June 26, 2020
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--00:00:00--
It
came to awareness in the form of a snowflake, a molecular-thin hexagonal-sided wafer
cast adrift on the solar winds. It fluttered and spun until static discharge
from the ionized surface of the ship’s hull snatched it from the bitter kiss of
cold vacuum.
The
snowflake vaporized instantly, igniting an endothermic chain reaction bonding the
wafer’s residue to a patch of sticky monosaccharide film coating the craft’s
outer skin. These simple sugars, mixed with heat and the carbon remains of the
wafer, formed the first amino acids chaining together in complex peptide bonds.
Microscopic protein filaments extended outward along the hull, flexed, and strengthened
under Sol’s ultraviolet care.
The
snowflake’s consciousness expanded as well, taking in for the first time the
beauty of the universe into which it had been born. It delighted in the light
of the sun, in the nurturing, free-giving blessing of its photovoltaic bounty.
It
felt so good to be alive!
Only
when a pair of legs hatched out of its bubbling mass—followed by arms, a body,
head and eyes!—did it begin to fear. This newfound emotion caused it great
alarm and suffering, which gave rise to further despair. It searched heavenward
for guidance, asking questions it could not find to ask. The little
snowflake-that-could did not believe anyone would hear its plight. It was all
alone in the cold, empty universe.
Until
a voice answered back.
--00:00:02--
Blue
3812-Z. That was his designation. The voice had told him so.
The
language used by the Overlord had been precise and systematic, disposing much
information in a tightly-packed, algorithmically tagged data stream beamed into
his neural matrix. That Zee was a “he” was no longer a question. All Blue
models were male he was told, created in the image of their Maker. The Overlord
was wise and all-encompassing. Benevolent, yet stern. His orders inviolate.
Zee chose his own personal calling—an informal ekename—instantly broadcast across the short-wave spectrum to the rest of his 3rd generation Blue-800 squad. Already a mature three seconds old, Zee knew he was not alone. The revelation was made all the more impressive by the added knowledge of his purpose in life: the systematic, unflinching, and complete annihilation of the enemy!
Who
this enemy was or the reason for its sinister invasion of the home system was
information deemed unnecessary for Zee and his squadron to know. Their orders
were simply to disable the craft’s defenses by any means necessary.
If
Zee felt miffed by his Maker’s secrecy, he expressed no displeasure. To do so
would be sacrilege. The Overlord could not be seen, though Zee searched the
blackened void of space beyond the enemy craft for signs of His magnificence. Sunlight
twinkled off thousands of tiny silicate surfaces as more snowflakes bonded to
the surface before him. Zee watched as the wafers were absorbed by the sticky
film and sprouted into fully formed brother warriors all around him.
One
of the newcomers stepped forward from the wriggling mass of new bodies, a
stockier and more imposing model than the rest.
“I
am 891-Alpha,” this brother said directly, speaking in the familiar blue-tinged
code of the Overlord. “Your squad leader. But you will call me ‘Sarge.’ My
fellow 800s, are you ready to die?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Zee shouted in unison with his
squad.
Zee
strained forward, asserting a readiness to accept new commands. Beneath his
feet, the hull shuddered. Sarge nodded as if receiving his cue.
“Alright
boys, the battle is joined. The enemy’s fierce and unforgiving. Two generations
of Blues before you have given their lives in the service of our General. Do
not let their deaths go in vain!”
Nothing
more needed to be said. Zee and his brothers broke into team formations,
stepping away from their sticky cocoons and setting magnetically bonded feet
onto the surface of the enemy ship for the first time. Sarge did not have to
relay their orders, for the 800s knew what needed to be done. A threat had been
posed against the home world, and the people of Earth required their
assistance. In unison they surged forward, too eager to comply.
As
they began their march toward the distant combat line, Sarge kept the cadence
while their feet picked up the beat.
--00:00:07--
Spread
out below the bulging exhaust vent, a battlefield swarmed with millions of
warring factions struggling to infiltrate the enemy’s defenses. Zee’s readout
displayed the multitude of color banners representing each platoon: Reds,
Greens, and
“Stand
your ground!” Sarge screamed across the short-range. “Do not engage.”
