Syntheen

The sky was a cloudless cobalt, dry for this time of year. With the ground so dry there would likely be flash floods. They’d need to get to the next caravan before that happened. Dulcet eyed the red dirt clinging to her forelimbs, encrusting around the ceramic joints.Efforts to shake or stamp it loose were futile, but it did not effect her mobility. Dulcet was a Scimitar, a sleek, elegant quadruped, all sweeping lines and pointed features. A herd of Scimitars was a striking sight and quite a formidable. Dulcet was no longer part of a herd however.

A crooked stalk of some kind stuck out of the ground, disturbed by what little breeze there was. Some kind of vegetation. Dead now of course, as were all other organics this far out from the Citadel.

“No, it’s no good. We’ll have to go round,” Chesmet was near-casting his communication from just over the craggy rise, his voice carried by sound waves less likely to be picked up by others. Dulcet looking up to see him crawl over the edge, low as not to be seen. “I can see four more advancing spinward,” he said, planting his hands on his hips and looking around, “so, now what?”

Dulcet looked up back towards where Chesmet had been observing the Dun-Mules. The large yet quite aggressive quadrupeds were closely related to her own kind. In a way it brought a sort of pride to know how they had managed to thrive out here. She knew however that such pride was of little use when charged by ten tonnes of enraged carbon-silica. Not that the temptation to face such a thing passed her by. She could use the opportunity to let loose.

Chesmet slid down the nearby craggy incline, dropping the rest of the way to the ground, “hello?” he said, wiping grime from his goggles.

“We’ll go round,” Dulcet agreed, looking back to her diminutive friend.

Behind his goggles Chesmet rolled his eyes, turning to face their new direction. “That’s what I said,” he had returned to close-casting and along side it came a vision which appeared, projected within Dulcet’s mind. It depicting her head baking in the sun, melting her cognition core. She had grown used to Chesmet’s pictograms, which tended to be verbose and sarcastic. Dulcet preferred to be direct.

Unlike herself Chesmet was ill suited to the barren wastes of this place and requiring sealed environmental isolation wear against the elements. At one time the suit had been nearly entirely white and mostly clean but had since become ruddy with grime. Syntheen of his kind were rare and It had been no small task finding suitable equipment in his particular size. The ill fitting gear caused the Quokka to waddle as he walked.

Chesmet stopped, exasperated, “I hate it when you dawdle, come on, we’re already way off schedule and if we don’t reach Bismark by sundown we’ll be caught among the degenerates.”

Taking one last look towards the unseen Mules, Dulcet trotted after her companion, swiftly catching up and then slowing down to match pace. She dipped her head, looking at Chesmet sideways. He rolled his eyes behind the goggles, “yes, fine,” he cast before wrapping his arms around her long neck and allowing himself to be brought up onto her back.

The Dun-Mules would be mindlessly breaking up the ground and grinding the dirt, filtering out isotopes which saturated the wastes. It made Dulcet uncomfortable although she couldn’t quite figure out why. The track leading away and down towards a ravine inside which she knew the larger ground transports sometimes passed. It cost a great many cells to run them, yet there were those in the cities who had the means to do so.

Long ago she’d been part of a herd one hundred Scimitars strong that guarded the lands around Citadel. The Avian Parliament had ruled at that time and while the skies remained theirs they required a standing force to protect the lower levels from deviants and rival cities.

A Scimitar was built for close quarters combat, it’s forelimbs split-seamed and ends tapering, capable of reshaping to bladed edges. Their senses were well suited for maximum reflex, allowing for hostile evasion and predictive engagement of targets. Their armour was built to deflect impacts from kinetic and energy weapons, and had even been known to withstand direct plasma bolt hits. They were also fast. A long range attacker may think they have the upper hand, yet find their targets scattered, elusive and closing quickly.

The spire, a construct of metal and carbon, had stretched upwards into the sky beyond what Dulcet could resolve. It’s upper heights were accompanied perpetually by the fliers of the Avians.

The land around the citadel was unique in all the known world, covered as it was by organic life. Grass and plants were common as well as some small fauna. It had struck Dulcet as impressive that they were able to increase their numbers entirely independently. No facilities. No induction chambers. They were whole industrial networks compressed into a single entity.

