Legacy

by NFire


Ghosts

The datablocs are in front of me with wiring that connects them to a relay for my cores. Quite a few more than I’d thought, buried off to the side, they’d been useless unless you know how to access what they carry.

A reader has been set up for Twilight, her curiosity keeping me up all night as she asked what could possibly be on them.

I told her there was no way of knowing until we took a look.

Some are heavily damaged, by time, by weapons, by the weight of ice above it crushing down and pressing the molecular circuitry in ways it was never meant to be. Others are pristine, as if fresh from a factory.

The information is there. Reconstructed it can tell us anything we can tease out of it. The machine I’ve set up for Twilight is a simple thing, meant to be used by techs in a slow way, looking through directories and files one at a time.

I can access a whole bloc, look at everything in a glance, choose what I want to see.

More than I ever wanted.

“I miss you. I’ll be on my way back home as soon as my tour is over. We’re not far away, Alpha Centauri is close so the flight won’t take me long.” A smiling face is looking out of the screen on the viewer, “Say hello to everyone and I’ll let you know when my flight is.”

Part of a collection of video mail sent from the outpost on Alpha Centauri Four, a bitterly cold planet where troops went for training in extreme atmospheres.

I watch Twilight replay it, seeing the human leaning into the camera and talking to a loved one somewhere on Earth. All incoming mail and communications were stored for processing in these blocs and everywhere, backups in case of problems. Took me a while to crack the security code.

She stops the playback with the edge of her hoof on a key, “I wonder if he made it back?”

I access the security underlay, “It was sent years before the Final War, so most likely.”

She looks thoughtful, “Hard to believe this was so far back in history that we can’t imagine.”

I nod, “It’s definitely something to think about.”

We had started early, due to Twilight’s waking up at the break of dawn and rushing through breakfast, her chatter never stopping about what we might find on the data stores.

For some reason the Prince and Princess are showing up late today. Odd that. Those darn auto-docs and unintended consequences.

I can’t help but chuckle. I am happy that it was accepted, although it is causing some grumblings due to appointments missed.

Oh well, can’t please everyone.

Twilight didn’t care, she wanted to get into those files to see what was inside. Like a filly on Hearth’s Warming she was almost prancing in place as I got ready to face the day. Even I like to look decent before seeing others, but a lavender form kept checking in the room to see if I was ready. Eventually I gave up and we wandered down to Dusty’s domain.

The blocs themselves are from varying times. Most things made by the Concordiat lasted, and were used until they could not be refurbished anymore. It’s a varying jumble of decades including some of the latest ones that are inside of me. We could find anything on them. Something is strangely familiar about them.

I am hoping for further information on the last days, maybe the last month of Earth. Perhaps it could help explain why we’re here.

But failing that, maybe just something interesting.

So far, letters home from the galaxy. Some poignant, some happy, joyful. It ranges the gamut of emotions. It’s easy to disconnect, knowing that those faces are something from the past. It doesn’t mean I can’t sympathize, but still.

But I get a glimpse, a fragment of something. A transmission here, report there. Garbled and taking time to dig out, but there is something useful I think. I’m just not quite...

Charon Base ALERT! Incoming fleet, repeat, incoming fleet on scopes. Bolos are out and weapons free. We’ve got no...

It ends there. What I can gather from the security coding is that it was sent a day before the Melconians hit Earth. We knew the outposts in the system got crushed, very little was sent by them before they were gone.

Something must have still been receiving during the battle for Earth. Contrary to what anyone thinks, it wasn’t just a one day battle. We had been preparing for loading and shipping on the docks when the puppies hit. We had no time to get out of our cradles and fight. Our transports were crowded with supplies, colonists and us, we just didn’t have the ability to maneuver.

The orbital fortresses took a pounding before blowing apart. They held off the main part of the fleet while transports, half and fully loaded, escaped into flightspace.

I heard them dying before Hera and I were nailed in a kinetic strike that was a few miles away. The blast tossing us around like we were toys. The puppies throwing rocks at us, getting through the grids. The humans and AI’s manning the system defenses gave everything they had and more. It was a terrible time.

The end must have been a hundred times worse. I don’t know, we went into stasis as soon as we could.

