Shiny Things

The land of Blood Gulch turned from pristine farmland to the remains of a battlefield so seamlessly that Leonard Church had to blink his eyes slightly at just how quickly the transformation snuck up on them.

“Oh yeah,” their guide, Donut, said upon noticing all of the shocked faces of the Chrous group, “Blood Gulch was the site of a pretty large land dispute awhile back.  The fighting stopped around the time when I was born, but there are still reminders of it all over the planet.”

“Huh.  You don’t say.” Distantly, Church wondered if this was how Chorus would look one day.

At the moment, the planet they were living at was still mostly scarred ground.  Maybe eventually only pockets of that would remain on Chorus too.

“You didn’t read up on that part of the planet’s history, Church?” Grey inquired, though her voice was more curious than really chastising.

After all, the doctor knew that not only had he been thoroughly fixated on the star map itself to check for accuracy before they left, but that he had also been with Tex the night before they’d left as well.

Church’s face flushed slightly at that particular thread of memory, but he managed to cover things up with his usual aplomb, “O—of course, I did, Doctor Grey!  It’s just different seeing it in person, is all.”

“Well, that is true!” The dark skinned woman nodded her head in understanding while mercifully changing the subject at the same time, “There are buildings built right on top of the battlefield here.”

Following the point of her finger, Church saw that what Doctor Grey said was indeed true.  The remains of the battlefield were scorched and scarred earth that began jarringly right where the farmland ended.  There were husks of old weapons and vehicles lying around along with crumbling ruins of decimated buildings.

But there were a handful of recently constructed buildings out in the center of the grounds.  All of those were in good repair, and each had a slight electrical hum running through them that told Church’s Veroni senses that there was power throughout the oddly located structures.

What really caught the dark haired man’s attention right next to said buildings though were the crouched over forms of two mechs.

“This whole area is where Sarge lives.” Donut explained, “He was a soldier during the fighting and just never left, even after everyone else did.  That’s his mech,” he then nodded his dirty blond head towards the larger of the two mechs which was a brightly gleaming red color, “The Warthog.  But, both get parked here.”

Donut was talking so casually about the giant robots out in the middle of his now peaceful colony that Church had to wonder how long they had been there even before becoming active again.  Judging by how pristine both machines looked, he could guess it was quite a while.

“Is that second one,” Palomo was squinting to get a better view, “Pink?”

“Nothing wrong with a good color like that, Palomo.” Volleyball told him playfully, glancing at the pink trim of her armor.

“Exactly!” Donut nodded his head in agreement with the blonde, “Though I believe in this case the correct shade is lightish-red.”

“Why is the big one called the Warthog?” Church mused instead of commenting on Donut’s odd remark about what was obviously an extremely pink robot.

If Carolina had her way, the mech would be called “Red” to match Black and Maroon, which at least sort-of made sense given its coloring.  The Veroni failed to see what about the humanoid-shaped robot resembled the wild animal from Earth.

“Because it is intimidating and stout, just like a warthog!” A new, gruff voice exclaimed from close by, “Obviously.”

They turned as one group to find an older man standing behind them garbed in red clothing that resembled a similar shade to the Warthog.  Given the man’s larger stature, it was obvious he was an Arenian.  There was also a brown-armored figure looking on at the group disinterestedly from behind him.

“Hey, Sarge!” Donut waved in greeting to the older man before walking over to him, “I brought some people who were interested in your mech!”

Sarge did not seem at all impressed, glancing over at the group as disinterestedly as his silent companion appeared to be currently doing to the ground, “Hmph.  So, you’re the folks who came on that transport ship a little while ago?” he finally asked them.

“That’s right.” Carolina nodded her head in confirmation, “We’re from the planet Chorus and—“

“I don’t really need to hear your life’s story.” He cut her off, “You’re here for the mechs and their pilots, right?”

The redhead nodded once more, green eyes narrowed as if trying to get a good read on the situation.

“I take it the reason you’re interested in these here mechs is because you’re in a battle with someone.  Maybe even those Charon SOBs that stir up trouble here from time to time?”

Church exchanged looks at the others in their group just then, though they unhelpfully shrugged back at him.  No one seemed to have realized that Charon could have been extending their influence to even middle of nowhere places like Blood Gulch here.

“That’s actually a fairly accurate assessment.” His sister noted, genuinely surprised.

Church was somewhat impressed.  Very few things or people caught Carolina off-guard anymore.

Sarge huffed, “Totally hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?” He stated proudly, nodding to himself, “In which case, sign us up!  Right, Lopez?”

