Tiberius III saw the tribals come running down into the valley where his team was sweeping away signs of life by throwing poison pods deep into the ground. They needed to clear it all so that the machine engines could be planted here instead of the vegetation. They had seen the tribals coming for them quite some time ago. But they did not care. The insects were easy to crush under their steel clad feet.
"I think I can take on about a hundred of them, easy. Without even spending any ammo." Raster's grubby voice spoke through the common channel.
"I am betting a tenner if you don't spend a single bullet and take down a hundred." Said Nysha, one of the three female marines in the squad.
"Say goodbye to the tenner then, Ny. I am switching off my bullet feed. This would be a good warm up."
"Keep the chatter to a minimum, team." Tiberius spoke on the common channel, "we need to clear this area for the machine seeds. I don't want the higher ups breathing down my neck for any delay on this."
"Got it boss, just a little bit of fun." Raster didn't sound apologetic or ashamed at the minor rebuke from their team leader.
"I am adding a tenner to the bet, too" Tiberius said, with a hint of a smile in his voice.
Raster raised his arm up in the air and unlatched his primary machine gun from his left arm brace. He let the gun fall to the ground, along with the spare magazine to reduce the weight on his person. From his back, he unhooked the large piece of steel that only he carried out of the whole team.
"Oh, fuck," Nysha whispered. Someone else whistled and they heard sound of laughter from another marine.
"I'd tell you good luck, Raster." Nysha said, "but I don't think you will need it."
Raster activated the jets in his shoes and took an almighty leap toward the hoard of tribals heading for him.
Just flesh and bones, he told himself as he reached the apex of his leap and started to drop, right towards the center of the big flood of humanity that was coming for him.
He landed on two of the tribals that were staring at him with their mouths agape. They were pulverized under the force of the jets from his feet. Raster slammed into the ground, digging deep furrows in the dark brown mud. At once the tribals were around him, shaking their spears at him and barking in their unintelligible animal tongue. He turned around in a slow circle, the long steel in his hand, and found out the biggest and tallest of the tribesmen. The man did not reach Raster's height in the mech suit, but the animal was nearly seven feet of height and built like a small house. Raster knew that for all his size and height, the animal would not be fast enough. But he needed to kill the biggest of them, and this one would have to do.
Raster pointed his makeshift sword at the man and called him forward with his other hand. There was no fear on the man's face and Raster quite liked him for it. Not many men stood in front of a mech-suit and not shit their pants. But this man moved like a panther, parting his tribemates like a jungle of brown and green. His spear tip seemed to glow and there was a deadness in his eyes. Raster let the feed from his optics go to the shared com channel, and at once the rest of eleven were with him, watching this tall animal advance towards him. He walked tall with his shoulders back, not a hint of fear or hesitation in his demeanor.
They might speak different languages. They might worship different gods. Their weapons might be different. But some things were the same between men past the pages of history and time. A fight was a fight. Even if they were grossly unmatched. All Raster wanted to do was make an example and then slaughter the rest of them. Maybe once he got done with the tall tribal, rest of them would scatter. He knew he would hate to chase and hunt them one by one.
Skiz walked out of the crowd of his tribe as they all moved aside to give him space. The metal clad god that had jumped in midst of them called him forth. For once in his life, Skiz felt no fear, his blood ran cold in his veins and his eyes could see deeper into the metal that the god was wearing. How the plates of metal overlapped each other. How lightning raced in different parts of the suit. How there was a suit within the suit and then the man who hung in the shell like a fruit, ripe for taking. His naked feet on the earth told him of every vibration that took place in the great machine shell. He saw the huge length of metal that the god held in his hand. He knew that it would be dangerous, only if it got close.
As casually as moving his hand to swat an irritating fly, Raster moved his arm and swung the steel to cleave the tribesman. Skiz saw the huge piece of steel swing for him and time slowed down. He could feel the vibrations of the air molecules. The heartbeat of the god was a tinny sound in his ears. He took a breath, released it, and the steel was still years away from him. The point of his spear glowed bright in the slow timeline.
On the collective feed, Tiberius felt it in his gut that something unprecedented was about to happen as he saw Raster swing the sword.
Skiz moved.
One step forward and he was inside the swing of the sword. He angled his spear where he knew the plates of metal covering the god were the weakest. The glowing point of the spear was almost painful to look at now and he buried it deep inside belly of the machine god. The spear went through, shearing through the metal like it was termite eaten wood.
Time returned to the regular speed and Raster had just a fraction of a second to move his head sideways as something bright and hot came for his face, slicing through the skin and bone of his face, scraping an eye socket and searing his right eye, effectively blinding him. The suit's emergency medical program kicked in, pumping Raster full of painkillers and adrenaline to keep him from passing out in shock.
Raster opened his remaining eye and saw the tribesman's face right next to his face plate. The man's eyes were still dead, but there was a grin on his face.
Raster grit his teeth.
This was going to be interesting.
Far away, a worried Nysha loaded up a thermal missile on her arm and aimed for the position where Raster's mech stood impaled by the tribesman's spear.
Her com channel chirped and Tiberius' voice was serious in her ear. "Stop. I want to see where it goes."
Then, on the common channel, "Stand back everyone. We will only watch this."
The wolf gene in his DNA rebelled against his warrior ethos on seeing hurt inflicted on a pack mate. But Tiberius squashed it down. He was going to see this to the end.
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