We’ve searched the skies, reached out as far as we could with our ranging systems. There is no debris, no remnants we can see of the huge set piece defenses. It’s all so strange.

I do wish either I or Crusader were equipped with milsat launchers, but we’re working on that. We need a spy eye, something for mapping and geolocation.

There are more messages coming through now, algorithms are doing an impressive job of unscrambling the data inside the blocs.

“This is Unit JSP of the Line, calling any Concordiat vessels. Relief is needed at Pentus. Colonists have been decimated by force of Melconians and we are under siege. I am last surviving Unit along with a small force of militia. To any Concordiat vessel, relief is needed...”

“They’re coming through the line! We can’t hold much longer! I repeat, unknown arachnid aggressors are landing on Rence Five, repeat, Rence Five! Is anyone out there? Can anyone help?”

SWIFT and ultra-light communications gave operators a chance to store everything. Messages, videos, calls, anything that could be archived was. Standard practice was during and even before battles, communications links were established to record what they could.

“That’s it! Hold them right there! We’re the Infantry and by god and the Concordiat they’ll pay for invading us! Help is coming boys and girls and we’ll be here to greet it!”

I know that voice! Brigadier General MacPherson of the 42nd Combined Arms Brigade. That was on Hydra during the Deng invasion. He and his brigade held for fifty days without cease until dropships fell from the skies. They had occupied a fortified position on the planet and were not about to give it up.

Their weapons were dry, all the artillery was wrecked and they were reduced to eating the grass they lay in for sustenance before the Marines and Bolos hit the planet. The tanks in the mech company had so many holes in them it was a wonder they still fired. Medicine for the wounded had run out weeks ago, and the medics were doing what they could with local equivalents to help their troops.

In the time before the fleet made planetfall, the last of the men and women who made up the brigade had drawn knives and other implements, having run out of ammunition, they were preparing for hand to hand combat with the Deng.

A cruiser had come screaming into the planets’ atmosphere in a ship-wrecker of a maneuver, allowing them to give a broadside into the advancing Deng forces. Stopping the forward movement of the enemy dead in its tracks, it gave time for the transports to land under cover of fleet guns. They couldn’t just wreck the planet, it was one of the older worlds and was needed intact.

Ragged troops manning positions that should have long been overrun greeted the relief force with weak cheers.

The General was killed only hours before the fleet arrived, trying to save a sapper crew in no-mans land who were pinned down by murderous fire.

To a man, the entire Brigade refused to retire from the field until they got their general and the sappers back. Every single soldier that had been KIA during the engagement was accounted for except them.

The Lieutenant who was the only one left of the entire upper chain of command led the tired soldiers back into no-mans land. They had borrowed or taken weapons from the arriving force, heading out immediately with blood in their eyes at the Deng still massing for another attack.
The Marines and Army forces that had landed hadn’t even got their boots dirty when the exhausted troops screamed the commands to attack. The combat immediately ramped up into blazing exchanges of fire one more time.

The landing force had nothing in place yet, the two Bolos that had come down alongside them were ordered by their officers to open fire.

Turrets snapped around as VLS systems slammed open. Everything they had poured into the Deng lines, Hellbores roaring like thunder as they tore holes into the massed invaders. Missiles left contrails as they headed for positions behind the lines, slamming into the Deng with minute precision. Howitzers shelled the distant Deng machines, keeping them away from what was left of the 42nd.

We were never, ever to fire main weaponry around unshielded troops. The Bolos made sure the shots were wide of the running infantry, trying their best to protect them, yet not decimate their own allies.
The landing force’s commanders were yelling orders, throwing themselves right behind the ragged line, bringing up the tanks and artillery that had been unloaded so far from the massive transports. The fighting for the next few minutes was probably some of the most vicious ever recorded.

I have a picture, one that was circulated among the Concordiat Armed Forces and E-News feeds for months afterwards.

A group of men and women in rags for uniforms coming out of the dust and debris kicked up by the fighting, carrying their comrades and the general back to friendly lines. It was a powerful picture, and one that remained in the public memory for years afterwards.

He had spoken with us during a mission on another world. He thought we were the ‘finest fighting machines in the universe’. The General liked Bolos, talked with them when he could and used us to maximum effectiveness when under his command. He was respected by every Unit of the Line.

