Difference between revisions of "Homeworld/TheShatteredFront"

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Continuing Education Facility 3

Author: Fluidity

The clatter of cutlery and scraping of chairs announced the end of the meal. Spontaneously the crew helped with the after-dinner chores. Rhetonomic Engineer Fluidity delivered her plate and mug to the washing tubs. Usually she would have rolled up her sleeves with the rest of them, but duty called: a lesson was nearing completion. She exchanged beams with her sister Gatling on her way out.

There were only two RevCorps aboard now: Fluidity and Rivet. Hegemonic Engineer Ratchet had been lost in the destruction caused by Valtarian cannon three months ago and Rhetonomic Engineer Piston was redeployed somewhere on the Inner Sea. Hegemonic Engineer Tactics had gone out with one of the last forays, to the town they had liberated, to start hegemonically repurposing it. It was unclear how she had died, but it would have been glorious.

The Victory Through Persistence was a long-serving airship now, over six years in deployment, and rarely away from the Valtarian frontlines. They were truly glorious to have so many of the original crew remaining. Why, Liberator Dynamics was just a year off from nearing his mid-twenties. Exemplary.

Rhetonomic Engineer Rivet was zealous and idealistic, but they had long ago decided how to partition their duties. Fluidity was idealistic too, but her ideals could better accommodate the firmer aspects of education.

She made her way past the dissipating groups. A dozen chattering young recruits were heading to the ballcourts for healthy team sport. Comrades settled down on the dining tables and drew out cards. A pair of ProCorps strode nonchalantly to Engine Room 4; perhaps the latest vats had finished brewing.

Fluidity went to Continuing Education Facility 3.

The few small Education Facilities onboard were rarely mentioned, staying beneath the knowledge and consciousness of almost all LibCorps and ProCorps. Some battles were the burden of RevCorps alone. This battle was less heroic, less dashing and less dangerous, but sometimes it was just as … visceral.

She unlocked the facility door and let her eyes adjust. Here were stationed those pupils who were either unfortunately slow to accommodate their lessons, or woefully disruptive. Of course the bulk of VolCorps' reformation would take place in the Inner Assembly, where more refined techniques were available. But that could be many months away; this precious cargo, freshly liberated from their 'monarch', could not wait until then to begin processing.

They were positioned facing a wall-length screen, on which inspirational visions played. RevCorps' finest orated, Liberators posed, joyous factory workers smiled and saluted. To rousing music, the narrator promised camaraderie and glory.

She muted the film. It was unpatriotic, but she had learnt that often the voices were too weak to be heard over the blaring announcements.

“Good evening, Comrades.” She needn't have spoken. Every pleading eye was on her.

She hitched up her skirts as she stepped in: the floor was dirty. A red and gold footstool was provided for kneeling in front of the most promising pupil.

She knelt leisurely. She rested a finger on the lever. A whimper.

She waited for her answer. It was positive. The light of progress had dawned on this one. She released the mechanism.

“Welcome to the Combine, Volunteer.”

Family

Author: Gatling

In the photo they are smiling. Her elbows are resting on his shoulders where he sits, lounging in the chair, his cheek smeared just a bit with grease, her finger tips blackened by gunpowder. They look as if someone’s just told some marvelous joke about Veterans and they are about to burst into uncontrollable laughter. These days, it’s a famous propaganda piece.

She knows just hours before they had blood on their hands.

It’s dog eared at the edges and there are creases where it has been folded to be kept close to heart. It’s well loved. Well worn. Looking at it closely there is faded blood on the left hand edge, either hers or some Valterian, Walker or Opotunist, it didn’t really matter.

She remembers that he had called her name just in time as she ducked out of the way of the long sword. His blade came down right across the Monarchs back, craving a gash the size of the shattered front itself. Her gun raised and fired across his shoulder, taking out another Monarch behind him and saving Rebar from a nasty burn.

The words splashed across the front are faded but fingers can still trace the well worn path. His signature was still simple back then, hadn’t taken on the full curves and flushes of his ego. The wobble of nerves come through a wavering hand.

She danced with him, a waltz of grenades and knifes. Their arms locked to provide speedy turns then disengaged as they took fire. Back pressed together as weapons and ammunition changed hands, like an engine changing gear. They slaughtered an entire watchtower before Fluidity even had time to get the camera. She demanded they let her photograph the celebration of their first successful mission.

They were 18.

“For Family.

~ Dynamics”

Advantage Valley

Author: Dynamics

“Volunteer Crank! Behind you!”

There’s a burst of fire, as the dark red drake incinerates the Volunteer in front of the Liberator’s eyes. The light reflects of the goggles in the smoke and shadows of the fortress, and Dynamics stands frozen.

“LIBERATOR!” shouts Switchgear, “We need to get out of here NOW!”

Wrenched back to the moment, Dynamics scrambles backward as the dark silhouette of the Monarch-in-Shadow looms through the corridor, cackling.

“You, Combine Peasants, you really thought you could defeat me? Dark Lord of the Valley of Despair, Keeper of the Place of Madness-”

“The Combine will always overcome Valtarian tyrants!” shouts Driveshaft, charging forward. Dynamics and Switchgear shout out in unison top stop him, but with one swing of the Valtarian’s sword it’s too late.

Time seems to slow as Driveshaft’s body falls the floor: Dynamics and Switchgear beating a tactical retreat through the twisting dungeons of the Valtarian castle, a sword in the hands of one, and energy pistols in the hands of another, parrying blows and firing pointlessly into the dark armour of the Monarch.

“You incompetent fools! I am immortal!” the Monarch laughs, and that’s when the Liberator and Volunteer alike both see it: the gap in the armour.

In an immediate moment, Dynamics and Switchgear look at each other.

“NO!” they both shout in unison, “The Combine need you!”

Dynamics shakes his head, “I’m closer, I can do this: get out while you still can!”

“I’m a Volunteer: this is what I’m for,” Switchgear replies, loudly but simply.

“Equality, Volunteer, we’re both here for the same job -- let me do this!”

Switchgear shouts, “You need to survive this: Liberators survive, Volunteers die, that’s how it works.”

“But-”

“I Volunteer.”

Dynamics falters for a moment, the Monarch advances.

“Nobody will remember this if it’s you,” Dynamics says, his voice a whisper, “Your sacrifice… it’s…”

Switchgear turns to him, and holds out in her hand a simple golden medal, “If you want to remember me, take this.”

Dynamics holds out his hand, as the Monarch looms over behind Switchgear, dark sword raised high.

“Now, peasants, now you die!”

A hand tightens around the medal as Switchgear lets go and shouts, “FOR THE COMBINE!!!”

~

Three days later, Liberator Dynamics is retrieved, standing atop the ruins of a Valtarian fortress in a desperate area of the Shattered Front known as Advantage Valley. His sword shattered, his goggles cracked, his coat charred. The only respectable object remaining is a simple, unmarked, golden medal, clutched tightly in his hand.