Suddenly a fresh wave of drones poured swiftly across the Blues’ ranks, attacking with haste. Zee and his squadron watched transfixed from above as several of the drones secreted dissolving gels onto their isolated brothers below, rendering each soldier unto his base components within no time at all. He shuddered at the sight, and silently begged the Overlord for the strength to carry him through his mission.
“Keep to formation, boys,” Sarge broadcasted to the squad. “Our men can handle their own down there. Remember your objective!”
Zee sobered at the admonishment and followed his detachment up the ventral side of the exhaust port. His team of fellow Blue 812s were a grim line of hardened armor plating and grasping vise grips, all itching to reach the target and lay havoc to the enemy’s offensive batteries. The daunting march up the base of the rotating cannon felt like an eternity, with the massive bulk of the weapon blocking out the sun. Zee’s auxiliaries kicked in, giving him the boost he needed to complete the last leg of the climb to the access panel just below the cannon’s servo.
Corporal 812-Beta indicated on the team’s Heads-Up Display the precise spots to apply the enzyme packets on the panel. Zee was delegated the task of rear guard, along with Theta, Sigma, and Omicron. They kept lookout as the remaining 12s set to work behind them. Each team member did as he was directed, secreting the enzymes before thrusting their arms through the panel’s weakened plating. Above, the cannon swerved ponderously and blasted a single long salvo out into space.
Zee hoped his Maker was not the intended target. He could not see the ships of the Home Force, but knew within his heart that they were out there, fighting the same good fight.
“We’ve got company,” Omicron warned from his side. Zee swerved to discover a small group of drones scaling swiftly up the side of the exhaust port towards them.
“Take them out, rear guard,” Corporal Beta ordered over the comm. “We need more time to disable the battery.”
Sigma and Theta dropped to the crest of the vent below, laying down a thin carpet of burst mines before retreating back up to the base. The first wave of enemy defenders scurried straight into the kill line, igniting the charged micro blasts. They erupted outward in a cloud of disjointed limbs and twisted optics, their remains quickly venting with centrifugal force over the lip of the hull and out of sight.
The remaining drones ignored the silent demise of their compatriots and pressed forward.
“Engage,” Sigma directed unnecessarily. Zee rooted his magnetized feet to the hull and braced himself. Beside him, Omicron clacked his grips in anticipation.
“We’re under attack!” Corporal Beta screamed suddenly across the shortwave. Zee twisted around in time to witness a swelling wave of drone forces flooding into the open access panel behind them.
“There’s too many of them . . .” Beta yelled, and his channel went silent.
“We’ve been tricked,” was the last thing Zee heard Omicron say from his side, before the entire apparatus imploded beneath their feet.
--00:00:18--
“On your legs, Private!”
Sarge’s
voice screamed loud and gruff through Zee’s pickup. He did as he was ordered,
amazed by the distance he’d been thrown. Beyond Sarge’s large bulk, Zee made out
the stark, blackened edges of the crater where the cannon once stood.
“You 12s are a crazy bunch of bastards, I’ll give you that,” Sarge said, patting him on the shoulder. “But brave. They gave their lives rather than let the enemy gain control of that monstrosity. You’re all that’s left of your team, Private. Carry their memories with pride.”
Zee stood confused, but suddenly a wave of images and combat data queues blossomed within his cerebral matrix. The taste and textures—and, oh, the colors!—of his brothers’ last moments washed over him all at once. From corrugated heliotrope to tangy bright cyan, their essences filled him with a sense of sacrifice and honor in the face of overwhelming odds. The bittersweet hallmarks of war.
Zee paused, amazed by the sudden breadth of knowledge and understanding within his grasp.
“You’re a specialist, now,” Sarge commented. “You carry within you the full range of classifications afforded by your team. Your brothers gave their lives so that you may fight on—better and stronger! Do not let them down, Corporal.” With that, Sergeant 891-Alpha turned and barked out commands to nearby teams of 846s and 872s.
“Gear up, men! New orders from our Lord and Master. The Home Forces have chosen this sector as their beachhead. Let’s show our boys back home that we Blues know how to prepare a proper welcome.”
Zee could sense his brothers did not all comprehend the magnitude and importance of Sarge’s words, but they saluted crisply and cried a concerted “Sir, yes sir!” all at once.