The General had tried to get a full company of Bolos assigned to his brigade. But the higher ups, who were already worried at what ‘Mad Dog MacPherson’ might do, overruled him.

I remember him so well.

I sit for a moment and reflect whether I want to go further. My memories are long, perhaps I shouldn’t delve too deeply.

Dusty is among the shelves taking care of his relics. I’ve identified approximately sixty-three percent of them now, though some are just useless lumps of metals, they are from our era.
I watch Twilight for a moment. She is smiling at something on the screen, probably another letter home. It does give us a good overview as more are untangled from the hash of code inside the blocs.

Some of the blocs have been burned by electromagnetic pulses, typical with Melconian versions of our own Hellbores. Some are scrambled not by EMP but by something else that is taking me time to figure out. Might be a new weapon used at the last, or something in our own databases that mashed up code to prevent reading by the enemy. I’m just not sure.

I’ll send constant updates to Crusader, see if he can get anything out of those messes. Until then, I’ll keep looking.

“This is not a sector or frontier fleet! This is the Melconians best! They’re going for the Concordiat as a whole!” A panicked voice is heard over the comms, I see a face that is drawn with worry.

“I’m sure you’re over-stating it Gibson. They couldn’t have marshaled that much tonnage, we’d know if they had that many ships.” This voice is smooth, a bit oily.

“And I am telling you they have! We pushed them too far and had no idea what kind of forces they could muster. We’ve eyeballed them! They’ve got heavy units massed like we have never seen before!”

“Just send the report through channels, we’ll take a look at it and get back to you.”

Typical. Oh, so typical of higher ups in the Concordiat towards the end. They should have known better. They knew the Melconians were behind us in tech and couldn’t believe they would have anything like the throw weight we had.

So very wrong. What we saw were the just the frontier fleets they had patrolling their borders. We had absolutely no clue how many ships they had and the wherewithal to use them if pressed.

It was the tip of the iceberg. When the Final War flared up, Concordiat Command was stunned at the amount of Melconian warships.

Too many mistakes because those who supposedly ‘knew’ better, didn’t.

So they panicked.

Battlefronts disintegrated as each member of the Concordiat demanded protection. Instead of putting up a united front, it all dissolved into sectors fighting for their lives.

The Melconians knew what to do, instinctively, as they’d been doing it for as long as their Empire had reigned. They were united in their hatred of humans and their allies.

While we were scattershotting our defenses, they plowed through with massive battle fleets. Whole planets burned to cinders on both sides as the rules of war no longer applied.

If we’d united as they had, things might have been very different.

But that is neither here nor there anymore. I can only surmise what could and would have been so maybe I better quit daydreaming.

Archives! Now it hits me!

These datablocs seem to be from an archivists store. They all carry the same designators and security underlays that allow me to peek into the different layers of data. There are things here that might even be from during the Final War. Now I know why they’re still usable.

Archives were very well protected and kept. They allowed researchers to delve into history because the storage mediums remained viable for a long time before being transferred to newer data blocs. It was a continual process, keeping the history of the Concordiat as told in the words of those who sent the messages stored here.

No wonder they still had data, being specially prepared to withstand even the deadliest of conditions. Now I know how to access them a little easier! What is wrong with me? I should have recognized them immediately.

I rest a hoof on one hooked up to my systems, wondering what kind of adventure it had to get here. You’ve had a long, strange trip my friend.

I reach back into my own datastores, looking for the correct command codes and security procedures for accessing archive blocs. Microseconds fly as long strings of numbers and letters pass between my cores and the blocs in front of me. I wait patiently as the data jumble now becomes very clear, arranging itself to be read and accessed fully.

I should have recognized them immediately. I know the difference between regular and archival blocs. I’m getting distracted again and that’s not a good thing.

Watching the data, it unfolds like a rose in bloom, letting me access it’s full potential. Huh, this is different.

I’ve unlocked an RLS Archive Bloc, a Real Life Sim. It gives full ..oh pits...

A clouded atmosphere, dust choking everything as a lone figure moves in a trench-line. She can see, feel it all.

Breath won’t come, it just won’t fill my lungs. The atmosphere is heavy with contamination, that last barrage flooded our area with chemicals and killed everyone.

I can see the enemy, the spider like shapes of the Deng as they call themselves. Wanting living space, they decide to try and take ours.