“Como si realmente me daría una opción, usted viejo loco.”  {“As if you’d really give me a choice, you crazy old man.”}

From the electronic Spanish coming from the brown-armored individual Sarge had just referred to as Lopez, it was obvious he was a robot.

Donut confirmed this a second later when he conspiratorially whispered to their group, “Oh, yeah!  Sarge built Lopez about a year or so ago to help out around here.  He’s like his son!”

“Por favor, no repita eso. Nunca.”  {“Please don’t repeat that.  Ever.”}

Putting the mysteries behind a fully functional human-sized robot aside, though Church could see Doctor Grey’s dark eyes maniacally light up at the prospect of talking more on that particular subject later, Sarge’s blatant commentary was a little hard to fully process just then.

Church and Carolina both looked at each other as if trying to get a read on what they were each making of this encounter before turning back to the Arenian.

“Really?” Church asked Sarge, tone disbelieving, “You’d be willing to go with us just like that?”

Truthfully, when all was said and done, he had expected some kind of convincing to happen on their end.  After all, what sane person wants to just jump blindly into a war?

“Well,” Sarge looked them over carefully just then, “Most of you are wearing a shade of dirty blue so I suppose I should be cautious.”

“Come again?” Church couldn’t help but ask.

“Sarge has some personal trust issues against the color blue.” Donut stated matter-of-factly, as if that made perfect sense anywhere in the universe.

“But you’ve made friends with Donut and one of you at least has the common sense to wear a shade of red.” Sarge nodded his head in Volleyball’s direction approvingly, “So I figure you can’t all be bad.”

“Gee, thanks.” Church couldn’t help but mutter sarcastically.

“Besides, I’m sick of being stuck on this planet when the fighting’s been over with for a while now.  I long to be in the thick of battle once more.” The red-wearing man chuckled to himself, “If you folks can promise me that, I’ll gladly go with you all.”

“Fighting definitely won’t be a problem.” Carolina assured him, “You’re right in assuming that we aren’t on friendly terms with Charon.”

“All the better!” Sarge seemed pleased as punch by this turn of events, “Those numb nuts really make my blood boil!”

“Okay, so one mech and one pilot down.” Church mentally ticked it off in his head, “That was easier than I thought.” Frowning, he then glanced over at the second mech that was slightly smaller in stature than the Warthog, “Any idea who the pilot of Pink here is?”

Sarge looked in surprise at Donut then, “You mean you didn’t tell them?” He asked.

“Tell us what?”

No sooner had the question left his mouth than Church figured out exactly what Sarge was referring to.  In hindsight, Donut’s clothing color choice should have made it obvious.

The Elvari’s face flushed as he rubbed the back of his head, “Did I forget to mention that I was the pilot of a mech too?” Donut asked sheepishly, “Sorry about that!  Sometimes I just lose head when things get intense!”

Odd word choice aside, this was an incredible find!  Church could scarcely believe it.

“You can bet I’m willing to help you guys out too since Sarge and Lopez are!” Donut said cheerfully before adding a bit more hesitantly a second later, “I…just have to tell my family first.”

“¿Tú lo haces?”  {“You do?”}

Both Sarge and Lopez exchanged a glance with one another, the older man seeming surprised by the dirty blond’s remark but ultimately choosing not to comment on it.  With assurances that he would come right back “lickety-split,” Donut went back the way their group had come to go talk to his family at one of the farms they had passed.

Carolina looked around the area as the others started doing their own things now that business around here was apparently settled for the most part, “You wouldn’t happen to have a communicator around, would you?” She asked Sarge, “I need to get into contact with our people.”

Sarge turned to the red mech, touching the chest area.  It immediately dissolved to show the cockpit, “You can use the one in the Warthog, if you’d like.”

She nodded her head in thanks and stepped inside along with her brother and Sarge, striding over to the control panel that she must have recognized as a communicator from her own personal experiences with mechs.  Her first message was naturally to Four Seven Niner.

It was so standard in the typical variety kind of way that Church didn’t even bother to pay much attention to it.  Basically, Carolina told the pilot that not only had they had found both the mechs and their respective pilots, but that they would be back to the transport to move on to the next location soon.  The redhead’s friend confirmed this with just a small quip on how quick that was before ending their dialogue.

Carolina’s next communication was one that Church paid a bit more attention to as she was channeling Wash.  He was curious about whether or not the other group had had the same luck they had just experienced.  If they weren’t, he kind of wanted to rub their good fortune in their faces.  Just a little bit, at least.

When Washington finally answered and appeared on the screen, the former Freelancer looked a bit haggard, “He—hey, Carolina.  What’s up?”