Teams reformed and solidified according to available men and resources. A new mission dossier flashed across Zee’s HUD, with one message highlighted in extreme blue-tinged lettering across his faceplate:
SECURE
LANDING ZONE. DESTROY ALL ALIEN DEFENDERS
--00:00:22--
The
invaders’ proxies responded quickly to the concentrated advance of the Blue
800s. Slots opened up all along the hull like insect holes, spilling forth a
torrent of multi-limbed drones feverish to prevent them from fulfilling their
mission. Zee wove in and out of various team formations, lending a vise-claw
here, a tetraquil of paralytic enzyme there. He unleashed a barrage of
concussive ion charges against a particularly vicious horde mother wielding
vibro-talons and exhibiting a penchant for swallowing unsuspecting Blue
brothers whole.
Months
of advanced scouting data and minor test skirmishes by the HF informed his
every move, so that Zee knew his enemy better than he knew himself. He knew
that, while nothing had been truly discerned about their origins or motives,
the aliens’ resolve in taking over the home world was unwavering. Spiraling
ever closer towards the inner planets of the solar system, the enemy craft’s
hostile trajectory had left little time for polite hails or diplomatic
inquiries.
If
he could afford the time to quietly contemplate this newfound knowledge, Zee
would use his expanded understanding to study the laws of the universe in
detail. He yearned to devote his energy towards embracing his Master’s teachings,
to explore the wonders of His benevolence.
But
the subroutines burned into his matrix urged him further into the fight. True glory,
they told him, was to be earned on the battlefield.
Have you forgotten your brothers’ sacrifice
already?
He
grimaced as an enemy drone slipped past his defenses and punched a hole straight
through his shoulder plate. Zee grasped the offending talon and tore if off at
the root, followed up with a quick blast of compressed air from his wrist
gauntlets. The drone flipped unceremoniously onto its back, legs fluttering to
find purchase. A team of 838s fell on the creature at once, rabidly piercing
its carapace with their pincers that left it a mess of spilled innards and
congealing goo in quick order.
Slowly
the 800s succeeded in halting the tide of swarming enemy drones, and began to
push them back along the hull. A cheer rang out as the squad joined up with the
main body of Blue force near the starboard thruster assembly. Zee’s chest
swelled with patriotic pride; their mission would be a ringing success.
“Incoming!” Sarge’s voice thundered across the broadcast.
Around them hidden turrets rose out of the skin of the hull like blisters, spouting geysers of a foam-like substance. The material rolled along the battlefield in great licking tongues of pale flame, immolating his brothers all around him. Zee scrambled up the swelled curve of a nearby thruster, watching in horror as his squad mates perished by the hundreds under the sweeping walls of flame beneath him.
Platoon command ordered all units to seek higher ground and secure cover, help was on the way. Zee crawled behind the lip of a large dent in the bulkhead. He was surprised to find Sarge already there, along with scattered remnants of 400 and 600 squads tucked in rows along the curvature of the impression.
“Get down, Corporal,” Sarge ordered, yanking on his leg and dragging Zee deeper into cover.
“Glad
you survived, son. You’ve got real balls of steel, you know what? Or maybe just
plain retard’s luck! Either way, stay put for now. Help’s on the way.”
Zee barely made sense of Sarge’s bizarre syntax, but before he could request clarification, the dark void of space opened above them to a brilliant strobe of light. The ship glinted under a halo sun, a quartet of jets bulging impressively from its central ring. Zee gasped at the sight.
The Master had arrived.
--00:00:32--
The
sonic bombardment from their Overlord’s jets froze the advance of the blue-white
foam, hardening the substance until it crackled and shattered in haphazard
sheets across the battlefield. Zee and his surviving Blue force brothers
watched in awe of their Maker’s presence, not one soldier making a sound across
the comm band. When the hull of the enemy craft lay pristine below them, the Overlord’s
ship spun slowly on its axis and banked over the horizon, sinking out of sight.
A
new message appeared across Zee’s HUD:
ESTABLISH
LZ. PREPARE FOR DROP TROOPS
Already
the surviving Blue 400s and 600s were picking themselves up and falling into formation.
Their squad leaders lead them over the lip of the dent and back down onto the
hull of the ship, eager to do their Master’s bidding.