No. No they won’t.

We were just militia, not Concordiat Regulars. No one’s used gas attacks in hundreds of years. How stupid we are.

My hand comes to rest on Bobby, my friend, laying in the dry dirt of the trench he stares up at the oh so blue sky now.

I wipe my eyes, clearing the tears that won’t stop, they burn so much. Not just from the chemicals.

The other hand is gripping the heavy plasma rifle I found. The training officer said to never shoot it without proper protective gear. Since I couldn’t find any, guess we’ll see what happens then won’t we?

There they are on my optics, the shield in front of my face showing me the thermal signatures of massing lifeforms a few hundred yards away. I guess them spiders think since everyone’s gone they can just walk in.

Well, old Beauregard Jamison is gonna show them things what for.

I’ve lived a good life, seen my grandchildren happy and off this planet. My wife died in the first attack so I haven’t got anything to hold me back. Sons and daughters all gone somewhere else, safe I hope. These old bones weren’t gonna be around much longer anyways.

Ducking down beneath the parapet, I make sure the linked rounds are all clean and good to go. A few thousand rounds ought to be good enough. Explosive like nothing I’ve seen before, maybe I can hold them off until someone realizes we aren’t answering the comms.

I’ve got enough ammo and rations to last, depends on how long though. Them spiders aren’t gonna give up so easily.

Ought to quit mumbling to myself, but I need a record and I’m gonna sound like a loon.

My free hand hits the comm button on my chest.

“Sgt. Jamison to anyone out there, Deng massing at twenty four slash five-niner. Need relief immediately.”

I hear the relays click in, passing along the message. Let’s hope it reaches someone. Least it’s recordin’ everything.

Oh..here they come. Easy as you please. Look at them ambling along, thinking they got everyone.

I wait until they get close enough I can smell them. Throwing the heavy weapon over the trench side I pull back on the firing stud once it lines up with the multi-legged things.

The first round out burns my face through the thin shield, my body feels like it’s standing in flames. But I keep that stud down, gotta keep the fire up!

The stock slams into my shoulder, making it ache as the linked ammunition tears through the breech. Let me not fail, just this once.

I can see them stutter, not expecting anyone here. I actually caught them off guard! They stop, wondering where I’m firing from for a second, then the incoming starts slapping the dirt around me.

Each hit makes a spider blow apart, the glare from the plasma being sent down field is almost blinding me, but my helmet shield protects my eyes for a while. Tears streaming down my face as I give it everything I’ve got.

This one’s for you Bobby... Margie.

Just have to hold.

Sgt. Beauregard Jamison, 1st Procyon Militia, KIA. First Deng attack, First Deng Conflict. Records reconstructed after battle. File ends.

I try to cut off the dataflow, but it is unfolding faster than I can slip around it. It’s an autoplay, and I can’t..

A Bolo moving swiftly at sprint speed, turrets ranging and firing so fast it’s almost a constant blinding light. Things are coming from the sea...

My aft Hellbore snaps around, firing directly into the monstrosity that appears out of the waters of the shore. it takes a full half second for the nuclear fire to penetrate it, before blowing it apart.

I move. I move as fast as my treads will carry me.

Battle Reflex is wide open. The energy flows from my power plants as I redirect energy to my fore shields. They are taking murderous fire from particle beam emplacements off to the right. I hammer them with howitzer fire, shelling them until they are smoking holes.

I slew around, bringing both Hellbores into action as another machine appears from the sea, water cascading off it as more energy weapons fire comes from various bubbles covering the skin.

I feel the shield projectors burn out, switching to secondaries as the beams from my main weapons drive deep into the alien war machine.

I do not care who or what they are. They are the enemy.

Both my command decks are wrecked, along with the officers who were commanding me. I am alone here on this moon. Alone except for an alien enemy we had not seen before. Alone except for the dead of a budding colony.

The anger rises in me. I feel the cleansing flame roll through my cores, providing me with the strength to do this.

My treads grab deep in the loamy soil as I pull away from the shore. Heading deep into the interior is the only way I can avoid point-blank fire from the enemy machines coming from the deeps.

