When Worlds Collide

Chapter 1 – Lost Brother

L’Cor stumbled briefly as he walked down the unsteady ramp.  At first he thought that the ramp was feeble and bouncing more than was safe, but a moment later, he realized that the bouncing and unsteadiness had more to do with his current inebriated state than the questionable safety of the shuttle ramp.  He swore under his breath as the white hot sun stabbed through his eyes and seared a raging path deep into his alcohol soaked brain.  He patted his pockets desperately; where the hell were his shadis?  His clumsy fingers probed his face and he found his the frames of his shadis resting over his nose.  If he were wearing his shadis, why in Hade’s stinking armpit was it so bright?  His fingers probed some more until his drunken mind managed to absorb the fact that his fancy expensive aviator style shadis were missing the lens.  Somehow, as he tossed in turned and otherwise decorated the first class section of the transcontinental shuttle with the previous night’s overindulgence, both lenses had popped out of his shadis.  He cursed again and in a moment of impetuous rage, ripped them off his face and threw them away.  He had worked a shitty job all summer before his last year of high school to buy those shadis, but right now, he didn’t care.  It had been a long time ago.

He squinted his eyes and wobbled his way into the spaceport terminal.  Where the outside temperature had soaked his clothes with his own sweat and stink, the temperature inside the spaceport felt like the inside of the meat freezer where he had spent the last summer before his last year of high school.  The cold air hit his already dizzy brain and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that the world would stop spinning.  He needed to get his bearing so he forced his eyes open and looked around.  He instantly regretted this action as the hurricane inside his stomach turned into a blazing volcano.  He dropped to his knees as he expelled sour vile liquid onto the pristine spaceport floor.

Before he even had time to feel disgusted, a maintenance robot zipped up from out of nowhere and with an almost happy hum, vacuumed and mopped L’Cor’s vomit away.  L’Cor felt that that was almost like a metaphor of his life - one big huge mess that was quickly cleaned up, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell of a man.

Surprisingly, L’Cor actually felt almost human again and was finally able to drag himself to the baggage reclamation area.  Once there, he spotted his mottled black and green duffle bag.  He grabbed the floating bag out of the levitation tube and slung it over his shoulder.  With his meagre worldly possessions close to him once more, he felt a little bit more like his usual self.

On his way out of the spaceport, he stopped off to buy another pair of shadis.  Unfortunately, the only styles that the little shop had were the new wrap-around visors that were so popular with the younger generation.  L’Cor felt a moment of remorse at throwing away his aviator shadis but quickly quelled it.  Without lenses, they were nothing but empty frames.  Just another reminder of what he was today.

He paid for the visor shadis and checked himself out in the holo-mirror.  He looked like an idiot.  He took off the shadis was about to throw them away when a flash of blue caught his attention.  His dark blue eyes, reflected back from the holo-mirror had not lost any of their sharpness - eyes that were one of the many features that he had shared with his brother.  L’Cor slammed the visor back over his eyes before his thoughts could stray into dangerous territory.

He stalked out of the spaceport and hailed a taxi cab.  As the hover vehicle pulled up, its door slid open.  L’Cor tossed his duffle bag inside and got in.

“What is your destination please?”  The robot driver’s voice was pleasantly neutral.  It sounded neither male nor female.

“Hinton Embassy Hotel,” snarled L’Cor.  “And turn down the lights will ya?”

“As you wish sir.”  The windows in the cab dimmed to an almost night-time level.

L’Cor muttered to himself.  He hadn’t intended on snapping at the driver.  It was just doing its job.  His headache was starting to wear off he was feeling a little sheepish about his grumpy mood.  “Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you.  I just have the mother of all hangovers, you know?”

“No need to apologize,” said the driver.  “May I suggest a Fizzy-pop?  It is said to cure hangovers.”

“What the frak is a Fizzy-pop?”

In response, a bottle filled with clear green liquid popped out of the dispenser in front of L’Cor.  Curious, L’Cor picked up the bottle and twisted off the cap.  The bottle fizzed as it opened.  L’Cor sniffed hesitantly before taking a long gulp.  The liquid was cold, sweet and heavily carbonated.  The drink burned a path down his throat and only his orbits of heavy beer drinking prevented him from gasping from the pain.  The flavour was not unpleasant and after an embarrassingly loud belch, L’Cor’s headache actually faded slightly.