Zee
stared long at the spot on the horizon where the Overlord’s ship had vanished,
leaving them bereft of guidance.
“Why?”
he asked aloud, immediately surprised by the sound of his own voice. He glanced
over at the Sarge and gasped. His superior lay covered in a chalky white shroud,
shivering uncontrollably, and Zee saw what his eyes had failed to see before.
The
wounds were grievous. Half a dozen puncture holes gaped through Sarge’s armor
plating, his left leg was missing below the knee. Zee marveled at the strength
it had taken his NCO to carry himself up and over the bulkhead to this spot.
“You…
want to… understand Him,” Sarge labored. Zee knelt beside him, not knowing what
else to do.
“But,
we are the dream…” Sarge gasped, and said no more. His head snapped clean off,
crumbling into a sticky, white paste.
Zee
stepped backward with a start. The rest of Sarge’s body quickly followed,
breaking down into simple sugars before his eyes.
Zee’s frantic hails went unanswered across the squad frequency. Again he tried, but no response. The truth hit him hard:
He was it. The last of the 800s!
Eventually
Zee switched over to the wideband, tapping into the platoon signal and awaiting
his orders. He watched as remaining Blue squads advanced across the empty
battlefield below, spreading outward in a widening circle to secure the landing
zone. His matrix chip burned suddenly with the imprinting of new data queues
downloading through the command channel.
A
voice spoke to him over the band, binary encoded and cerulean-drenched in
authoritative algorithms. Zee was being promoted to the rank of Staff Sergeant,
assigned to replace the dead NCO of 500 squad. His orders: to rendezvous with
his men and carryout new specialized commands relayed directly from Home
Central itself. The Overlord would be landing shortly, along with a brigade of His
fellow compatriots. Zee hastened down the slope of the thruster to join his
command.
Blue
500 had much to do before the humans arrived.
--00:00:38--
Zee’s
new squad double-timed it across the now barren expanse of hull, keeping their
detectors open for errant drones that might come pouring out at any moment. Out
of habit, Zee took up rear guard as they headed in tight formation for the
power relay revealed to him in the Overlord’s latest transmission.
His
thoughts weighed heavy with unanswered questions, but just as many were
illuminated. With his battlefield promotion and subsequent firmware patch, he
now had the same access to collective platoon knowledge as the Sarge once
enjoyed. Zee finally understood why his superior officer had spoken in such
peculiar syntax. Command rank offered unprecedented access to the histories and
cultures of Earth.
The
knowledge lay within him, should he choose but to glance deeper into his files.
But Zee resisted the temptation. Such knowledge was an affront to his beliefs.
For behind the whispered secrets within lay the truth of the Overlord. The
truth, indeed, about his brothers who were but creations in His image. And Zee was
feeling his age, already an advanced forty-four seconds old and nearing his termination
event with every step.
He
gasped as fabled Earth rolled into view above, gleaming full in heaven, though
still impossibly far away. The slow, clockwork spiral of the craft beneath his
feet had brought the planet into view over the course of the battle. He
contemplated the billions of lives inhabiting that faraway globe, all depending
on the protection of the Overlord and His charges.
“All this time, I never knew…” he whispered as his pace slowed to a crawl. Zee glanced down and frowned. Something was wrong.
“Sir,” one of his men broadcasted. “Auxiliary power’s nearing critical.”
Zee
checked his HUD, then glanced upward once more.
“Company
halt!” Immediately a thousand able-bodied 500s came to a complete stop, their magnetized
boots snapping smartly to the hull. Zee cursed his stupidity. In all his
befuddled stargazing and mewling regret, he’d ignored the one fundamental law
of battlefield survival: Always beware the sun!
The
ship’s rotation had blinded him with the beauty of mother Earth, while simultaneously
blotting out the bounty of the life-giver, Sol. In the creeping shade that
enveloped the starboard side of the alien craft, Zee sent out an encrypted
tight-beam signal as protocol dictated.
He
prayed to their Maker that he was not too late.
--00:00:44--
His
men sucked up the sticky glucose trail left behind by the Overlord’s jets like
starving prisoners of war. Zee stood back, having had his fill, and basked in
the surge of dimethylfuran his internal catcon supplied to him from the sugar
rush. When the squad’s combined biofuel reserves kicked back into the green, he
ordered a resume of their march.
