Translation: Part 2
This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.
The grunts almost looked harmless as they nosed through the underbrush, searching for who knew what. Tamryn swallowed his nervousness; they would look harmless until the moment they shrieked and charged at you with claws and teeth bursting out of their bodies like a snap-trap. Some of them could even fire their claws out of their hands — at least, that was the scuttlebutt. Tamryn didn’t believe it; he knew it was the experienced veteran’s privilege to lie to the new recruits. His older sister had told him it was both a rite of passage and a way for veterans to remind recruits that for all the training the Guild gave them, they didn’t actually know anything. There were some things only experience could teach you.
Tamryn’s grip tightened on his iron blaster. He wouldn’t have minded more experience before this operation. How strong were the null-pheromones? Could he sweat through them? Would the grunts attack if he got any closer? The squad was under orders; engage and then withdraw. Only fire his weapon in obvious self-defense. They were orders that made no sense to him, but that was the point of being a solider; you were a cog in a vast machine. The cogs didn’t know what the machine was doing, they knew only when and how to turn. That was what it meant to be a Dwarven soldier; serve well, bring honor to the Guild, and trust that someone knew what the machine was doing.
More and more, recently, it was getting harder to hold to that faith.
They were the sixth group of forward scouts sent out to harass the Hive, and there hadn’t been a squad yet that returned without wounded or even dead. They all told the same story; the grunts were silent until one of the scouts broke cover, as ordered. Upon seeing the squad the grunts would burst into action, becoming whirlwinds of teeth, claws, and muscle. It would have been bad enough had they not been under orders to not fire first.
Tamryn took a deep breath and turned to his Squad-Sergeant. She gave him a slow nod. Letting the breath out, Tamryn stood up, and walked through the grass cover, in full view of the grunts.
He held his iron blaster low, letting it hang from his chest. He couldn’t have fired if he wanted to. It went against every bit of training he had ever received, and yet it was the only way he could be certain he wouldn’t discharge his weapon in a blind panic. Sure enough, he felt his hand twitch when the grunts swung their heads around to stare him full in the face.
There was a pause. For a moment, nothing moved. In a panicked haze, Tamryn wondered if the grunts were surprised, but they were never surprised; that was what his sergeant said. They were watching him, waiting for him to make a move.
Their orders had been simple, engage the Hive and then flee. Drag the Hive’s attention closer to Site A. There was nothing in the orders about what happened if the Hive didn’t charge.
Slowly, almost involuntarily, Tamryn reached down for his rifle. No sooner had his hand gripped the cold metal, then the grunts leapt forward, claws and teeth outstretched. Tamryn fell backwards, almost tripping on his own feet as he scrambled back towards his squad. It was less than a second before he felt a blow to his stomach, and then an arm around his back. Surprise edging out panic, he realized his Squad-Sergeant had caught him and stopped him from running past his squad, deeper into the brush.
He collected himself, turning around to fight the oncoming swarm…when he realized; he wasn’t being chased.
One minute, then two. The grunts were going about their business, whatever that might have been. After a fourth minute, a flying grunt swooped overhead, crying out its horrible bird-song.
After the fifth minute had passed, Tamryn’s Squad-Sergeant waved her hands in the air. It took a moment before Tamryn had collected himself enough to recognize Combat-sign. Fighting his simmering panic, he stared intently at her hands, translating them into words. Once he understood, he nodded and gratefully ran back to the main camp.
“Not at all?” Ranthar grimaced at Tamryn’s report.
“No sir,” Tamryn’s voice was still shaking, half from fear and half from exhaustion. “They screamed at me, waved their claws…but when I ran they didn’t give chase. A flier came by a few minutes later, but nothing else.”
Ranthar turned to Horva. “That doesn’t sound like any Hive behavior I recognize.”
Sage Lot’nek waved a hand. “No matter. Must engage again. Bring to Site A.”
“We’ve had enough casualties and wounded,” Horva shook her head. “If they’ve stopped giving chase then the Hive is as curious as it’s going to get.”
