Domovoi Part 29

Cherno Alpha fell to his knees, lurching forward as Katschei’s weight threw him off-balance.  The Kaiju dug its claws in, fangs squealing across the Jaeger’s thick armor, snarling in rage.  Before him, Wendigo slunk closer, mouth open in a demented grin and dripping blue-tinged slaver.  Unlike Otachi it seemed incapable of projectile-style spitting, but Cherno knew all it would take was one spit-laden bite to be lethal.

Lightcap-scrappin’-dammit!  Striker’s oath perfectly echoed Cherno’s thoughts at the moment.  There’s too many of ‘em!

Don’t give up! Gipsy urged.  We’ve got to destroy them!  Hong Kong and the Shatterdome are counting on – AARGH!

Gip!  Striker’s cry rang with terror.  Cherno felt a stab of fear in his own core.  Had Gipsy fallen in battle?  Been destroyed?  He struggled to peer around Wendigo, and the Kaiju slid to one side, almost as if obliging him.

Gipsy!

The Mark III wasn’t down for good… not yet.  But her Conn Pod had been absolutely shredded, nearly half of it obliterated.  Trespasser still clutched her in a bear hug, shreds of metal hanging from its jaws, and even as Cherno watched it spit out a mouthful of mangled steel and lunged forward for another bite.

Not on my watch ya don’t! Striker bellowed, and he shoved his way past Staghead and charged.  Cherno caught a glimpse of Trespasser throwing its head back in an agonized roar as Striker’s armblade buried itself between its shoulder blades before Wendigo shifted again, lunging in for the kill.

Cherno didn’t stop to think – he reached up and grabbed Katschei, yanking for all he was worth.  Trails of fire tore across his armor as the Kaiju’s claws ripped out huge slashes, but he ignored the pain.  With a mighty heave, he flung Katschei at Wendigo.  Both Kaiju went down in a squalling heap, Katschei yowling as Wendigo’s acid seared its flesh, Wendigo shrieking in agony as Katschei’s back spikes pierced its huge eyes.

With another heave Cherno pushed himself to his feet, and he lunged forward and began to pummel both Kaiju, letting all his rage and fear and thirst for revenge pour out with each blow.  Bones and teeth snapped beneath his knuckles, and though spines worked their way into his finger joints and acid burned his fists, he didn’t let up.  He’d fought through worse pain than this, and if killing the Kaiju before they reached the Shatterdome meant he took injury… then so be it.

Cherno, enough!  

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him back.  He wheeled around and took a swing, only for Coyote to grab his fist and stay the blow.  His fellow Mark I was leaking black fluid from a deep wound in her side, but she seemed steady enough on her feet that he tried not to worry too much.

It’s only me, she informed him.  Enough.  They are dead.  Beating them into mincemeat will accomplish nothing.

He shuddered, his bloodlust fading.  Gipsy… Striker… Crimson… the others… we have to help them!

It’s over, Coyote replied.  The Kaiju are retreating.

Bafflement flooded him, wiping out the rage for good.  Kaiju never retreat!  They’re like rabid dogs – they just keep fighting until they’re put down.  Not that he’d ever seen a rabid dog or even knew what being “rabid” really meant – but his mother had used that analogy, and if it was good enough for his parents, it was good enough for him.

Coyote jerked her Conn Pod to the side, and Cherno turned to see a ripple of blue sweeping out to sea – Armada surging back into the depths, with her smaller compatriots following close behind.  A spade-tipped tail broke the surface briefly, flicking in their direction once before vanishing beneath the waves for good.  It was almost as if Armada had made it a taunting gesture, like a raised middle finger, and Cherno had to suppress the urge to go wading after her and rip her tails off.  If it was possible to teach a Kaiju manners, he wanted to be the first to do it.

Striker killed Mega-Trespasser, Coyote noted.  Crimson killed Ironside and Kali, and it seems you took care of Wendigo and Katschei.  The rest fled with Armada.

