Homeworld/TheShatteredFront

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.

Persistence

Author: Dynamics

The Liberator was in a good mood. An oddly good mood given that the Victory Through Persistence had just suffered major casualties in an assault against a Valtarian stronghold. And an exceedingly oddly good mood given that they’d lost.

“Dynamics, would you give it a rest with the humming?” sighed an exasperated Switchgear, “We get it, you’re impossible to get down, but the rest of us would sorely like to lick our wounds.”

The Liberator shook his head, “Why would I be down, Volunteer, when all this means is we get the chance to Liberate that Valtarian stronghold all over again?”

Switchgear groaned, taking off a boot and pouring ash out form inside it, before the boot itself promptly disintegrated, “Look, that’s great rhetoric and all, but just tone it down for one afternoon?”

“Rhetoric? What do you mean rhetoric?”

“You know, the whole ‘constant opportunity to liberate the Valtarian scum’ thing. I know you’re only saying it to try and make me feel better, but it’s me, you know me, you can cut the act.”

The Liberator looked puzzled, and Switchgear looked up at the eyes beneath the blackened goggles, something slowly dawning on her as she realised he was only smiling with his lips. Her expression softened.

“Sorry, Dy, don’t know what I was talking about,” she smiled, and then tossed the remains of the boot over the side of the ship, standing up, “How about we head up to the briefing room and plan another angle of assault?”

The Liberator smiled, and the Volunteer did too, each knowing exactly how sincere the other’s facade really was.

Victory Over Resistance

Author: Fluidity

Fluidity crouched on the flight deck, feet carefully apart, camera steadied in both hands. On her lapel was clipped a radio which managed to be both small and clunky simultaneously, and through it, the logistics of battle were being channeled.

It was a major assault. The settlement on the precipice was a more challenging target than anticipated, and they had had to deploy reserves and more. From a crowded landing vessel parachutes tumbled onto the adjacent northern fields; a relay of cannon was constantly repositioning on the steep ascent; a troop of VolCorps stormed the south wall. Unfortunately, the cannon were uncompromisingly slow and the VolCorps soldiers had had to have the newest and unfinalised volunteers mixed in amongst them. This made the troop somewhat less disciplined and significantly more liable to seditious activity.

She should have been down there. The essential ship apparatus was being manned by three engineers, there was a single pilot at the helm, and just Comrade Amplitude controlling communications. Even the ProCorps who usually simply ran the kitchens and plumbing were on the ground aiming cannon, and in the dining hall were left only a couple of toddlers. Rhetonomic Engineer Tactics was giving birth alone downstairs – both medics were working frantically behind the cannon lines – and a few new Volunteers were too simply too chaotic to be allowed to leave their Facility.

She should have been down there. She wanted to be down there. Not winning the battle like Dynamics would, nor commanding the machinery into the most efficacious movements like Rebar; but she liked to think she could have steeled her feet in the mud and hauled a cannon rope no worse than anyone. No one in the Combine was above anyone else's work.

But in her current state, she was less than agile. It had been eight months since they had last travelled in convoy, which explained the condition of she and Tactics. At least if the mission failed, there would be two new Combine patriots at their next docking in the Inner Assembly.

Eight months. They were far, far into Valtarian territory, an outrider mounting an incursion so deep Fluidity thought they would be in uncontested mainland Valtaria with another day's flight. The Victory Through Persistence was prestigious now, and trusted with ambitious missions. Both a scout and a lone offensive force, it had set out to scour this part of the mountains: neutralise a few towns, extinguish beacons, liberate farmers. The scattered settlements were thought to be paltry, but their neutralisation would have hindered Valtarian intelligence. The only other ship to scout this area, the Measure Twice Hammer Thrice, had six months ago reported a derelict old tower here, with shepherds eking out a living beside its walls. Not this. Not this well-manned and well-armed fort whose masonry was so smart its ramparts shone. Not this fort which when attacked had belched out charge after charge of armoured Valtarian fighters.