Carolina and Church both glanced at each other, but his sister took the whole thing in stride.  The half-Veroni easily dominated the conversation.

“We found our first two mechs and pilots.  We’re heading to our next location soon.” She stated, “How’s your progress?”

Wash started with a “Not bad—“ only to get interrupted as something that sounded distinctly like a fire extinguisher went off in the nearby distance.

“Good news, sir!” Matthews’ voice sounded from somewhere off-screen, “The fire’s out!”

“…We found our first mech, still looking for the pilot.” Wash finished.

“Keep us posted.  Take care.” Carolina glanced at Church again, reaching out to end the transmission.

“You too, boss.”

That was that.  Silence loomed in the cockpit as the two siblings and Sarge processed what they had just heard and saw.

“They’re having issues.” Church finally said.

Carolina nodded, “Most definitely.” She was quick to add, “But I trust Wash to get his team through them.”

Church sighed and shook his head, “Fucking Red Team problems.” He muttered under his breath, since most of the team that went to Rat’s Nest wore some shade of red.

Sarge harrumphed, “Well, if you ask me, those beat Blue Team problems any day of the week.”

Church couldn’t help sighing again, hoping that whoever they found as the mech pilot on the moon colony they were visiting next wouldn’t be half as annoying.

*****

David Washington let out a deep breath of relief as soon as the comm-channel dispersed.  Truthfully, he was still a bit unsure of how they had managed to get the unpiloted mech back to the hangar and relative safety of their transport.

He had evidently been better at holding off their attackers at the site than he had thought.  Not to mention the fact that somehow Jensen had gotten ahold of an industrial construction mover.  Honestly, the blond supposed the whole thing could be chalked up to being to one giant miracle in a lot of respects.

After all, no one who was sane was going to bother them with Jensen of all people behind the wheel.  The brunette had somehow even managed to avoid crashing until after they had gotten back to Andersmith and the transport.

Plus, according to Matthews, the one major fire that crash had resulted in had evidently been put out during his conversation with Carolina too.  Truth be told, it had all been better results than the Strassian had expected given what had gone wrong previously.

“You didn’t tell them about what happened to Captain Simmons.” Bitters stated from behind Wash, his head slightly turned as he watched the three other lieutenants making sure the fire was truly put out since it would not do to have an inferno suddenly come to life inside their transport.

Of course, that was the one thing that had gone spectacularly wrong recently.  Wash sighed, blaming himself for having not seen the surprise attack coming.  Because of that error in judgement, Simmons had been taken and…

The gray eyed man shook his head, deciding to try to focus on what they could do in the here and now rather than on worst case scenarios.

“Carolina is pretty sharp.  I’m betting she already knows something is going on.” Washington informed Bitters, “Besides, there will be plenty of time to go into what exactly happened in a report after we both get Simmons back and find Orange’s pilot.”

He did not say “if” they got him back, and Bitters did not comment on the definitive declaration for a long while.  No doubt he and the other rookies wanted to believe it to be a possibility too, though moments later Bitters couldn’t help but ask, “Yeah, but what are the odds of that happening now when we have two mechs and no pilots?”

Wash sighed, “All we can do at this point is try, Lieutenant Bitters.”

Bitters said nothing in response, and Wash turned then to stare at the two motionless mechs on the transport.  The former Freelancer found himself missing Steel even more than usual given their current situation.

All Washington could do at the moment was just hope that Simmons was all right currently, wherever the other Strassian was.

*****

Richard “Dick” Simmons woke up by being greeted with a flash of pain all over his body.  Still, as much as it hurt, the painful jolt helped to force him fully awake.

The redhead tried leaping up, remembering exactly what had been going on before the shock stick had made contact with his stomach, only to discover that he was unable to rise fully from where he was currently lying.

To his growing horror, Simmons realized that was because his foot was tethered to the cot that he had been placed on to the side of a large, warehouse-like space filled with all sorts of different derelict construction equipment, crates, and weaponry.

The pale skinned man’s clothes were gone too.  The Strassian was only in his boxers, blue-tinged freckles all over his body visible for the whole world to see.  He tried closing his eyes, taking in deep breaths to keep the overwhelming sense of panic from getting to him.

Not like last time, not like last time…

Eventually, shakily, Simmons was able to squeeze his green eyes open and look around the expansive building.  The logical part of his brain informing him that doing so would be helpful.  If nothing else, he found that it helped offset some of his panic.

In the middle of the derelict warehouse was a table with a bunch of humans sitting around it.  They were cleaning their weapons and drinking, talking in loud voices.  Despite not being nearby, Simmons could hear them thanks to their volume.