Why?  Kaiju have never fled before.  And they had us outnumbered – they could have pressed the advantage.  Not that I wanted them to…

A high roar cut into his thoughts, and for a core-rending moment he thought Armada had resurfaced and come to catch them off guard.  But a V of fighter jets streaked overhead, and he relaxed slightly.  

That must be why they retreated, Crimson noted, wading closer.  The military.  They saw the jets and knew it was time to cut their losses.  The Mark IV’s right arms dangled loosely at his side, only a few cables keeping the limb from falling off entirely, and most of the paint had been stripped from his chest and torso, but like Cherno and Coyote, he seemed intent on ignoring his wounds.

They’ve never been frightened of jets before, Coyote pointed out.  More likely they accomplished what they came to do.

The Shatterdome, Cherno realized, and horror gripped him anew.  Mama!  Papa!  Answer me!

We’re okay, Cherno.  Sasha’s voice was weak and pained, but present.  Marshal Hansen sent a distress call to China’s military.  They’re shooting down the last of the flying creatures as we speak.

Cherno relaxed so suddenly he nearly toppled over.  Crimson, too, relaxed.

The damages done to the LOCCENT are very bad, Aleksis added.  And many personnel were killed.  But none of your Rangers were killed.  That is one bright spot.

Cherno let his gaze sweep the battlefield, lingering on the five mangled corpses jutting from the water like grotesque islands.  Blue Kaiju ichor swirled through the bay, mingling with the greasy iridescence of spilled oil and other vital mechanical fluids, and the bodies of fish and seabirds were already bobbing on the surface, felled by the toxic Kaiju Blue.  Striker stood on the shore, carrying Gipsy in his arms, thrumming softly to comfort her even as he fretted over her wounds.  The Shatterdome itself blazed with activity, gunfire echoing in staccato bursts from inside and military personnel swarming through every possible opening.

Right now, Cherno said gravely, I think we need all the bright spots we can get.  His gaze moved to a sixth unlikely form in the waters of the harbor – a black form marked with scarlet, silent and still beneath the surface.  Papa, Mustang Omega has fallen… I think it’s broken.

A baleful silence.  Even before the words came, Cherno had realized what must have happened.

The flying creatures attacked Mustang’s Conn Pod, Sasha replied.  The Rossis are dead.

***

It certainly hadn’t been the worst assault on a Shatterdome in the history of the Kaiju War, Herc thought.  But that hardly made things any better in his mind.

Soldiers cluttered the Shatterdome, and he desperately wished he had the authority to tell them to get lost.  Yes, they had responded to the distress call, and he had to admit they’d been brutal and thorough, surging into the base and gunning down anything with wings.  But now that their job was done he just wished they would go home.  Instead they seemed intent on blocking the halls, jabbering away in Mandarin and laughing amongst themselves as if this was the greatest fun in their lives.  Yes, some were actually making themselves useful by tending the wounded or sweeping the Shatterdome for any parasites that might have hidden, but for the most part they were just another headache to deal with in Herc’s mind.

What a mess, he thought as he reached down to grab the leathery wing of a parasite, helping Hideaki and Janson drag the corpse into a growing pile in the center of the Jaeger bay.  What a bloody goddamn mess.  Just when we think we got a handle on the Kaiju, they throw another wrench into things.  Why can’t they just bugger off and leave this planet alone?

With a heave they tossed the corpse, and he wiped his hands on his pants and went to find another.  If only the army would help with the cleanup efforts instead of just standing around looking like idiots…

“Hansen!”

“Oh bloody hell.”  He dropped the wing he’d just grabbed and turned around.  “Welcome back, Tendo.  Sorry for the lousy welcome.”

Tendo looked around with a grim expression.  “Good god… what a mess.  I was hoping the news reports had been exaggerating.”

“Dunno what they told you, but it sure ain’t pretty.”

Tendo nodded.  “I’m tempted to say something snarky like ‘I was only gone for five minutes,’ but this doesn’t seem like the time for it.  How are the Jaegers?”

