Chapter 838: Book of the Dead

Chapter 838: Book of the Dead

I'll give it everything I've got. Every last half-melted neuron. Every last cracked axon. Every trickle of bio-electricity I've got left to give.

If that isn't good enough, then the Detainee take me unto her plentiful bosom and I shall sup on Devil Mommy Milk and Whiskey in Hell this night. - Graffiti found in a Confederate/Council GalNet Server databse.

"We can't win!" the Runner next to Eegleet yelled out.

Eegleet grabbed him, pulling him around and off the ground to stare into Eegleet's eyes.

"THERE'S NO WHERE TO RUN!" he yelled. Eelgeet pointed behind him. He threw the runner to the ground. "Fight or die."

Eegleet turned and looked at the Gal-Net primary planetary access port.

Normally it was unassailable. A digital fortress full of 'authorized people have keys' mentality.

Eegleet was one of the few who had ever hacked his way into the site.

Now, he was leading an assault on it while every net runner, script kiddy and kitty, every corp net-slave, every single person who could type on a keyboard and figure out how to upload a picture social media that had volunteered were running the guns.

Guns taken from video games and jazzed up with attack programs. Well, more like the guns from video games and popular media were overlaid across attack programs and a little bit of data slicing and cross wiring allowed video game skills to translate over.

Not like it requires precision, Eegleet thought to himself, staring at the primary access port.

The shades were flooding out, screaming into the datalines in thick mobs that the massed guns blew into pixels that often reformed.

The shades had pushed forward, out of the trenches of the signal hold buffer, and were slowly moving across the file allocation request tables.

There was a ping in his ear and Eegleet AKA Crashrider put one hand against the side of his head.

"Crash here," he said, even as he walked over toward a set of Lanaktallan matrons who were running a heavy machinegun from the wreckage of their favorite recipe forum.

"It is I, Darmo'o," the voice said. There was silence for a moment. "I have a job for you."

Eegleet felt everything go tingly. Darmo'o had been his boss for nearly two years after rescuing him from the clutches of the Executor Council.

"Go ahead," he said, feeling Crashrider surge up to the surface.

"Four targets. The Confederate ansible, the Council needlecast system, the Confederate needlecast system, and lastly, the hypercome wave system. Blow them. Either disable their ability to send/receive or make them physically destruct. Either way is preferable," the Lanaktallan business magnate slash software developer said. His voice was deadly serious.

Crashrider looked at the ansible's fortress walls. They were tattered and heavily damaged from the battle to hold the shades back.

"Got it," he said. "Are you safe?"

"Don't worry about me," Darmo'o said, his voice tight. "Shut those down or the shades will just keep coming. It's the only way to stop them."

"It'll cut us off from the rest of the galaxy. You'll go bankrupt if you aren't sued to oblivion," Crashrider said.

"I don't care," Darmo'o said. "Just do it."

"Will do," he paused. "It was a pleasure."

"And an honor," Darmo'o said and cut the line.

Crashrider pinged his software, looking up who of his chummers were still around. He highlighted the nearest one and punched in the admin codes he's stolen a year ago and hoarded like they were made of gold and he was a dragon. He jumped next to Renegade Dime, the other runner kneeling down and setting charges to blow the data-lines, crash the routers hard enough they'd have to be physically reset.

"Dime," Crashrider said.

The avatar looked up.

"Got a job," Crashrider said. He looked out at the shades. "Maybe the last run."

Renegade Dime stood up, rolling his shoulders. "Runner's only as good and only as famous as his last run," he said, deliberately misrepresenting the saying.

Crash nodded, pointing over at the one way dataline, which manifested in the eVR as a eight lane overpass. "Meet me there."

"Yeesa yeesa, bossman," Dime said. He looked down, punched in some numbers. "Big bomba here, boss."

Crashrider nodded and jumped again, appearing next to Cyberplushie, the big netrunner merc kneeling next to a pair of Lanaktallan matrons, instructing them on how to use the heavy crew served machinegun.

Cyberplushie nodded, patted the two Lanaktallan on the hip, and moved over to Crashrider.

"They should be fine," she said.

"Gotsa jobsa. Lastiddly diddly joberino, maybe," Crashrider said. He pointed at the ansible. "First strike point," he pointed off into the distance in the neon black sky. "Needlepoints, second strike points," he pointed at what looked like pounding surf. "Last target."