Lot’nek trilled a strange sound, then spoke; “No word from spotters. No Hive Lord.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Ranthar grumbled. “If you’re so impatient to see action, why don’t you go join them? Seeing a DAO with dwarves will certainly confuse the Hive.”
The Sage didn’t respond. Horva wondered not for the first time if their silence was haughty aloofness or merely extreme focus. After a moment, they spoke again. “Champion Horva, certain we have Hive’s attention?”
“That’s not what I said,” Horva grimaced. “I said if we haven’t captured its attention by now, we need to consider a different tactic.”
“Have we its attention? I uncertain, you experienced. I value input.” There was a pause as Lot’nek raised a hand for a moment, and then lowered it. “Value your input.”
Horva took a deep breath. Getting admiration from a DAO is not what I expected to happen today. “We’ve seen the flying grunts used for scouting and warriors that aren’t attacking. They’re reinforcing their numbers, so they’re preparing for an attack. If they see we’re a strong enough force to threaten their goals, a Lord might show up with enough reinforcements to stop us. Our forces at Site A are certainly large enough…” she thought for a moment more. “If the Hive thinks our troops are well-trained, they’ll see us as a threat. If they recognize our troops are inexperienced…” she shrugged.
As if on cue, the DAO’s com-unit crackled to life. A smooth string of DAO-speak filled the air before Lot’nek turned back to the two dwarves. “Hive Lord approaching Site A. North-northeast.”
Ranthar spun around to his surrounding soldiers. “Alright, Squads one and two, escort the Sage to Site A. Stay in constant contact and keep your weapons warm. Move out!”
The Hive Lord towered over Lot’nek, or would have was it any closer. It stood as a portent of doom, like a red sky at night or a cold wind in the wet season. In the forest behind it, Lot’nek could hear the excited chittering and scratching of a thousand teeth and claws.
How was Lot’nek still standing? Xey were a Sage, not a soldier. Xey had heard of Hive Lords, read about them and their fellow breeds of Hive species, but seeing one in person…it was…
Xey knew xey were supported by the combined might of their entire assault force. A squad was arranged next to xem, with Squad-Sergeant Wythe at xer side. Almost every other dwarf soldier and DAO escort, along with two battle-suits and a special-weapons team, were arranged behind Lot’nek at this very moment, ready to open fire and provide cover for the withdraw back to the main camp.
Lot’nek sighed. If they needed to withdraw, there would be no escape. Lot’nek spoke into xer com. “Are you ready?”
“I am, head-Sage,” came the nervous reply. “I can see you clearly, and the resonator is active and passing all checks.” Lot’nek nodded to xemself. This was it; either decades worth of war would be over in a few moments, or they would all die.
The Hive Lord reared back, its craggy jaws opening to let loose a bellowing roar. The forest shadows came alive with swarms of alien shapes. Long loping limbs snaked outwards towards the squad, followed by rolling waves of chitinous spikes and plates. Snarls and shrieks proceeded the surging bodies, promising a long and painful end…
Lot’nek spared a glance at the resonator. It was humming gently, the lights flickering blue. Xey had no choice now but to place their faith in the science and engineering of the DAO Union. Xey held up xer arms at a sharp angle to xer body and shouted at the oncoming swarm: “Stop!”
The resonator churned, and for a split second Lot’nek felt nothing but despair. They had tested the machine time and time again, but they had no idea how its performance would be affected by being so close to the Hive. Had the machine been devoured by the stronger mind of the Lord?
Then the resonator coughed; a fine spray of pheromone mist burst up from the buried nozzles in the ground towards the advancing horde, quickly dispersing. From a large speaker on the main resonator, a quivering roar echoed across the field. Atop the resonator, two pieces of bone were subjected to alternating impulses of energy as tiny vibrations were agitating them; all while a synthesized chemical was being forced in and out of their inner filtering chambers in carefully measured amounts.
