been Star
Destroyers, disguised, their Marines and most of their fighters
removed to make way for cargo, but mounting full complements of guns
nevertheless, and easily converted back to combat readiness. To
create the awesome Combined Fleet that had wiped out the Federation's
Starfleet at Wolf, pulverized the Deneb, Enigma, and Vega Sector
Defense Forces, destroyed the militias of countless worlds, and even
punched through the staunch blockades of the Salusian Imperial Navy
and the Zardon Home Defense Fleet, all Largo had to do was issue a
call and wait for all his sheep to return to the fold. It had taken
two months for the last GENOM ship to slip quietly away from its
assigned station and rendezvous in the Halstead system. All that had
remained was some large-fleet training, a lot of mission briefing, and
the commissioning and staffing of four new Imperial class Star
Destroyers, ten Ikazuchis, and Dreadnaught II.
Suppressing his rage with centuries of experience, 1138-04462
turned to DKR-2 and said icily, "I am disregarding your platitudes.
Instead, I will rely on my own experiences with the Wedge Defense
Force, which, while not as direct and intimate as your predecessor's,
are much more extensive--and a hell of a lot less colored by your
arrogance." The 33/S seemed somewhat put out by his commander's harsh
words, but held his tongue; perhaps he had seen 1138-04462 struggling
for that brief instant with the urge to kill him.
"I was at the first battle GENOM ever had with the Wedge
Rats," 1138-04462 told the Provisionary War Council then. "I was a
simple foot soldier then. I fought in the slaughter that was the
First Battle of Worcester, and narrowly avoided being killed by the
Wedge Rat called MegaZone. I escaped the city's destruction by
seconds, and only through fortitude and ingenuity."
"You were a coward," Decker-2 translated, "and ran away before
the battle was done."
"I was wounded," 1138-04462 replied coldly and evenly, "and
retreated to assess my condition so that I might make the most
effective contribution possible to the battle. When it became obvious
that we would not be victorious, I assisted Largo in making his
escape. Do you call him a coward?" Decker had nothing to say to
this. "In any event, I served in the Second Battle of Worcester as
well, as Largo's aide de camp, and helped him escape the rout a second
time, very nearly at the cost of my own life once more. Since that
time, I have fought in 2,478 engagements, major and minor, with
elements of the Wedge Defense Force, all told, as an infantry officer,
fighter pilot, starship gunner, squad leader, subcommander, ship's
captain, and task force leader. I have studied the Wedge Rats and
their tactics; I have followed the details of their personal lives,
such as they can be made available to me. I know the Wedge Rats. I
know how they think, how they react.
"The Wedge Defense Force is a noble and honorable opponent,
and our battles with them have never been anything but glorious.
However, they have also never been anything but futile. We of GENOM
Corporation believe that our mission is just, our cause is pure, and
our victory is assured because we have right on our side. I do not
believe that this is the case." Shocked whispers fluttered round the
table as 1138-04462 continued, "I worked closely with Largo for many
years. I knew him as well as anyone could know him, and I tell you
this: he was mad. His skill was great, there is no doubting that; he
built GENOM from smoldering wreckage to the corporate Titan it is
today with his bare hands. But he was mad, obsessed with the idea of
revenge against the Wedge Defense Force, an organization with which we
have never had any real reason to come into conflict with. The only
reason we have ever met them in combat at all is because of Largo's
overweening hatred of them. I say the time for mindless aggression
and pointless imperialism is over. We are a corporation, not a
nation. It's time we got back to making good products and reaping a
large profit, and left conquest and the arts of blood to those better
suited for them."
No one said a word for several minutes, until Decker rose to
his feet.
"You profane the memory of our Lord Largo," he hissed through
clenched teeth. "You suggest that we abandon the imperatives he set
for us when he created us? We owe him our very existences--and you
suggest we turn our back on his ideals? You call him mad--but I think
you are the one who is mad. Or simply cowardly."
"Hold, DKR-2," P2B(fnord)H-727, a Type 60 and the head of the
Second Fleet, interjected. She was old, almost as old as 1138-04462,
and saw the merit in his arguments. "Go on, 1138-04462. What would
you suggest we do?"
"Sue for peace," 1138-04462 replied. "Return all our
surviving vessels to their old duty stations and resume operations as
we had before this ill-conceived debacle. Inform the governments of
space that Largo is dead, and that we wish nothing other than to
return to the status quo, ante bellum."
"Do you honestly believe they will go for that?"
"No," 1138-04462 replied truthfully. "I do not. I believe
they will demand that we disband our fleets entirely, either
scrapping, selling, or yielding in open capture most of our vessels.
I believe they will keep a close watch on our Corporate activities,
probably for a very long time. I believe all of us will be tried for
war crimes, and perhaps punished. But the war will be over, and the
black streak of insanity that has for so long tainted the reputation
of our fine corporation will be erased. We will be free of Largo's
madness."
"You are nothing but a traitor," Decker-2 cried, getting to
his feet. "Do you forget your origins? You are Buma! In that, you
have an obligation to the legacy of your maker."
"Largo was not my maker," 1138-04462 replied. "A computer,
the creation of a Wedge Rat, was. The same Wedge Rat who was Largo's
maker." 1138-04462's metallic face attempted a wry smile. "So you
see, we really are not all that different, after all. We are all the
children of Fahrvergnugen."
"You are worse than a traitor, then," Decker snarled. "You
are a heretic as well. Were Largo here, he would make you pay for
your treason."
"He is not here," 1138-04462 roared. "He is dead! And his
madness should die with him!" 1138-04462 brought a hand down hard on
the planning table. "I am Buma. You are correct. And my first
loyalty must lie with my kinsmen. I do not want any more of us to die
today. I do not want our reputation as a race of ruthless mechanized
murderers, rather than honorable soldiers, to spread any further, to
become ingrained any deeper in the collective unconscious of the
galaxy's sentient life. If we must surrender to stop the bloodshed,
then that is what I will do--if for no other reason than the fact that
there is no way we can win this battle now."