“Thank you,” said L’Cor with feeling.

“You are very welcome sir.  The Fizzy-pop is the current fad among the young people here these days.  If you ask me, I would say that they finally got something right.”  The robot driver’s voice was melodious and humorous at the same time.

L’Cor didn’t respond right away and as if sensing his need for silence, the robot driver did not say anything else.  L’Cor stared out the window at the unfamiliar city.  Here…It was funny how his perspectives changed with time.  When he was younger, ‘here’ was simply his hometown of Avon Mist.  When he joined the military, ‘here’ was first his boot camp and then it was wherever he was stationed.   Now ‘here’ was New Neomar, the reborn city.  “I can’t believe how clean everything looks.  I can’t see any signs of battle here.”

“That is because there was no battle here sir.”

L’Cor looked to the front of the cab where the robot driver’s head had turned around 180 degrees.  The driver’s vaguely human shaped head with its large eyes regarded him expectantly.  “What’re you talking about?” demanded L’Cor.  “This is Neomar, where they blew up that frakkin’ hive right?”

The robot ignored L’Cor’s profanity and launched into a lecture.  “This is actually New Neomar.  The old Neomar is nothing but radioactive ruins.  The Royal Gayan Armed Forces could not oust the Saxx from their hive and after several attempts, which saw the end of many young lives, decided to use atomic weapons.  Old Neomar is over 500 miles south of where we are now.  The name New Neomar was later given to this city to celebrate the destruction of the first Saxx hive on Gaya.

L’Cor glanced in the direction that the robot driver indicated.  His mind was suddenly thrown back almost six orbits ago, on another continent of Gaya, where atomic weapons had also been used.

*

“Pull back!  Pull back!”  The voice coming through his helmet speakers was thin and grainy.  The S-Wave communicator was supposed to provide crystal clear communications in the heat of battle.  However, L’Cor was sure that the engineers who designed the frakkin thing had never been in a battle.  The rumble of gunfire and explosions could be felt and heard even while nestled in the combat harness in the cockpit of his MAAC.

L’Cor’s transmitter was built into his helmet’s chin guard and he used his chin to key it before barking, “This is Captain Penrag’n.  All tri-quad elements pull back.  I repeat, all tri-quad elements pull back now!  Thernuke incoming!  I repeat, thernuke incoming!  ETA eight minutes!”

L’Cor stared at his scanner screen while putting his MAAC into a long loping run.  He counted twelve steady green lights that represented the twelve MAACs in his tri-quad.  The battle had been going relatively well and he had not lost anyone yet.  The mission brief had seemed simple at first.  The Saxx were suspected of building another hive in the Badlands and his tri-quad was sent to investigate.  L’Cor’s tri-quad was a mixed bag.  He had one quad of heavy MAACs, one quad of medium class MAACs and his younger brother commanded the recon quad of MAACs.  As per standard operating procedure, R’Tus’s quad had dropped first and was promptly ambushed when they were about ten miles from the suspected zone – a mountain range in the Badlands.  Upon hearing R’Tus’s initial reports, L’Cor had cancelled the regular drop order and immediately dropped both medium and heavy quads at the same time.  L’Cor had dropped last from the air-carrier.  Moments after he had slid down the ramp, the air-carrier was hit and blown out of the sky.  That was when L’Cor knew for sure that someone in Intelligence had seriously frakked up.

On the way down, L’Cor had juked his jump jets in random patterns but couldn’t prevent his heavy Drac’en MAAC from being hit several times.  Fortunately, none of the hits were crippling and he had been able to fight his way out of his LZ.

An alarm suddenly chimed and L’Cor twisted his waist instinctively.  His human shaped Drac’en MAAC copied his muscle movement – thanks to his skin-tight neural suit – and dodged the plethora of red bolts that screamed past.  L’Cor followed his twisting motion through by pulling up his right arm and cutting loose with his MBC.  The gigantic multi-barrel cannon that was mounted on the forearm of his Drac’en spat hundreds of rounds of armour piercing and high explosive bullets.  L’Cor’s ammunition load alternated armour piercing and high explosives.  The theory was that if the first round failed to kill a Saxx, then the second round would at least slow it down.