“It just sucks that we lost the mech for now.” One of the humans was saying, “Who knew they could grab a mover so fast?”

So, they hadn’t gotten ahold of Orange then.  Simmons relaxed slightly, grateful for the information.

“Yeah, but we know they took it to Hangar B.  We’ll have our chance to reclaim it soon enough.” Another said rather confidently.

Simmons frowned, not liking that bit of news at all.  He sat up straighter, wanting to lean over to hear more.

Suddenly one of the men was looking over in his direction with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

“It is pretty good news that we got one of the aliens though.” The man told the rest of the group, all of whom glanced over at Simmons just then.

Simmons shirked away to the wall, both unused to and not liking attention in the best of circumstances…of which this was certainly not.

“Plus, it’s a Strassian to boot!” One of the humans laughed, “They sell for a ton on the black market because of how addictive their pheromones are.”

Simmons’ blood went cold at the comment.  His panic levels began to rise again, but the redhead couldn’t bring himself to speak up.

“I don’t know.  This one seems to be broken.” Another complained, sniffing the air pointedly, “I don’t feel any different.”

“That’s because they take suppressants to mask their pheromones when interacting with other species, moron!” The third man to talk before informed his comrade, “That’ll wear off in a few days, though.”

“Isn’t there a food they feed them that makes their scent-stuff go into overdrive?” Another asked, “I saw one on it before.  It couldn’t do a damn thing but lie there.”

Simmons recoiled at the mention of “tevkask,” memories suddenly streaming unbidden to his mind.

“Look at that, Simmons.  You made a mess again!  I’ll have to clean you up.  I swear, what would you do without me?”

Not again.  He would never be that helpless again.

Simmons began pulling at the tether connecting his foot to the cot, but all his panicked attempts to break free did was amuse his captors.

“Hey,” one of them called over to him between laughter, “Is it true you can still get pregnant despite being male?”

Simmons ignored him, face flushed with exertion and desperately trying to hold back tears.

Before the group could harass him further, the warehouse door opened and a tan skinned, chubby human entered the space with a large box of food in his hands.

“Food delivery.” The new human called out, heading for the table.

“Grif, what are you still doing that shit for?  That’s chump change!” One of the men said in a chastising tone as they threw credits in the newcomer’s general direction, “How about you try working for us?”

“Pass.  I’m trying to stay out of trouble, remember?” The new human, apparently going by the name Grif, said wryly.

“This new job is going to be a goldmine though!” The man continued, motioning over towards where Simmons was sitting perfectly still on the cot, “Just look at our first investment!”

At first, Grif apathetically glanced over at the terrified Strassian with only mild interest flickering over his features.  Suddenly though, he was walking over to the cot and staring down at the cowering, lanky man sitting there.  The dark haired man tilted his head to the side, curiously.

“I’ve never seen a Strassian up close before.” Grif murmured out loud, though the statement was quiet enough that it didn’t seem like he had intended for it to be overheard by the group of humans.

“Get a good look, so long as you don’t damage the merchandise.” The man that had talked earlier said, digging into the food.

Grif leaned over then, his hand reaching out and running over Simmons’ hair and down to his ear as the Strassian shuddered.  Simmons felt his body hitting the back of the wall as he tried scooting away from the sudden touch.  He glared as best he could to try to get the chubby human to back off.

To the redhead’s horror, though, the human known as Grif sat down next to him on the cot.  Dark eyes began roaming over his far too exposed body as Simmons practically exploded into a violent shade of red everywhere.

The Strassian was so terrified that he barely noticed the small blade in the human’s hand that he reached over to the tether with.  Placing his free hand on Simmons’ knee, Grif used the placement of his body to shield the act of cutting the tether from the wall.

Simmons blinked in shock, still stunned to silence.  Grif smirked at him conspiratorially, leaning over with his hand still on the pale skinned man’s knee to hover his lips directly by the shell of the ear he had touched moments before.

“When I tell you to…run.” Grif whispered.

He pulled away quickly, Simmons staring at him wide-eyed and questioning.  All the while, Grif’s hand remained a steadying presence on his knee.

“There’s some fries in there that are on the house.” Grif called over his shoulder to the men behind them.

“Oh, shit!  Really?  Thanks, man!”

The humans were all digging into the box hungrily, momentarily distracted by their hunger.

Suddenly there was a squeezing pressure on Simmons’ knee, and Grif was yelling: “Now!”

The tan skinned man moved his hand to grab ahold of a still shocked Simmons’ arm, pulling the redhead up from the cot and making a break for the warehouse doors.  The surprised gang were in full pursuit mere seconds later.