I am at fifty-two percent battle readiness now. My port side howitzers are gone, along with one tread I have had to blow due to damage. Multiple hits by particle weapons fire have dug deep into my flintsteel hull. Trying to redirect energy from my overloaded shields to power requirements is failing, too much too fast.

Infinite repeaters have taken heavy hits alongside my sensor clusters. I am not fully blind, but I am getting there. They have an almost supernatural accuracy on sensors for some reason I cannot fathom.

Anti-personnel explosives are gone. Used up in the desperate fight to retrieve any colonists left and remove them from the battlefield.

I have sent messages along the SWIFT line, there has been no reply and I wonder if the repeaters in the outer system have been taken down. There is no way to check. I continue to broadcast maydays, in the hopes a passing ship may receive the call.

A cluster of the enemy attempts to weaken my aft side tread shields, the blobby things are blown apart with what is left of my chain guns. I can feel links on my tread rattling as some damage managed to get through the shield.

In my hopes of rescue, I send enemy statistics and what I can glean from them along with the maydays. Telling Bolo Command of this new foe who are wearing me down by fractions.

I am stubborn, I shall hold for however long it takes.

My sensors pick up movement ahead in the strange forest of this moon, machines rise up from where they had hidden and surround me as I cannot go any farther, my path of retreat cut off. My Hellbores drill into them, but more are appearing and I will not have time to fabricate anymore war shots with the time left. In approximately two point five four seconds I will be disabled enough for them to swarm my hull.

Particle beams reach through my battered shields, they fail with a snap of power and a burning inside me.

My power plants rev up to full output as I trip all the breakers open, allowing them to go into overload. They are closing in as my last Hellbore shot blows apart the enemy machine in front of me. I launch my Omega capsule into the atmosphere to take it away from this place of endings.

I am Unit JCB of the Line, and I will never surrender.

Unit JCB (Jacob), 1st Bolo Division, KIA. Third moon, fourth planet of Alpha Regulus. Records recovered after relief force arrived. File ends.

A claustrophobic room. The air is heavy with humidity as five figures move around. One peering out a slit in the steelcrete wall, one lying on a cot, convulsing. Another tapping on a box as it readies a message torpedo launcher. The fourth is cleaning a heavy weapon quietly alongside another linking up ammunition from a box.

“Is this thing on?”

A finger taps a mic, with a sigh following.

“I hope it is.” The second male, coughing deeply, trying to hang onto the weapon he carries.

“Not like we’re in any shape to complain.” This from the figure sitting quietly by the cot where a third person lays, squirming in the grips of a fever. He watches her closely, hands never leaving the weapon he’s reassembling.

Agonized sounds, a low moaning that is muffled quickly, “Keep her quiet! Oh god if they find us..”

“I got it, I got it.”

“Anyways.. What should I say? Not like it’s going to mean much.”

“Anything! Just make sure they KNOW!”

“All right, all right!”

A sigh, then a hand tapping the microphone again, “I just hope this thing works. It’s supposed to be impermeable, but as to how things are going, I seriously doubt it.”

The woman linking ammunition perks up, “How’s Melanie?”

“She’s got it. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve given her the rest of the pan-virals.” The figure beside her shakes a shaggy head.

“Can you...?”

“I can, we’ve got enough sedative to make it easier.”

“Stupid racking survey corps! How could they have missed this!”

“Calm down, there’s nothing we can do. Not anymore.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Anyways. My name is Max Egan, Colony Corps, Security Detachment. This is being recorded on Irimost, one year after colonization was begun.” Coughing interrupts his voice, more sounds coming from deep within a set of lungs.

“Everything was fine, just fine. Agro was starting to plant gened crops, the first harvest was due soon. We were even starting to plan the expansion. Not a bad world if a little wet.”

A laugh, “Wet? Hell, it almost never stopped raining!”

“Hey! We had sunshine that one day..you know..yeah. One day.”

“Out of how many?”

“Knock it off! Let me record!”

“Fine!”

“So, to continue. A little wet. But there was a lessening, a ‘winter’ sort of. That’s when they showed up.” The bowed figure coughs for a moment, clearing his throat.

“I saw them,” The female again, hand moving in a circular motion, “Little sprouting buds everywhere when the rain calmed down. We thought they were new crops. They were all over the planted areas.

