Chapter [CHKDSK START] 7XX

Chapter [CHKDSK START] 7XX

"Our use of this technology predates the so called 'Founding of Sentient Rights' and "Twelve Basic Rights" as well as "The Declaration of Individuality" Documents and the "Right to Be Forgotten" that you have been using as an excuse to shed the blood that you are drowning the Orion-Cygnus Galactic Arm Spur with.

"We will not submit our way of life to yours.

"We will not lay down our weapons.

"We will not disarm.

"We will not submit our genecode, the most basic of all that makes a person unique, to 'binding' in the name of other being's safety.

"If you want us.

"Come get us.

"There is enough blood for all of our hands." - Steel Cauldron Assemblage rebuttal of Fourth Reformation demands, prior to the founding of the Confederacy. - Not for Public Distribution. No-XenoCom.

"Every government has hands covered in blood. Every inch of ground, every stellar system, is soaked in blood. It drips from hands of smiling beings, fills up the print left behind boots that have marched through time.

"We all know this. It is an ugly fact of existence. We all ignore it, knowing that it is a universal constant, and all pretend that our hands, our graspers, our bladearms, our claws, and our footsteps, are clean.

"The primates of TerraSol's Third Stratocracy, however, admit it. To their people. To each other. To beings like us.

"Even to themselves.

"My fellow Skencavax, my fellow plutocrats, do not vote in support of this war declaration. If you do, you will be signing in blood.

"And the primates, they will be glad to countersign in everyone's blood." - K'z'rtuk, Skencavax Plutocrat of the Nineteenth Holy Singularity Sector of the Skencavax Unified Stellar States.

"Doki?" - The Crimson Joan of the Red Claw Neko-Marines, transmitted to the Atrekna on Hesstla, Third Hesstlan Conflict.

Max glanced at one of his monitors as both the probe arrays reached the planets and did a high speed burn around each planet. They were moving fast enough that they were able to cross the planet in thirty minutes. Each missile had contained twelve scanner sats, throwing them out at different angles to maximize coverage in as little time as possible.

One planet had what looked like Planetary Defense mobilizing across the entire planet. There were ground assets, aerospace assets, sats being launched from four sites, and what appeared to be wet-navy assets steaming from a large facility.

Max turned to the other planet and wanted to groan out loud, but instead turned his attention back to counting down.

Eight unwounded of the huge shelled creatures were breaking off from the tightly clustered group.

The spreading debris from the five crystalline warships that had taken the phasic inversion charge had obviously forced the Atrekna to realize that if they just clustered together and waited he'd rip them apart nibble by nibble.

His sensors saw the thick chronotron haze in front of two of the huge creature's armored eyestalks, saw phasic energy gather at their 'mouths' and grinned.

He waited until there was a flare of phasic energy, kicked the 'pedal' that only existed in his mind, his foot stomping on the footplate, and the macro kicked in.

His ship spewed out chronotron dazzlers, strobing flashbangs, phasic buzzsaws, a C+d drone, and a single C+ round fired a split second before the engines turned him into a streak, following the C+ round. The drone streaked into hyperspace, emulating his ship's wounded signature, and reappeared eight light seconds away.

The C+ round exited hyperspace near the far planet and exploded into a .45 seconds fireworks show of chronotrons and phasic particles.

The Happy Trader dropped into the middle of the firework show with a roar of "NEVER FEAR, MAX IS STILL HERE!" as the ship dropped the almost catastrophic energy from the crash translation.

The two huge shelled creatures realized that they had spit at nothing but an echo run by a drone. The phasic energy twisted with chronotrons lanced across fifty-two light seconds to explode on a drone, which soared out of the blast, blackened and dented, but still intact.

It played an insulting tune via phasic surges at the same time as it projected a hologram thickened with phasic energy nearly a kilometer high of a cartoon female lemur that wiggled her fingers next to her ears as she leaned forward and stuck out her tongue.

While the image had no cultural reference to the Atrekna they were intelligent enough to know when they had been insulted.

It infuriated the Young Ones, who tried to order the massive genesis warships to chase the Inheritor ship. They were infuriated to the point that it took more than a little effort by the Ancient Ones and Old Ones to keep the battle plan they were forming together instead of allowing the Young Ones to disrupt the plan even further.

Max knew none of this, arcing tight against the planet, as close as he dared, even though the wisps of atmosphere buffeted his ship like hammer blows.

He checked the card up his sleeve, winced at the readout, then looked at the planet.

If they had planetary defense, it was obviously so well hidden that not even the Atrekna would find it when they took over the planet.

The readout on the card was bad.