Either the theory was right or it was the sheer volume of fire that worked, L’Cor’s target – a Saxx in powered armour – collapsed and didn’t move again.  L’Cor quickly scanned the Saxx for vital signs and when he didn’t see any, grimly said to himself, “If the first round doesn’t kill it, then the next hundred and ninety nine will.”  That was where his and R’Tus’s fighting styles were different.  R’Tus preferred finesse with the one shot kills while L’Cor liked to bull his way through any opposition.  Thinking of his brother made him check his scanner screen again.  “R’Tus!  Pick it up little bro!  You’re gonna be the main course at the BBQ in a few minutes!”

“I’m trying bro!”  R’Tus’s voice sounded like it was a hundred miles away.  “…am…swarmed…Lis is down…I’ve…some damage…jets…fire support…”

L’Cor enhanced his scanner screen.  Sure enough, 2^nd Lieutenant Liselle Teshen’s MAAC was showing damage to its legs.  “Lieutenant Teshen!  Get ready to bail out!” ordered L’Cor.

“Ack…ged…sir!”  Lieutenant Teshen’s voice was tinny, but her tone was steady.  L’Cor grinned tightly.  Teshen was a good pilot with tremendous potential.  L’Cor was going to enjoy teasing her about getting her MAAC damaged so early in the fight when they all returned to HQ later.  Who knows?  Maybe the teasing would lead into some private tutoring with the feisty redhead!

“R’Tus!  Heads up little bro!  I’m sending a flight of AROWs your way!”  L’Cor hit a button on his left handed control and a large cylindrical missile flew out the blocky launcher mounted on his Drac’en’s left shoulder.  The missile arched high up into the air and then broke apart into ten smaller missiles.  Each of the sub-munitions seemed to hover for a second before suddenly accelerating downwards.  The L-Wave engines in each missile kicked in as their optical sensors picked out individual targets.  The warheads were almost invisible as they streaked down on beams of incandescent light.

“Nice…s…L’Cor!  Chalk up...ten for the…killing machine!”

“No time to chit chat little bro!  Get Lis out of her MAAC and get her out of there!”

“Already done…her to Rosba…holding rearguard…”

“What’re you talking about?”  L’Cor felt a hand clutch his chest as he watched two green lights from R’Tus’s quad break away.  That still left two MAACs left behind.  One was obviously Teshen’s abandoned MAAC.  That meant that the other one was R’Tus.  “R’Tus!  Retreat dagnag-it!  There’s a thernuke on the way right now!”

“Can’t…free…bro…boiling…of the ground.”  Frequent gunfire could be heard as R’Tus spoke.  “Jensen, Rosba!  Get Lis…of here!  Get home safe!”

L’Cor’s AROW round had left a camera hovering up in the air.  He linked into the video feed and watched in growing horror as hundreds of Saxx seemed to magically emerge from the mountain range.  Under the telescopic view of the camera, L’Cor could see that the Saxx had literally carved a chunk out of the mountain.  From satellite, it would appear like a normal mountain, however down near the ground, the oval shape of a fully functional hive was unmistakeable.

L’Cor zoomed in on R’Tus’s Wyv’en MAAC.  R’Tus had lost the heavy shield from his left arm early on in the ambush.  L’Cor watched as the Wyv’en’s left arm reached back and pulled out an extra long monofilament cutter while the Wyv’en’s right hand weapon, a medium sized auto-cannon, fired short controlled bursts into the tide of Saxx.  L’Cor zoomed out to see the bigger picture.  R’Tus’s MAAC looked like a tiny human wielding a sword and a gun against a horde of giant three-legged alien bugs.

2^nd Lieutenants Jensen and Rosba suddenly boosted past L’Cor, their jump jets were glowing red from over usage.  Their Wyv’en MAACs were heavily scarred and Rosba’s Wyv’en had its hands cupped in front of her as if holding something precious.  L’Cor wanted nothing more than to run to his brother’s aid, but he had other people who needed him now.  “Rosba!  I’ll take Lis into my Drac’en.  She won’t survive if you keep bouncing her around like that!”  L’Cor’s Drac’en was a modified command MAAC.  His cockpit was enlarged to hold an optional person for monitoring communications.  Due to personnel shortages, L’Cor didn’t currently have a communications officer so the seat above him was empty.