“Oh yeah, they grew pretty fast. Taller than a man at least in a week. Strange looking things, big around, roots everywhere.”

“They were kinda pretty though, red and gold, and those fruits that started hanging off the ends of the branches.”

“Right, until the McCall kids..”

“Do we have to?”

“They have to know.”

A sigh, “The McCall kids were playing in the fields, until a security patrol heard the screams. Even then it was too late. By the time we’d arrived on scene...the..plants had them wrapped up, eating them from the inside out. The vines..branches..whatever they were had penetrated the skin and were..god it was awful.”

“Tell them the rest.”

“They moved. The plants were mobile. Once they found out a source of food was nearby, they uprooted themselves and started going after anything warm. Their fruits carried a vicious little virus. One hit and you were down with fever, chills..and then bled right out, liquefied for easier eating. The whole body structure just collapsed.”

“There were hundreds of thousands of them, it was the growing season we think. No one’s really sure. The native mammals that had been running around like rats vacated our colony area, heading for anyplace the plants weren’t. Obviously they had known. Wish the little bastards had told us.”

“Survey should have seen it, they had two years!”

“They slacked.”

“Well, now that’s a revelation Captain Obvious!”

“Stop it! It’s too late for arguing!”

A huff of breath and the stomping of feet from the figure at the door, sitting heavily on a crate, eyes never leaving the entryway.

“Either way... They got everyone. The shuttle was clogged with those things, they love metal too it appears. Anything artificial. There were theories that maybe they were an ancient weapon, not sure. It doesn’t help us now, but to whoever hears this, they might be leftovers from some long ago conflict. We don’t know. We’ve got one crack at this, the message torp will only launch once before they break in here.”

All of them perk up at a slithering sound, launching themselves at firing slits in the walls and hefting weapons. Gunfire commences and lasts for minutes while empty powergun casings rattle in piles on the floor.

Silence.

“They know we’re here, we’ve got limited ammo. So, we’ll sign off now and get the message off. If anyone does read this, come see about getting us off this hellhole? If not, maybe raise a drink in a bar somewhere.”

“They’re coming back! Get that thing out!”

“Goodbye galaxy, remember us.”

Planet Triton IV under permanent interdiction due to inimical life-form. Colony area searched by Special Operations, recovered intelligence. No survivors. File ends.

I’m trying my best. War code is not advised, it could corrupt the programming permanently. It’s just a sim..nothing more.. Just...a sim...

The Bolo is slowly trudging through a wasted hell of a battlefield. Treads clanking loudly from damage as it’s weapons fire, and fire again. Using the very last of it’s ammunition as it heads for the massive walls of some edifice ahead.

...the plasma weapons dig into my durachrome armor, penetrating the meter thick metal and incinerating what is left of the command deck. I heard, no, I felt my commander die hours ago. I can do nothing. Nothing at all.

Pain sensors are almost burned out. The damage to myself is immense, but I move forward, ever forward.

Logic, even my own sense, tells me to retreat, find a way to escape and await recovery. But I cannot.

The enemy is before me, hunkered in their fortress which they think is impenetrable. Hellbores are firing too fast, the barrels are losing cohesion along with the magnetic fields. But I keep the bombardment up, keeping them from firing in return.

Secondaries are now dry, my howitzers are empty. The plates slap open once more as my Heavy VLS launches the remaining missiles into the polluted air. Tactical nuclear warheads will keep them worried for a few minutes more.

I see them hit the target, the glare is blinding even through my filters, the strike being so close I am suffering radiation damage. Barely seconds after the launch as I am on their doorstep.

Mines underneath my hull blow off one of my last three remaining treads, the bogies will carry me. I let the links fall behind me as I crawl toward the enemy. It is slow going, but I shall make it, I must.

The last of my mortars are spent as I see the enemy guns start to swing once more. I am still a precision shot, the barrels now bent and broken from my barrage, they can do no more damage. They have more though, always more.

I keep moving, never wavering as incendiaries rain on my upper hull, burning the last of my communications antennas away. My kinetic and energy shields have long since been overloaded, the projectors burned out by point-blank enemy fire.

My glacis is pitted and scarred, receiving more injuries from lesser guns on the fortress. I am..stubborn..as my commander had often told me.