The affect was almost instant. The swarm ebbed, slowed, and then stopped. The ones at the front danced back and forth, looking confused as to why they had stopped. Those at the back screamed and cried in frustration while the Lord roared louder still.
The swarm began to move again when Lot’nek raised xer arms. “Stop!” Again the warbling roar, the spray of mist, and the resonator quivering beside xem.
This time, Lot’nek could see the Lord react. It twisted its head about like it was trying to shake loose something caught on one of its spines. It hissed into the air, looking around before roaring once more.
“Stop!” Lot’nek held xer arms out this time, muttering into xer com: “keep it running until I drop my arms.”
“Understood,” the tinny voice of xer sub-Sage sounded half amazed, half relieved. It was a conflicting emotion Lot’nek shared. For a moment, the field was a rolling pit of confusion as the aliens looked back and forth, sniffing the air and keening. Then, the Lord stepped forward, shoving the swarm of aliens aside. Lot’nek dropped xer arms. The pheromone spray stopped, and the air cleared.
“Hold your fire,” Squad-Sergeant Wythe ordered through clenched teeth. Lot’nek was surprised, not for the first time, at the dwarven sense of military duty. They were indeed willing to throw their lives away on the faith that their superiors knew what they were doing. Xey wondered how much evidence they had that this was true.
The Lord reached the small squad and bent down, its matte sensory organs focused directly at Lot’nek’s face. It turned its head back and forth, twisting its arms and hands in what looked like eager anticipation.
Lot’nek slowly raised xer arms and crossed xer hands in front of xer chest. “Not food.”
Again the resonator whirred. A spray of pheromones and a synthasized growl leapt into the air while the two bones atop the machine tied countless energy fields into knots.
The Lord blinked.
Lot’nek worked their lips in anticipation. They knew better than to jump to conclusions, and hope was often a prelude to just that…but all the same, they couldn’t help but imagine it was a blink of surprise, perhaps of recognition. After a moment’s pause, Lot’nek lowered their arms and rested them at their side at a bent angle. Another puff of mist followed a faint saw-tooth thrumming from the machine’s speaker. It was barely audible, even though the volume had been amplified seven-fold from their recordings.
“Peace,” Lot’nek said over the buzzing sound.
The Lord reared back, opening its mouth to let loose a gravely howl.
“Hold fire, stay calm,” Lot’nek called to the surrounding dwarves. Xey could feel their tense anxiety, ready to cut loose with their weapons in the vain hope of killing the Lord before it killed them; but they remained still.
When the Lord had finished howling, it turned back to the forest. The swarm of aliens followed, and within seconds the field was empty once more.
Lot’nek relaxed, exhaling in satisfaction. “There. Now we can —”
“Master!” Xer protege cried out over the com just as Lot-nek turned to see a dwarven iron blaster pointed directly at xer face. Squad-Sergeant Wythe was standing calmly, his eyes clear and steady as he pointed Lot’nek away from the resonator. “You’ve got some explaining to do, DAO.”
Deep in the recesses of the flow, memory was not in the past. It was a thing as present as a tree or a rock. Deep in the flow, beasts mimicked the sounds of other beasts. Some even mimicked the sounds of the Hive. It was amusing to hear such sounds come from a beast’s throat, as though they thought the Hive would be confused.
It was not the livings’ throats alone that animals tried to copy. Some put the skulls of their dead on their faces, as if one of the dead were walking again. Some beasts were able to mimic the pheromones that leaked from the living’s pores. On a very few occasions, there were beasts who even managed to mimic both sound and smell at the same time, using either their own bodies or bits of rock and fire. It had been of no consequence; the living were not interested in the play of animals.
This was the first time in the whole of the flow that an animal had spoken in the flow itself.
The local Lord had wanted to know more, and so the living had wanted to know more. With first one and then a million voices, they called for study of these strange animals and their primitive construct of rock and bone. A squad of observers were now moving towards the beast’s location. They would soon find out what kinds of beasts these were, and if they were better suited for collection, observation, or extermination.