Call of the Watch Crow, Part-4

Recap: Kall-Ku wandered through the toxic swamp, delirious from infection. This unfortunate circumstance allowed a muck beast to prowl up on him. Moments from death, he was saved by the intervention of a War-Shuck, which appears to have been trailing him.

When Kall-Ku recovered his senses, he found himself in the shadow of a massive, armored, hovercraft, grounded and mired in the bog. Hoping to find medical supplies within, he climbed towards the main hatch, just beneath the massive gun.

Under normal circumstances, Kall-Ku would be in awe of the massive hovercraft. As it was, he fought with every breath to keep himself focused. If his mind wandered, he could find himself slipping back into delirious fantasia. This craft must have medical supplies, perhaps locked to an interior bulkhead; the hull still seemed sturdy enough. He scrambled up the front plate to a partially open hatch. Pulling at it, his muscles cried out. Biting his lip hard, the small portal slowly relented.

There was no one in the tight compartment below, only two empty seats with broken straps, dark stains, and ripped cushions. He carefully lowered himself inside, glancing outward to the War-Shuck, still draped victoriously over the body of the muck beast, with its stinger tipped tail swishing menacingly back and forth. He sighed; if the Piranha Women came the War-Shuck would be his best defense, and only warning, assuming, of course, it didn’t become hungry enough to devour an injured Mercenary-Slave.

The deck between the seats was covered with mud, alive with microbial life, seeping up from some hull breach below. There was a myriad of offensive smells, a mixture of sulfurous swamp gas, and noxious petroleum escaping from ruptured tanks and busted mechanicals. Kall-Ku dropped into the tight compartment, grabbing one seat for stability and rubbing his eyes with his other hand; his vision was badly blurred.

[DON’T RUB YOUR EYES; IT AGGREVATES THE BURN.] The cybernetic voice insisted.

“Can you help me? I can’t see anything.”

[TAKE THE SEAT TO YOUR RIGHT. REACH UP WITH YOUR RIGHT HAND AND FEEL FOR A LATCH. PULL IT. IT WILL RELEASE A FACE MASK WITH A BREATHING HOSE. IT WILL SUPPLY YOU WITH FRESH OXYGEN. TIME MATTERS, THESE FUMES WILL KILL YOU, MUCH FASTER THAN THE INFECTION WILL.]  

Kall-Ku fell heavily into the seat. He reached up, following the implants directions. With his other hand he unconsciously pulled his battle braid over his shoulder, careful the bladed cusp at the end did not snag any exposed hoses or wires. The full face shield fell free from its compartment, dangling by a hose and a heavy coaxial cable. He placed it on, pulling the retention strap tight, securing it in place.

Eerie howling began to rise from outside. The sound was melodic, more like instrument than voice, but unmistakable and dire. It was the howl of the War-Shuck. It heard something that Kall-Ku could not; something that alarmed it.

[NOW REACH DOWN, JUST ABOVE THE CONTROL BOARD. THERE IS A KNOB THERE. TURN IT TO THE RIGHT UNTIL IT CLICKS. THIS WILL ACTIVATE THE AIR FLOW.]

A roar of an engine passed overhead shaking the hovercraft. Limbs snapped off trees and rained down in the swamp. The War-Shuck continued to howl in protest. The source of its concern, now apparent.

“What was that?” Asked the Mercenary-Slave as he fumbled for the knob.

[I CANNOT SEE BEYOND WHAT YOU CAN SEE. MY INFORMATION IS BASED ON ARCHIVAL DATA, NOT IMPERICAL OBSERVATION.]

As the knob clicked into place, clean air flowed through the hose. The toxic fumes were blown out through vents near the jaw line. Kall-Ku breathed deeply. With the evacuation of the acidic gas, his eyes began to clear. Some indicator and console lights had come on in the dark compartment, apparently in response to him taking the chair.

The implant continued to drone directions, instructing him how to use the external sensors to identify the passing air craft. Kall-Ku followed the directions, fumbling between dials and switches. Finally he isolated an external image of the air craft.

The alien vessel was sleek and grey, with wings loaded with weapons, and oversized engines and star drives in the tail section. It was a Starfighter, but armed for combat engagement in any strata. According to the display it was on a return trajectory.

“Can you tell me what it is now?” He searched the controls, dumb to their individual functions.

[IT IS A CONSORTIUM SKIP FIGHTER, ARMED TO ATTACK MULTIPLE VARIETIES OF TARGETS.]

“How much danger are we in?” The infection continued to pulse through his system with every labored breath.

[THIS HOVERCRAFT IS A BLACK SUN IMPERIAL CHARIOT. WHEN THE SKIP FIGHTER RETURNS, IT WILL LIKELY DESTROY THIS CRAFT. THERE IS NO WE. I AM ONLY A CYBERNETIC COMPONET. YOU ARE ALONE KALL-KU.]

“Then tell me how to fight it.”

[End of part four…look for part five, next week]