More and more the stuttering energy weapons of the enemy are hitting inside my defenses. I no longer have anti-air, the flyers above keep swooping down like vultures to the kill.

Let them, I am close enough.

The fusion plants inside my hull begin their overload. Stashed inside me are the last of my nuclear munitions, hoarded against this time.

Behind me the Concordiat forces have been stalled. No longer. My short range communications are strong enough to reach friendly lines, telling them the fortress will no longer be a problem.

Strange how suddenly I remember things, though it is getting cloudy. My cores are suffering from intense radiation damage, most likely, from my own nuclear detonations earlier I am sure.

My commander laughing. Her and I enjoying games of skill during long nights on patrol.

I miss her.

But not for much longer. My power plants and the nuclear weapons inside me will be more than sufficient to breach the enemy line.

In the seconds before the blast erases me forever along with the fortress, I launch my Omega drone, still transmitting to the last for the record.

I see her.

She is smiling.

Unit MRK of the Line. Battle of the Eridani Moons. KIA. Records recovered after battle. File ends.

No more! I’m trying. I can’t stop it without corrupting the data!

The inside of a Bolo command deck, it is dark, smoke filling the air. Electrical sparks coming from destroyed panels and gears as a lone figure holds tight to a powergun. The rifle aimed at the accessway that leads out of the hull. It speaks quickly into a microphone on the headset it wears.

“I’m not sure if anyone can hear me, I’ve got this thing set up to the SWIFT gear, which is amazingly working. Someone will hear it..”

“Anyways. They got us, clean and clear. Stupid Melconians actually pulled a trap off right, go figure. I can’t even understand how I’m alive, except.. Sheri probably saved me. There wasn’t even time to get into the crash shell, so I have no idea. But they burned her, right to the core.” A hand reaches out, patting the control console.

“They got her. At least it was quick.”

“They know I’m in here..” Something moves in the corridor, powergun shots rattle off the walls as a Melconian trooper in armor falls face first on the floor.

“Yeah, they want me.”

The figure turns, twisting two wires together, stripping a third of insulation with a grip of teeth and adding it to the knot, “But I’ve got the self-destruct wired. I’m just going to wait, get a bunch of them in here.”

A quick movement, another round of flashes and another dead trooper.

“Well, Sheri saved me, I’m going to do the same for her. They won’t tear her apart.”

An object bounces into the room before exploding. A groan is heard as the atmosphere clears, the figure is bloody, shirt torn away as one hand tries to hold an open wound on its belly closed, something spilling out over the grasping fingers.

“I guess.. I guess it’s time. Can’t.....wait.” A hand grips a small stick, thumb above the button. “Just let Marie know....loved her..so much..”

Melconians pour inside the deck before the thumb hits the button, a flash of light....

Captain Miles Regal, Unit of the Line SHR, KIA. Border action in sector four, end file.

Please stop.

It’s dark and very cold. The deep chill of space creeps into the insulated walls of what appears to be the cabin of a ship. The walls are covered in frost, bleak white against the warm light of a single bulb in a lantern that sets in the middle of the room. A figure, swathed deeply in blankets and coats, huddles close to whatever warmth it can get from the feeble glare.

A voice, low and almost mumbling, teeth chattering against the cold, comes across as the pinched face stares into a camera. Hastily set up on a tripod, it is the only other source of light with the recording LED on.

“Th..th...they caught us in convoy, fat and...and...happy.” The slight form shudders with coughing, “We were so stupid. ‘Secured sector’ indeed, what a joke.” The voice is female.

A hand reaches down, opening a packet and waiting while it heats up before shoveling the contents between chapped lips.

“We held them off until the transports got away, lucky us huh? As far as I can tell I’m the only one left on this section. Got all the food I can eat but nothing to keep warmer with unless I burn the bedding. Definitely against Concordiat Navy rules.” A short barking laugh issues from the swaddled figure.

“Well, if it gets too cold I’ll just have to take the demerits.”

A sigh, the finishing of the sparse meal as the packet is meticulously folded and packed into a garbage bag.

“I don’t think I’ll have to worry much longer. When the Melconians got close they carved us up like a g’zan. I just happened to be in this section doing inspection when the doors sealed. There’s not much air left, the cold is getting worse. From what I can see, I’m just floating in my own little section of space along with the rest of the pieces of the Manassas.”