PRIMARY CRITICAL SYSTEMS: 19%

SECONDARY CRITICAL SYSTEMS: 8%

MASS RESERVES: 11%

OPERATIONAL SYSTEMS: 12.5%

COMBAT CAPABILITY: 9%

EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT ONLY

Max gritted his teeth and grabbed the decorated lever. He watched the readout and when the tone sounded he yanked on a lever that only existed in his mind, his forearm bunching as he pulled on the grab bars at the side of his cradle.

He felt the package drop and hoped its systems were in good enough shape to get it down as intact as possible.

Good luck, guys, Max thought to himself as he oriented on the crystalline fortress ships and locked them up with targeting, the C+ cannons loading. Hopefully that piece of salvage will work.

Behind him the chunk of salvage, wrapped in ablative reentry armor, arced into the atmosphere and began to leave a black and white cloud of burnt armor, heading for a large open area in the middle of the protocontinent.

The computer systems onboard the piece of salvage were damaged, the electronic equivalent of a concussion and a brain bleed, but they examined the map loaded in, checked the inertia tracker, and adjusted the landing point.

"I am filing an emergency abandonment order for the planetary defense chain of command under the full authority of my Great Most High rank," she snapped. "Initiate."

There was a buzzing sound for almost a full minute. When the VI came back Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled.

"Log in my person as Planetary Defense Most High," she said.

"Access Denied," the VI said.

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd sighed and looked at Naxtrik. "You did not see this," she said. She drew a small datawafer casing out of her satchel. It was entirely of warsteel and had a pink 'heart' icon, favored by lemur emojis and iconography. It said "I

She withdrew the wafer and slotted it into the communicator.

The VI fuzzed. After a moment, the VI cleared.

"How may I assist you today, Planetary Defense Great Grand Most High?" the VI asked.

"Can you read the military transponders near my position?" Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd asked.

"Yes, Most High," the VI said.

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd smiled. "Excellent. Assign all of them to planetary defense. Activate the Civil Defense plans, alert the people to shelter in basements, underground parking garages, and where they can. Instruct them to take Class-I food forges and/or nanoforges with them," she said.

"Yes, Most High," the VI said.

"Alert me if any significant changes occur," Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd said.

"Yes, Most High," the VI said.

Lady Fa'ahmya'ahd turned off the communicator and leaned back. She looked at Naxtrik and Shakras.

"I hope I can comport myself even a hundredth as well as my sons and daughters have during these exciting times," she said softly. She looked out where heavy cargo lifters were taking off, escorted by strikers and aerospace fighters. "Our lives are in the lemurs' hands."

Both just nodded.

-----

The salvage had hit hard. Real hard. It had not broken apart, but it had been a close thing.

Tiny nanobots went to work, scavenging parts to fix or replace more critical parts. They scavenged trace amounts of metals, plastics, thriving on the layer of pollution deep in the ground soil that had not been reclaimed by nature or cleaned up by industry.

The mass tanks, the two that survived, were nearly full, a blessing that the nanobots couldn't really conceive as they set about their thankless tasks with all the dutiful attention of the mechanical.

Finally a connection was made and power was restored to the inside of the salvage.

No screens or lights came on. No, those were secondary priority.

Debris was cleaned away, carried to the single still functioning grinder and dumped in to replenish the mass tanks.

The cloning bank had power, and where there was power and materials, anything could be repaired.

The clone took six tries, nearly eleven minutes, to run off.

Elapsed Time: 00:00:01:38:18.16

The cyberjack slammed into the base of the skull. Self tests were run.

They came back yellow and green.

Close enough.

A panel opened up and an extendable lattice moved toward the clone. At the end of it was a scuffed and dirty boot with a shining steel toe. There was a clicking noise as stripped gears pulled the boot back, putting tension on the worn springs.

The cyberjack gave a shock directly to the clone's brainstem.

The boot swung forward, kicking the clone in the chest, the steel toe giving off and electric shock.

The lattice collapsed back into the box, which was marked "Emergency emergency resuscitation" in fading red stencil.

The clone jerked, back arcing, and collapsed into the chair, breathing raggedly as the clone slumped over the desktop.

After a long moment the clone coughed and looked up.

"Situation report," the clone wheezed.

There was only the crackle of damaged electronics and the clicking and thumping of damaged mechanics.

Most in the clone's position would have despaired.

The primary construction facility was damaged.

The mass tanks only had 11%.

Over an hour and a half had passed.

The clone smiled.

"I live, I die, I live again," Command Jane Marcus Prastini smiled, cracking open a warm can of Countess Crey Fizzybrew.