The transfer took a few precious minutes but soon Liselle Tenshen was safely inside.  L’Cor glanced up and saw her shapely legs.  “You alright Lis?”

“I’m fine sir,” said Lis in a clipped tone.  “I think I have some broken ribs but that’s all.  Thanks for the pick up.”

“Ready for another go at the Saxx?  I need to bail out my little brother.”

“With all due respect sir, that won’t be possible.  Look!”

L’Cor looked to the left and saw a blazing line of fire.  “Oh frak it!”  Indecision gripped him at that moment.  His brother was still in the midst of hundreds of Saxx.  Brotherly bonds demanded that he go save his brother.  However, duty to his people meant that he had to get the rest of his team to the minimum safe distance.  It wasn’t just his hide or even Liselle’s.  Both Rosba and Jensen’s Wyv’ens had shown obvious wear and tear to their jump jets.

L’Cor was just about to key his S-Wave to tell his brother that he was coming when R’Tus beat him to the punch.  “I see it big bro!”  Ironically, R’Tus’s voice was coming through crystal clear this time.  “Get going!  Get my quad out safe and get them home!”

L’Cor launched his last AROW missile and then pushed his Drac’en to maximum speed.  He jettisoned all of his weapons and quickly caught up to Jensen and Rosba.  He put a titanic hand on each of their backs and timed his next jump with theirs.  “Jensen, Rosba!  By the numbers….boost!”

L’Cor kept looking at the ETA of the thermo-nuclear missile.  There was about thirty seconds left.  Thirty seconds to say a lifetime of things to his little brother.  Thirty seconds to tell his brother that their parents – if they were alive today – would be proud of him.  Thirty seconds to tell his brother that he loved him.  He opened his mouth but no sounds came out.

“Tell him!” hissed Liselle.  “Tell him that you love him!”

“I…”

“Hey bro!  Don’t get mushy on me now!”  R’Tus’s voice was coming through a bit strained.  He was obviously pushing himself and his MAAC to both for their physical limits.  “Hey Lis?  You’re a great pilot!  And because I know he’d never say anything, L’Cor thinks that you have great legs!  Take care of the big lug for me ok?”

There was a pause of a few seconds.  The timer on L’Cor’s screen read five seconds.  When next R’Tus spoke, it was with great exertion.  “I…good-bye L’Cor.”

There was a brief flash of light before the Drac’en’s sensors automatically blanked out.  Tears were streaming down L’Cor’s face.  The shockwave hit him in mid-air but he struggled with the controls to keep himself, Jensen and Rosba righted.  As the trio of MAACs touched down again, L’Cor whispered to no one in particular, “Good-bye.”

*

L’Cor woke up with a start and realized that the taxicab had stopped moving.  He glanced out the window and saw a huge pristine building with the words Hinton Embassy Hotel.  He was here.

“Will you be participating in the games sir?” asked the robot driver in a metallically respectful tone.

L’Cor shook his head sharply like a wet daggit shaking water out of its pelt.  All traces of his hangover were gone.  What was in that drink?  He would have to stock up on the Fizzy-pops!  “Yeah, I came here to enter the Tournament.”

“Have you purchased a Mick?  Ownership of a Mick is mandatory to enter the tournament.”

L’Cor frowned.  What was with the twenty questions?  “No I haven’t got a Mick yet.  I have read the rules you know.”

“I apologize sir.  I merely wanted to point out that if you do not currently own a Mick, you have two options.  You may purchase a new model directly from the factory of any one of the manufacturers.  I have loaded their locations on this map card.”  The robot driver extended a mechanical appendage and passed a small flat box to L’Cor.

L’Cor took the box and a three dimensional hologram sprang up from it.  The hologram showed a 3D map of the city of New Newmar.  There were several blinking red dots clustered in one part of the city.  L’Cor assumed that these were the factories currently producing Micks.  He noticed a blinking blue dot and pointed it out to the driver.  “What’s this blue dot?”

“That,” said the robot patiently, “is Ivan McMac’s Shop.  He sells used Micks, spare parts and other useful modules.  You would be wise to pay him a visit.  Very few new contestants in the game can afford a new Mick.”