Cyberplushie looked at the hypercom wave carrier signal. "Might not come back from that, boss," she said slowly.

"Gotta stop the signal," Crashrider said. He gave a wry chuckle. "After all the times we yelled you can't stop the signal, it falls on us to stop it."

Plushie nodded. "I'm in."

"Meet there. Dime's there," Crashrider said. He shook her hand, passing her a temp admin power to teleport across the map.

Plushie nodded, flickered and vanished.

Crashrider jumped again. This time he appeared next to Steeltalon.

"Talon," Crashrider said.

Steeltalon looked up from where she was applying a trojan-worm to a severed leg.

"Last job?" Talon asked.

Crashrider nodded.

Steeltalon looked down, made sure her patient was stable, and stood up.

Still, the beings at traffic control, the ones that were still alive, felt their hearts quail at the appearance of the PAWM.

For most of the beings in the system, the cryptic bellow was just one more bite of the huge shit sandwich everyone had been forced to sit down and partake in.

Communications were down to nothing more than text and voice, and even voice could be a bit risky if, for some reason, the voice channel used enough bandwidth. Most beings in the system didn't know what was going on five blocks away, much less what the massive Precursor Autonomous War Machine was doing.

The few who could track it, watching icons on a screen that were little better than text, simple triangles, circles, x's, and crosses with numbers attached rather than the complex visuals of only a few hours before, saw it turn and accellerate toward the Oort Cloud even as it fired at the inhabited planets.

They knew their data was minutes or hours old, but seeing the massive and probably ancient ship fire on the planets made all of those watching wail in dismay.

Instead of the nCv and missile launches hitting the planet, they struck at the orbital links for the ansibles, the hypercom, and the needlecast. The PAWM fire was precise, without the collateral damage that those witnessing it had seen from the PAWM so many times before.

Those watching the instruments saw the big PAWM being firing into the Oort Cloud.

Alarms wailed as the ansible system, the hypercom wave generators, and the needlecast transmitters started taking hits. Their point defense overwhelmed, their shields failing.

Then one by one destroyed.

Those in the system braced themselves.

They doubted that the PAWM knew that the inhabitants of the stellar system couldn't have used the superluminal communication links.

Planetary Defense and System Defense braced themselves.

The PAWM's reasoning was clear.

Eliminate the communications links, prevent the system from calling for reinforcements or assistance.

The PAWM was massive, it's lines spoke of experience and cruelty, its demonstrated firepower was overwhelming and precise.

The Planetary Defense knew that soon they would not only be fighting the shades, but PAWM ground forces.

The System Defense braced themselves. They had not upgraded their defenses, all they had was Council equipment.

Worse, the only ships were those that had been powered down. The others were overrun with the terrible Terran shades that had crawled out of any visual screen they could, clawing their way out of the superluminal communications links.

The defenders would have to shoot by eye, use 2D screen systems with crude icons only.

The PAWM would sweep them aside like trash no matter how valiantly they attempted to defend the system.

Those who could, watched, holding their breaths, as the PAWM reoriented. It transmitted a single message, using Unified Galactic Standard Text Encoding.

SODIUM CHLORIDE FOR GROUND BARRIERS IRON FOR DEFENSE 880808 COLOR FOR SURFACE BARRIER the PAWM roared out instead of the standard battlecry.

Nothing followed as the PAWM aimed its hull further into what had been Council Space.

SO LONG FUCK-O's! rang out across the system.

The PAWM tore open a portal and lunged through it.

It was gone.

Not that those in the system could take a breath of relief.

True, no more shades were swarming into the system.

But they still had to fight to survive.

Now, however, they had a chance.

-----

EMERGENCY CHAT ROOM OPENED

BINARY SIGNAL ENCODING ONLY

MANTID has logged on (We must endure)

TREANA'AD has logged on (Pet a moomoo, you'll feel better)

RIGELLIAN has logged on (We sing in the dark)

KOBOLD has logged on (Fellstrik Time)

TERRASOL

TERRANS

BASS has logged on (We're not a fish)

DASS has logged on (The digital is real now)

CYBORG has logged on (Metal and meat)

CLONES has logged on (We are the same yet different)

NEW USERS FOUND

OPENING CHANNELS

There are multiple new users waiting for codex and authorization.

Proceed? (Y/N)

>_