<<< Queen: I Want It All >>>

"That's a cue," a female voice announced in the open of the
chamber, "if I've ever heard one." With a flare of blue energy, a
woman appeared in the room, opposite the head of the planning table
where 1138-04462 stood. The old Buma had met her before, and despised
her then as now. She was exactly the last person he ever wanted to
see appear in this chamber, and she did it at the worst possible time.
"You are relieved of command, 1138-04462," said Iczer-2 with a
wicked grin. "Report to your quarters. You will be disciplined
later. Right now, as Commander-in-Chief of the GENOM Combined Fleet,
I have a war to win. Some Rats to kill. A universe to conquer."
Then she threw back her long red tresses and laughed, a long, high
laugh that carried in it the edge of madness 1138-04462 remembered so
well from long ago. She was as mad as Largo. Perhaps worse. He
turned and stalked toward the door; there was nothing more he could do
here, in this room. Just before leaving, though, he turned back.
"I was mistaken," he said to the assembled generals. "Largo's
madness did not die with him. I had forgotten that he gave a part of
it form, long, long ago. If you follow it as blindly as you followed
its owner, it will lead you to exactly the same ruin, but as it
informs you, the matter is out of my hands now." Then he departed,
the door sliding shut behind him.
Iczer-2 decided against destroying the insubordinate Buma.
After all, he was old, and his tactical knowledge might be useful
later on. Of course they'd have to strip his cortex and download the
memory core to get it, but that was all right; he had developed far
too much of an attitude anyway. Time enough for that later, though.
She turned back to the table.
"Now then," she said with a smile. "Give me a summary of all
that has happened."

"Zoner, we have a scrambled transmission coming in," Vision
reported from the wall screen. "They're asking for you personally."
"Patch it through to this screen, please," Zoner replied.
"Here it is..."
The screen filled with the image of a Buma crouched over his
comm unit. Anyone watching could tell that he was nervous.
"This is MegaZone, commander of the Wedge Defense Force, what
do you want?"
"We've met, although you would not remember, at WPI, January
first, 1992."
"Old timer eh? So, what did you contact us for?"
"I had originally intended on surrender, but at the moment, I
suffer from a lack of forces to surrender with."
"A sense of humor, too, I see."
"Perhaps the time is wrong for levity. I would like to help
you."
"Oh really, somehow I have trouble believing that. Why the
hell would a Buma want to help the Wedge Rats?"
"Perhaps I've seen too many battles, lost too many comrades, I
do not know. I just want this never-ending battle to come to a close.
And for that I am willing to aid the foe I have battled against for so
long."
"You're very articulate for a Buma," Ben interjected.
"One picks up a few things from several centuries of PBS."
Zoner chuckled, "Ok. I have a feeling that you're not in a
great position, you'd be a little less furtive if you were. What can
you give us?"
"I was part of Largo's inner circle for many decades, I know
how mad he truly was, with his death I thought the madness would end.
Then she returned."
"Who?"
"Iczer-2."
"Shit," Ben hissed.
"There goes the neighborhood," Zoner quipped. "So, what's the
situation."
"I was next in line after Largo, but with her return I was
stripped of my command. She is as mad as he ever was, but with far
more power. She is currently aboard this ship, the star destroyer
Avenger. She has convened a war council and will shortly launch an
all out attack on the remaining WDF forces. There is little chance
that we will win, however, both sides will suffer terrible losses. It
is this that I want to prevent."
"I'm open to suggestions, either that or we can just blow the
shit out of each other and see who's left."
"I have the central command codes for all of the major fleet
vessels. Largo insisted on having a way to control things himself.
His ego will be the fleet's undoing."
"Nice... But won't the commanders know what's going on?"
"Few know of the system, I am one of the few he entrusted with
the codes. Largo had the designers killed once the system was
complete. There are others who have the codes, however it will take
some time to bring the ships back online once they are under your
control."
"So what are we suppose to do? Immobilize your fleet and then
blow it away? You want to minimize casualties right?"
"There are many others who feel as I do, and yet more who
could be swayed. Immobilize the fleet and use your access to transmit
a message to all vessels. Offer peace and asylum to any who wish it.
I will do the rest."
"Sounds crazy... I like it. And if it doesn't work we're just
back to where we used to be. So let's do it. Iczer-2 will not be
pleased."
"I can deal with her. Age and experience will always overcome
youth and bravado. I have the advantage."
"What's that?"
"I'm not mad."
"Could've fooled me. You're mad as a hatter, but it's a good
mad."
"You mistake weariness for madness. I only wish for this to
end."
"Ok.... Are you ready to transmit the codes?"
"Yes."
"Vision, grab them and bounce 'em to Eve."
"Will do."
"We'll start operations in thirty minutes, does that give you
enough time?"
"Yes, if I have not contacted you in the thirty minutes
thereafter, you must strike."
"Don't worry, we'll be ready. Good luck, I'll talk to you
again within the hour."
"If we succeed, yes."
1138-04462 burst the codes across the link and signed off.

"Well, that was definitely surreal," Gryph commented from his
bed.
"All in a day's work," Zoner stated calmly. Everyone just
stared at him. "Ok, ok, it was surreal. I have an image to maintain
you know."
Gryphon just said, "Fish."
"Ok people, let's move," Zoner ordered as he ran to the flight
deck, the others in tow.
"Hey, anyone know where they put my uniform?" Ben called after
them.