“Don’t bet on that,” said L’Cor under his breathe.  He knew from his research that his veteran’s pay out was just enough to buy a basically configured new Mick.  It would be enough to get him into the game.  He figured that after facing hordes of giant three-legged aliens, these pansies who thought they were warriors should be pushovers.

“In the lobby of the hotel, you will find many possible sponsors.  With a sponsor supporting you, you will not have to worry about living and maintenance expenses.”

L’Cor nodded to the robot.  He had thought about that too.  A sponsor was basically a large corporation or a group of smaller companies who paid for a contestant’s living and maintenance expenses.  In return though, you have to fight when they told you to fight and you also had to promote whatever product or agenda they were trying to sell to the general public.  After fifteen orbits of military service in the war, L’Cor was fairly certain that he would rather starve than march to someone else’s tune.  He stared wistfully at the hotel and sighed.  A sponsor could easily afford to put him up in a fancy hotel for a few nights but his veteran’s pay out could not without digging into his budget for a Mick.  “Keep the meter running.  I’m just going in to register as a contestant.”

“Actually sir, with all due respect, you do not have to register here,” said the robot driver.

L’Cor raised his eyebrows in surprise.  “Really?  I thought all new contestants had to register at the Hinton to get into the game.”

The robot driver shook its head.  “Actually sir, that is just a trap to get new contestants to sign up with a sponsor and to buy a new Mick.”

A bulb of light flicked on in L’Cor’s head.  “Of course!  If I go in there, the sponsors would be circling around me like vul’pits over dead meat.  They’ll get me to sign up and mortgage my soul with promises of fancy living and new equipment.”

“Exactly sir.”

“Well, where else can I register?”

“Anywhere that you can find a Tournament Kiosk, sir.  There is one at Ivan McMac’s Shop.”

L’Cor slapped his thigh and came to a decision.  “Ok, take me there.”

As the driver silently drove, L’Cor reflected on how close he had come to making a big mistake.  Almost half of his life had been spent in the service of his planet.  Almost fifteen orbits of taking orders and killing alien invaders and when the war was finally done, all he got was a lousy pat on the back and a cheque for two hundred thousand credits.  At least his brother got a state funeral and a death bonus cheque of three hundred thousand credits that went to their last living relative - their sister Qu’wen.

Two hundred thousand credits was more than enough to start a new life, but L’Cor’s brief stint as a regular civilian ended when he almost threw his idiotic boss out the window of the fast food restaurant.

The taxicab came to a stop outside of a large warehouse that had a small storefront.  “What’s the damage?” asked L’Cor.

The driver gave him a robotic shrug and said, “The fare has been paid for by Ivan McMac sir.”

L’Cor laughed.  So that was how that worked!  Well at least a cab ride was easier to swallow than a life contract to a bunch of corporate hacks!  “Thanks,” he said as he grabbed duffle bag and exited the taxicab.

The storefront had a used but well maintained look.  Beside the door was a mechanical humanoid figure that stood at least twenty feet.  To L’Cor, it looked like a miniature MAAC.  Of course, the Mobile Armoured Assault Craft was regulated for only military use and even a light MAAC like a Wyv’en stood taller than the figure in front of him.  During the war, as the need for MAACs grew, many factories employed the use of Mobile Civilian Construction Vehicles to aid in building, rebuilding and even urban defence.  Some militias even adapted the MCCVs for police and peacekeeping uses.  This of course, eventually gave rise to the concept of the Tournament. 

The new sport of the new age was for aspiring contestants to pilot the Micks (as they came to be known) through the ruins of destroyed cities for the sole purpose of hunting each other down.  Live small calibre ammunition was used so while injuries were quite common, actual fatalities were not the norm.  Still, the average life span of a successful contestant was measured in the months.  Most of the contestants were young, barely out of their teens.  Some were street waifs that had a knack for piloting the Micks and were picked up by a corporate sponsor.  Others were spoiled rich kids looking for just another thrill.  Still others were like L’Cor, veterans of the war, looking for a way to survive in society.

L’Cor thrust his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans.  Inside of his right pocket, he found the map card that the taxicab driver had given him.  Inside his left pocket was his brother’s AV journal.  It was small, about the size of a pocket computer, and it was one of few possessions of this brother that L’Cor had kept.