“Lost none of the sentient ones, at least,” Herc replied.  “Still not too pretty.”

That was something of an understatement, he mused, as Tendo walked through the Jaeger bay to take in the damages.  Coyote and Striker sat on either side of Gipsy, oblivious to the technicians swarming about Coyote’s midsection and Striker’s legs, both focused on trying to calm Gipsy until her Conn Pod could be rebuilt or replaced.  Crimson stood stoically in his own hanger as his arms were reattached, while Cherno fidgeted slightly as repairs were made to his reactor tower.  

“Gods,” Tendo breathed, shaking his head.  “I should be used to this by now, seeing Jaegers come back damaged and even crippled.  But it never gets easier… and it’s worse knowing that they’re alive and can feel pain.”  He watched as Raleigh and Mako leaned against Gipsy’s leg, doing their best to soothe her.  “You specified sentient Jaegers, though… what about Mustang?”

Herc clenched his jaw.  “The Rossis are dead.”

Tendo’s jaw dropped.  “You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was.  Those flyin’ things swarmed their Conn Pod.  Tore ‘em to shreds.  Techs about lost their lunches when we went down to unstrap ‘em.”

“Gods,” he repeated.  “We designed a Jaeger specifically to protect its Rangers and the Precursors still found its weakest point.  There’s just no staying ahead of them, is there?”

Herc just shrugged.  He wanted to point out that he’d said a long time ago that the Mark VI project was a dead end, but he didn’t feel like rubbing it in at the moment.  Not when it had taken the deaths of two Rangers to prove his point.

Tendo sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “I want all Jaegers repaired and restored to full functionality at all possible speed.  An attack like this could come again, anytime and anywhere, and we have to be ready.”  He gestured to the heap of dead parasites.  “Let’s get these disposed of immediately, before they start to deteriorate.”

“Hey, wait!”  Newt bolted up, waving one arm frantically, the other hugging Spike close like the world’s strangest therapy pet.  “Save me a couple!  I need ‘em for research!”

“Fine… save the three most intact specimens for Dr. Geizler,” Tendo corrected.  “Contact Hannibal to dispose of the rest.”

“Thanks,” Newt grinned.  “Sorry for shouting, but we’ve never seen these specimens before.  Maybe I can weasel out some of their weaknesses.”

Hermann rolled his eyes as he hobbled up to join the tableau.  “After everything we’ve been through, you still have the Kaiju bug?”

“Hey, I can still find them fascinating even if they’re dangerous, right?”

Herc and Tendo left the two of them to their bickering and headed for Mustang Omega’s hangar.  The Mark VI loomed silently over them, its shoulder joint still mangled, deep scratches marring its once-glossy paint.  While every other Jaeger had a team of techs and mechanics falling over themselves to repair them, Mustang stood abandoned, without so much as a maintenance worker to hose the sand out of its ankle joints.  It was as if the deaths of its Rangers had rendered it persona non grata… or in this case mecha non grata.

Tendo sighed softly.  “It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“What’s a shame?”

“I know the Rossis weren’t popular… but even they didn’t deserve to die that way.”  His gaze moved up and down Mustang’s form.  “Caitlyn was so hopeful that they’d come around, that they’d accept Mustang and help nurture its growth into a sentient being.  But now that they’re gone… it’ll never get that chance.”

Herc snorted.  “Wouldn’t have had a chance anyhow.  Neither of ‘em wanted Mustang to be alive.  They were happy keepin’ it as an overgrown action figure.  If they’d been fightin’ alongside it instead of from the safety of the Shatterdome, might’ve been a different story…”

“It’s too late for I-told-you-sos, Hansen,” Tendo retorted.  “Too late.”  He shook his head and turned away from the Mark VI.  “For now let’s get the other Jaegers fully repaired, and get a hangar cleared out for Brawler Yukon.  With any luck, he can fill in the gap in our ranks.”

“What about Mustang?”