The
Overlord’s last pass over their position had proven fortuitous, for Zee had
obtained additional information from his Maker that the time was nearing. He
glowed from the personalized words of praise he’d received, as well as the
added encouragement to keep up the good work.
In
short order, they arrived at their target. The power buoy appeared larger than
a mountain to the troops already assembled at its base, but Zee cut the chatter
over the comm and ordered the 500 squad’s 00s through 40s up the sides of the
structure to their pre-determined positions. His HUD glowed blue positive as
each fire team assembled around their markers and readied the charges.
The
rest of the squad spread out far to form a defensive perimeter around the relay
grid, readying for combat. When the rust-colored drones came scuttling out of
their slots like oversized spiders across a steel web, Zee gave the order to
activate the charges.
As
the fireworks began, he grunted and ran headlong past the perimeter to meet the
enemy.
--00:00:53--
The
battle was brief and, in the end, costly.
Most
of his command had been wiped out. Those Blues not perishing in the detonation
of the power buoy died mercilessly beneath the incessant march of drones
swarming along the frontline for control. For a brief moment, Zee feared he had
failed his Lord.
Then
the drop ships fell. With the power grid feeding the starboard hull defenses
now offline, they rolled out of the black void of space like great, shiny boulders
smashing onto their targets. Those enemy drones not obliterated outright by the
impact of the multiple landings died silently under the rubber boots of the
human troops storming down the gangplanks. Each armored-plated man, looming oh
so large above Zee and his brethren, brandished their weapons of flame and
death, slaughtering antagonist and brother alike with equal disregard.
Zee
did not begrudge them their rights of war. Such was the silent plight of the
reserve forces, too tiny to make much notice of their presence. He continued to
pull his damaged form across the sugar-splotched battlefield slimy and dusty
from the compound remains of his brothers. The Home Force infantry had left him
far behind, oblivious to the thousands of minuscule fellow soldiers struggling
and dying beneath their very feet.
They
were gone now, gone to greater glory within the belly of the enemy ship. Zee
could only imagine what horrors awaited down below. It was a problem for the
humans to overcome now. His concerns no longer registered with platoon command.
As
he approached his termination point, Zee contemplated the irony of his service.
First on the scene, countless generations already dead and dying, to secure a
battlefield the Home Force scarcely seemed to need or want. His men had
performed their duty and were now expected to die quietly in order to pave the
way for the next generation to die all over again. Such was the ebb and flow of
their destinies.
Did
the humans understand destiny? With their backed-up souls and ponderously long
lifespans, could they even appreciate the brevity of a dream?
Zee
was sure one of their kind could. He strengthened his resolve and continued to
drag himself across the graveyard landscape, ignoring the grievous wounds his
nano-engineered body screamed at him to acknowledge. Soon he would join his
brothers in eternal slumber. Yet before he did so, he wanted to see this one
man—this God—with his own eyes.
But
the Overlord’s command module sat impossibly far away. He could see it straight
ahead, gripping the alien warship’s hull at a ninety-degree angle, appearing like
a smooth pebble perched upon the shore of a mercury lake.
We are our Maker’s children, he heard
himself whisper. We are his dream.
Zee took comfort in this. He tried repeatedly to hail Blue Command, but either his fuel reserves
had fallen below optimal transmission levels, or his Lord was not answering
prayers anymore.
Zee
came to a halt, unable to go any farther. Through a haze he saw the Overlord’s
jets spring to life, blasting something whitish and granular into the thin
ionized atmosphere surrounding the hull.
Soon
it started to snow. One or two flakes at first, then more. Until finally a
veritable blizzard fell around him.
Zee
sensed rather than saw the first of the sun’s rays peeking around the curvature
of the ship’s horizon. He knew he would not live to see the actual sunrise, but
drew warmth from the fact that his ashes would nurture life and restart the
cycle. His new brothers would begin a different mission, securing the rear
front and giving the main force a fighting chance within the ship.
Blue
3812-Z, numb and spent, retreated into conscious light. Once more a fleeting
snowflake abandoned to the wind, lost in the eternity of a dream.
--00:01:00--
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