Was this Dissonance? Fluidity had received restricted-access comms documenting Dissonance in the Shattered Front. It created a logistical nightmare. Largely it was the Hegemonic Engineers who were trying to wrap their heads around it. Now it may have hit them, and hard, and Fluidity was trying to make sense of it. Was the derelict tower ever here? Could the Valtarians have built this fast? Were the other paltry settlements all castles and barracks too?

The crew had been taken by surprise this morning. Certainly, it had been a better-constructed town than expected, but not the place to hold regiments of cavalry. Since the wind conditions were unfavourable and the narrow aerial peninsula lacked airspace devoid of rocky outcrops, they had dropped their force for a ground attack. Liberators had descended to take the town. They were to bring supplies to the ship and leave freedom in their wake.

Instead, they had been surrounded and required urgent support. All the volunteers and reserve fusiliers were deployed. They had had to siege, and by that time the ProCorps and medics were on the ground as well, and the Boarding Vessels were offloading offensive machinery, and they lacked the engineers and navigators to launch their usual devastating airship ramming manoeuvres. The fort was not supposed to be here. They had had to throw everything they had at it, and were losing a lot of that. Because of Dissonance.

So here she was, clipped to a railing on the flight deck, carabiners jingling and radio crackling into the fierce winds. The swell of the deck and her belly was testing her surefootedness. Every time she opened her mouth to speak, it seemed she spat out more strands of hair than words. The Shattered Front was windy at the best of times, and they were more than a mile above the high edge on which the settlement clung. The view was everything, and no drakerider would be able to reach them here.

She had an unparalleled and vital view of the accumulation of piles of brave bodies.

Worse, there was a baby on her back. They may have been able to leave the toddlers in their play area in the dining hall, but you couldn't leave a five-week- old. It was wrapped up like a pillow of sheepskin and she had done the cot straps so tight across her chest that her breasts squeezed out around them. And little Comrade Spark, currently asleep against all odds, completed the crew of ten that was all that was left on the Victory Through Persistence.

How many hours until they were to pick up the remnants of the hundreds on the ground?

Fluidity had never hoped harder for victory.

She saw Boarding Vessel 2 scatter its miniscule Liberators next to the northern wall. The Valtarians were mounting worthy resistance: fire and steam rose along the fortications. Even as a tower crumbled and puffed a grey cloud over the main gate, a desperate counter-attack pounded out into the teeming VolCorps. Fluidity knew the soft plumes and puffs visualised from here would scream shrapnel and burns on the ground.

She flicked the radio and inhaled hair. “Fluidity to Amplitude. Tower 1 neutralised. Gate 1 accessible. Significant resistance at Gate 1.”

Her body shook from the buffetting. Below, the nearest cliff face trembled in explosions and Valtarian stonework fell into oblivion.

“Amplitude to Fluidity. Contact made with Troop Delta. Request evaluation of -- -- -- -”

The wind whipped away the words. Teeth chattering, camera shaking, Fluidity shouted for repetition.

“Golf Alpha Tango Echo One! Victor Optics Liberty! November Uniform Mechanics Bravo -- -”

“ADEQUATE!” Fluidity howled into the receiver. Her hair was all over her face. Those VolCorps had better be able to take that charge, if they were worth the weight of their guns. The Liberators seemed to be trickling over the northern defences now. A ripple of explosions traveled between buildings. Which faction had set them off was difficult to distinguish.

Did Gatling still have the same gun she had started the day with? How much blood was on Dynamics'; coat by now? Was it in tatters? Were they wounded? Had they eaten? They would be alive, of course they would be.

She thought that the Combine was turning the tide – just. After nine hours of siege, the fort was breached on two sides, albeit barely. Persistence indeed. Unimaginable Persistence.

“Come on, guys,” she mumbled, “We're with you in spirit, aren't we, Comrade Spark? Victory through persistence. We'll be seeing them soon, won't we, Spark? Let's chant for them, together.

Maybe they'll hear us. Argh, there's hair in my mouth. Come on now, Spark. VTP! VTP! V! T! P!"