Every few days would bring a rotation and the entire herd would be moved between grounds. Most often they would be sent to intercept one of the larger marauding deviants. Dulcet never felt more excited as when she entered one of the vast transports and they skimmed close to the ground at speeds no Scimitar could hope to achieve on legs alone.

For their efforts her herd was supplied with unlimited energy allowance at the stations and full maintenance ration. Her companions were no great company but Dulcet had experienced a companionship of sorts.

Dulcet’s life had been good. It was uncomplicated by questions of purpose or place. She had had both of those. Dulcet would learn that nothing can remain unchanged forever.

A schism had broken out among the Avians. A war between ideologies that Dulcet did not try to understand. She knew the Citadel itself was the center of it, but at the time it had not mattered to her. While the rival Parliaments battled in the sky, ground-based Syntheen were left to fight below.

As the enemy arrived her herd had split into smaller attack groups of six and had spread across the plain to intercept the incoming aggressors. As the youngest in her group she had not yet fought against an organised force let alone one this size and so followed the lead of the others as they sped towards their foe. The enemy was mostly made of armoured Syntheen, no doubt enlisted in an attempt to neutralise the advantages of her own side’s defensive capabilities. Groups of low lying Pangorians advanced on shuffled feet behind a staggered line of bulky Ryheen.

As they neared it became clear the enemy was advancing slowly. Dulcet’s group leader signaled caution and curved their approach, racing parallel to their lines to better gauge their forces. They quickly saw the reason for the impeded pace.

Syntheen fights were typically fought in close quarter encounters and while some were capable of hefting lumps of rock, or even metal projectiles, there were next to none with any long range offensive capabilities. A Porcine was therefore a rare sight, not least due to it’s usually risk averse behavior. There were dozens of them in this fight. Yet while their backs were covered in sharp, needle pointed projectiles they would need to be facing away from the enemy in order to actually launch any. They were also incredibly inaccurate, but made up for lack of accuracy with quantity.

Rather than retreat, her group leader drove them forward. It was a smart strategy, bringing them swiftly into close range of the armoured front lines and too close for the long range forces to hit. They tore through the enemy, their bladed limbs carving their carapace up as if they were organic. Dulcet elated as her blades separated limbs and heads from bodies, their internal regulatory fluids cast in elegant arcs. A burst of panicked short-casted alarm rang out, and she took great satisfaction in the way it cut off sharply as she split the caster in half.

Pausing for a moment she scanned the enemy lines, expecting to see the next armoured advance yet instead saw Hyphons. Wall breakers, intended to breach their final defences. This early in the battle it seemed sheer arrogance to expect the Citadel forces to have been routed. Indeed it seemed impossible that they would make such a mistake. Her group leader had also spotted the opening in the enemy lines. He signaled their charge.

Dulcet cast a warning yet was ignored. She cast again with pictograms that communicated the threat better than simple words could but they continued. She joined them nevertheless and looking around saw other Scimitar groups joining the attack. She was inexperienced, she told herself. Perhaps she was mistaken. The enemy held ranks. They did not break or flee. Dulcet felt something was terribly wrong. It was only when they were too close to turn that her fears became realised.

Scarabs. The enemy had brought Scarabs. The Hyphons were not preparing to attack, but were there to hide the immense armoured form of the Scarab warriors, who now broke free of their lines and charged her own.

From time to time she would replay the battle internally, trying to understand if there was any other choice she could have made that would have helped turn the course. She wondered why their Avian masters with a vantage of the battlefield had not warned them or signaled a retreat.

Yet what stuck with her was the knowledge that her group was lost from the moment the enemy was revealed. She could see it in their eyes as she ran alongside them. In their very movement, staggered by shock.

What their enemy lacked in agility they made up for in armour and sheer brute force. Her group split as one of the Scarab bore down on them, yet their blades merely glanced off toughened plate armour. Rounding back again and again, each attempted attack merely allowing the Scarabs to sweep their immense head mounted blades through the attacking Scimitars. That or simply trample them. For everyone one Scarab they took down twenty Scimitars were crushed.

Their loss was inevitable. In the chaos that followed she had found herself alone, cut off from friendly forces. Her own group was lost. With enemies on all sides she was forced away from the citadel entirely. With no way of knowing who was aligned to the invading forces she avoided direct contact, listening out for broadcasts that might give her word it was safe to regroup. She heard none, and so she ran. It did not take long for the broadcasts announcing the Parliament’s fall to begin.