Tendo raised an eyebrow.  “What about it?”

“You pushed for Mustang to be built.  You really gonna just let it sit an’ rot in that hangar?”

“I’m not about to let it ‘sit and rot,’ Hansen.  But without Rangers, Mustang is inoperable.  And with the Ranger training program still on hold, we have no candidates to replace the Rossis.  At the moment, when the Precursors could launch an attack at any time, we’re much better off focusing on our mobile Jaegers, and ensuring they’re ready for battle.”

Herc gave a sharp nod.  “The Precursors are up to somethin’.  What I dunno, but I don’t like it.  Kaiju don’t retreat from a battle.  It’s unnatural.”

“I agree.  The simple answer is that so many Kaiju in one event was simply a distraction to let Armada take out as much of the Shatterdome as possible – and Mustang Omega as well – but nothing in this war has ever been simple.  We’re going to have to expect the unexpected from here on out.”

“An’ just how do you expect somethin’ that’s unexpected?  Sounds like an oxymoron to me.”

“Oh hush,” Tendo ordered, only to find Herc grinning at him.  “Is now really the time for jokes?”

Herc shook his head, giving a soft, resigned-sounding chuckle.  “In a case like this, you either laugh or you cry.  An’ laughin’s more productive at this point.”

Tendo nodded, conceding that point.  “Let’s get back to work.  We have a battle to prepare for.”

***

An unsettling silence hovered over the Jaeger bay, an absence of sound that left the maintenance crews uneasy.  It wasn’t total silence – there was still the clank and whirr of machinery, the chatter of workers, the racket from the LOCCENT as work to restore the Shatterdome’s mission control progressed.  But the near-complete lack of noise coming from the Shatterdome’s largest residents was not only noticeable, but worrying.  After growing so used to the rumbling, crooning, and keening of the Jaegers, no one was prepared for them to go so suddenly silent.

Aleksis limped into Cherno’s hangar, watching his Jaeger shift from foot to foot like a restless horse.  He had never seen Cherno this quiet, and it disturbed him.  If his son was hurting or afraid, he wanted to know.  He might not be able to do anything to help, but he could damn well try.

“Cherno?”

Cherno stopped rocking and turned his attention to him.  Papa?

“Talk to me, son.  What is wrong?”

Cherno turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the bay.  Where’s Mama?

“Trying to talk your uncle Ilya into going home.”  And probably not succeeding – Ilya was a stubborn one – but it couldn’t hurt to try, and she’d always had more luck talking sense into him than Aleksis did.  “Little one, something is wrong.  Tell me.”

Cherno gave a soft whine, attracting curious stares from outside his hangar.  I don’t know how to say it.

“What do you mean?”

I have seen Jaegers fall in battle before.  Eden Assassin, Nova Hyperion, Warlock Defender… and I didn’t even see Mustang Omega go down.  But… but somehow… what happened to him is worse.  It frightens me.

Aleksis nodded slowly.  “Is it because his Rangers died, perhaps?  Or because he lost them before he truly got the chance to live?”

I don’t know… some of both, I suppose.  I can’t help but think what he might have been like had he been given a chance to live.  Now… now I’ll never know.  And I think about the Rossis, and even though I didn’t like them… I didn’t want them to die so horribly.  And I think of how close I came to losing you and Mama and it terrifies me…

“Cherno…”  Aleksis stepped forward and rested a hand on his foot.  “Cherno, we are here.  You did not lose us… in fact, you brought us back from the brink of death.  Focus on that, will you?  There is nothing we can do for Mustang or his Rangers, but you still have us.  Remember that.”

Cherno shuddered slightly, then gradually relaxed.  I will try… it won’t be easy, but I will try.

Another voice pressed into Aleksis’ mind as Crimson raised his mental “voice” enough for him to hear.  We are all disturbed by what happened.  Yes, we disparaged Mustang and its Rangers, but it is still terrible to see any Jaeger lose its partners in battle.  And even more disturbing when those Rangers die before their Jaeger gets the chance to truly live.  Mustang may never have properly lived, but we will mourn it as much as we mourn our other comrades.