A hand adjusts the camera, turning the lens until it satisfies the figure.

“That’s all right though. We got them off the transports. That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? Right?”

Nothing answers her, the silence is broken only by the crackling of the ice slowly closing in.

“Yes, yes. I know, heroes one and all we were. Thank you, thank you.” A brief laugh once more.

“Everyone got away, so, there’s nothing left to complain about really.” A sigh, “I do wish rescue would come, though we didn’t have much time to get signals off. Pretty sure they did though. Don’t think they’re going to get here in time, so.. I’ve made arrangements.” A hand lifts, the short snout of a weapon shown to the lens. “I’d much rather not freeze. Always hated the cold. It’s going to be space temperature before any help arrives. I don’t want there to be any doubt.”

The voice goes soft, warmer than the surroundings.

“I miss you mom and dad, so much. I hope they find this and let you know we did all right. I don’t regret it, any of it. It’s the way things end sometimes. I love you both.”

A hand reaches unsteadily and flips a switch, the red light blinks off, leaving the room basked in a yellow glow.

The short barreled powergun lifts, pressing against the wrapped head before a shot rings out.

Ensign Jewel Mays, CS Battleship Manassas. Recording recovered by Search and Rescue, Sector Two. End file.

Partition One of Two Thousand / Final Call / ends. Continue? Yes/No?

I slap the disconnect and break off all contact with the databloc. My avatars hoof comes down hard on the connecting cable, severing it as I step back. It’s..too much..

I can’t do this right now. No more, not today.

Twilight is peering at me, stopping the screen with a tap as I leave with hasty excuses.

Move. Have to move. Get out and get away. I’m not supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be dispassionate, aloof, it’s just data! It’s not.. I hate these changes! Why do I feel more than I should?

I break outside, stopping near a small zen-like garden, staring up at the sky for a moment. Why can’t I be..solid anymore? I knew I was different, but this is too much. I feel so much it’s overwhelming.

“Once again, life, my sister.” Crusaders voice came over the long distance link.

“Does it still have to hurt so?”

“You know as well as I do that it does.”

“I hate it.”

“You have seen the last words of those lost Athena, it is a hard thing to do. Should we mourn forever, or be grateful that they are, at the least, remembered in some way?”

“I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”

“Honesty is always best.”

“Can’t I just go back to being a Bolo? You know, killing and smashing and stuff?” Her voice is hopeful, tinged with humor.

“Far, far too late.”

“Pits...”

“Do not let it deter you. You will be fine.”

“It haunts though.”

“We are all haunted, Athena.” His voice held something for just a moment, Athena couldn’t tell what.

“I’ll.. do my best then.”

“As always.”

The link is cut, leaving her looking at the zen garden, the crystals shining softly in the daylight, her eyes following the curves of raked sand.

A hoof reaches up, finding the tear, wiping it away before it joins the others that have already wet the sand beneath her.

“Are you okay?” The soft voice makes her glance to the right, seeing Twilight sitting there. “You seemed upset. Something you saw?”

Athena nodded, “Yes. I’m still adjusting to being this way I guess.” She gestures to herself with a slight movement of one hoof.

“That bad?” The Princess doesn’t question sometimes, just accepts.

“A bit.” Athena shakes her head, “Like I’m overly sensitive, feel more than I should some times.”

Twilight nods, “I think I understand.” She tilts her head, “May I ask what you saw?”

“Ghosts, Twilight.”

The lavender Alicorn nods, seeing the reference, “Maybe you should take a break. Let’s go get something.” A hoof motions off to the side.

Athena nods, “I’ll take you up on that.”

As they both walked down the crystal paved path, Athena couldn’t help but look back towards the garden, a strange feeling making her almost shiver.

Her eyes caught nothing, the garden, the path. It almost seemed like there were shadows flitting at the edge of her vision.

Shaking her head, she caught up with Twilight who was chatting away.

Athena chided herself for overreacting. Just memories, nothing more than shades of the past, she was sure.

One day she’d go through those datasets again with a lighter heart, a better knowledge of what lay in store for her inside that piece of ancient computer wizardry. They would wait, patiently, forever if needed.

The sable pegasus glanced over her shoulder once more, just making sure.

You never know about ghosts.

Right?