Well, sod all this, Striker put in, huffing from where he still sat beside Gipsy.  We’ve been mopin’ for days now.  It ain’t fixed a thing.  I say we stop feelin’ sorry for a dead Jaeger an’ focus on the living ones.

How magnanimous of you, Striker, Coyote noted acerbically.  

Oh, hush, Striker grumbled.

He has a point, Gipsy added.  We need to move on from this.  I just don’t see how.

All five Jaegers exchanged awkward glances, and Aleksis wished he had something useful to say.  But before anyone could offer any suggestions, a new mental “voice” boomed through everyone’s minds, nearly bowling him over.

Why all the glum faces, eh?  Okay, bad expression, we don’t have proper faces… but honestly, I was expecting a bit more of a cheerful welcome, eh?

Five Conn Pods snapped toward the open doors of the bay, a broad-shouldered silhouette blocking out most of the sunlight streaming in.  Cries and gasps filled the air as the newcomer, gunmetal-gray and walking with a shambling limp, ducked inside the Shatterdome and strode forward.  Massive blades jutted from its forearms, and its sloped Conn Pod glowed a brilliant turquoise.  One digitigrade leg carried its weight easily; the other trembled and buckled with each step, the ankle joint warped out of true.

Sorry I’m late, Brawler Yukon went on, his mental tone meek and apologetic despite being far deeper and more thunderous than Cherno’s.  Twisted my ankle tryin’ to shortcut across a ravine.  So I hear you’re all needin’ some help from an experienced Jaeger!  I’ve been out of action for a while, but I can take a fair stab at it, eh?

***

“I wasn’t expecting them to hit it off so well,” Dr. Lightcap noted, beaming as she looked down from one of the many catwalks that crisscrossed over the Jaeger bay.

“I have to say that this has done wonders for their morale,” Tendo replied.  “The last battle left them all in low spirits… they needed this.”

“They could be a little less noisy about celebratin’,” Herc grumbled, but he looked far less grouchy about it than he sounded.

Below the Marshals and scientist, six Jaegers sat in a circle in the center of the bay, filling the air with eager keening and happy crooning as they conversed in their own fashion.  Brawler seemed more embarrassed by the attention than anything, waving his hands in the air as if waving away compliments, but at the same time he appeared excited to be in the presence of more of his kind again.  Crimson had wriggled his way into a spot right next to the Mark I, and it didn’t take much imagination to think that he was pelting Brawler with questions and enthusiastic praise like a fanboy meeting his idol.  Coyote sat on his other side, mostly quiet but fussing over him a little as well.  The other Jaegers seemed content to take turns “talking” to the first Jaeger, basking in his presence, thrilled to be in the presence of a legend among their kind.

“Did you have any issues getting him here?” asked Tendo.

“We tried to take a route that would do as little property damage as possible,” Caitlyn replied.  “Though there are a few farmers we’ll probably have to reimburse for their crops.  And he stumbled in a ravine and damaged his ankle.  Other than that… no, no problems.  Even the military just hung back and watched without trying to stop us.”

Herc snorted.  “Not that they coulda done much to stop you, short of launching a missile.  An’ killin’ a Jaeger right now, when they’re so popular with the public, woulda been a disaster for ‘em.”

She smiled at that.  “He has some damages that still need to be fixed, but he’s still raring to fight.  The next time a Kaiju surfaces, he’ll be ready.”

Tendo nodded.  “The current Kaiju attacks aren’t fitting any specific pattern, so we can’t predict when the next one will come… nor how many Kaiju are in it.  But tell Brawler we’re welcome for his help.  With a gap opening in our ranks, we’ll need every Jaeger we can get.”

Her smile faded.  “There’s got to be a way to revive Mustang somehow.  Another set of Rangers…”

“There’s no Ranger program,” Tendo reminded her.  “We have no applicant pool to draw from.”

“What about the applicants Pentecost rounded up for Gipsy?” asked Herc.  “Don’t tell me they all dropped off the radar.  Maybe a few of ‘em would be a good match for Mustang, if he’s got any shot at comin’ to life.”

Tendo opened his mouth to protest, then slowly shut it.  “I didn’t even think about that.  Most of them have gone home, but we should still have their contact information.”  He made a note on his tablet.  “I’ll see if I can’t get in touch with them… but in the meantime, let’s focus on getting Brawler and the others ready for battle.  We can’t afford to let our guard down, not when we know there’s still at least six Kaiju loose in the Pacific.”

Caitlyn nodded.  “Is there any way to track them?”

“Most of the sensors we put into place are still active,” Tendo replied.  “If they come within fifty miles of landfall, we’ll know.”

“When are we gonna stop playing defense an’ take the fight to the Precursors?” asked Herc.  “We know they got a base here.  Let’s wipe it out for good an’ end this once and for all.”

“We have to find the base first,” Tendo reminded him.  “It’s a huge ocean, after all.  It could take years before we actually find it…”

***

Darkness… blackness… unbelievable pressure… sounds muffled as if his ears had been packed with cotton… a cold so intense his extremities ached…

The drift… he was in the drift again, looking upon the base through Precursor eyes… yet he sensed he was not  alone… someone was with him, trying to reach him…

Armada tossing its head like an uncooperative horse as tentacle-like restraints curled around its neck and limbs… a host of leathery-winged parasites clambering up its sides, installing themselves on its back… other Kaiju snapping, howling, clawing and biting at their own restraints… one breaking free with a scream of triumph, only for a jolt of electricity to drive it back…

“I’m here…” the presence reaching out, as if to comfort… or perhaps seeking comfort of its own?  He couldn’t tell…

A coral framework, like organic scaffolding… a vaguely humanoid form towering over the shell domes of the base… limbs tapered, knees bending backwards, the Conn Pod a smooth half-sphere buried in the chest rather than resting atop the shoulders… forms stirring within the translucent gel that filled that weird cockpit...

Shuddering… one limb raising… chittering and screeching applause as the organic Jaeger burst free of its framework, shattering the coral and raising clouds of dust from the sea floor…

“Newton!  Newton!”

The organic mecha taking a hesitant step forward, thrusting its chest upwards as if howling its triumph to the sea and skies above… to the crest of the mountain that loomed over the base… a mountain that Newt realized he’d seen before in a picture…

“I’m here… answer me… please… I can help… if you’d just let me…”

“Dr. Newton Geizler, wake up!”

“I’m up, I’m up!” Newt howled, flailing awake.  Spike was perched on his chest, mandibles tickling at his chin as if trying to lick him awake, and he carefully pushed the louse aside and sat up.  He wasn’t in the mood for louse “kisses” right now – not when his brain was still trying to disentangle Hermann’s voice from whoever-it-was that had infiltrated the drift.  A Precursor?  No, it couldn’t be, why would a Precursor be trying to betray their own kind and help them?

“What the devil were you shouting about?” Hermann demanded, releasing his shoulders.  “It sounded like you were being ripped apart.”

Newt shook his head and fumbled for his glasses, sliding them on with shaking hands.  The last thing he remembered doing was trying to shove Spike away from the parasite carcass he was trying to dissect – it turned out the skin louse’s favorite snack was the creatures’ wing-membranes, a fact Newt only discovered when Spike had absolutely shredded the first specimen he pulled out of cold storage.  He must have passed out soon after… though staying up for three days straight in his excitement over a new specimen to study would do that to a man.

“Newton!”

“All right, all right, you don’t have to shout!”  Newt pushed himself to his feet, nearly falling over before Hermann reached out to steady him.  “Where’s the Marshal?  We gotta find the Marshal!”

Hermann’s scowl faded.  “One of those nightmares, then?”

He nodded.  “It’s the Precursor base… I think I might know where it is!”