The Lion's Hunt: Part 1

PART I.

A large elevator platform descended beyond the roof of a cavern so unimaginably vast its stone walls were lost to distant darkness. Cold, unsettled wind from the planet’s surface met air so thick that if the five individuals on the platform didn’t know any better, they might have assumed it had gone uninterrupted for millennia. Though it was tough to be sure in the darkness, the two lead soldiers appeared to have thick dual tails protruding from the base of their skulls that reached beyond the backs of their knees. The second pair of soldiers had a brace of thinner tails that stopped at the small of their backs. The last individual had a short nub fixed in place as though their twin tails had yet to grow, suggesting that this might be the youngest among them.

The platform’s motors spun a monotonous whir as excited air swirled around the slender figures. Reflexively they shielded their faces, despite the ageing armour they each wore that protected them from head to toe, though a small space at the nape was left to allow their tails to whip in the wind.

After almost ten hours on the platform, the figures, the shortest of which was taller than any human could feasibly be, welcomed the new warmth of the cavern. They each hopped in place to help heat their bodies. Inside the heavy, rattling backpacks they each wore were reams of wiring, batteries for their weapons, and communications gear they would avoid using, for now. They had a supply of explosives to see out their mission and rations to last for days if they had to spend longer on this planet than planned. Sidearms, blades, and sectioned metal hoops hung from their belts. Canisters of what soldiers referred to as ‘honey water’ for its amber colour also hung from their sides. The honey water, whilst drinkable, was meant to supplement and replenish their armour. It was a lot to carry, but it was all essential to their mission.

This war had spanned generations, but updating soldiers’ armour for anything less than functional benefit had become impractical. The costs, both in finances and limited Kurin resources, were too high. With that understanding, there was reason enough for Kurin Team Commander Etom’Vyuum to cling to battered twenty-year-old gear when others might jump at the chance of an upgrade, no matter how insignificant it was. The Commander may also have become emotionally attached to their old armour. Not many Kurin soldiers would admit that, especially those in command positions.

At a glance, the Commander’s protection was identical to fresher gear worn by younger soldiers, but on closer inspection, the armour’s bonded living layer had become darker and more leatherlike. The outer armour’s bumps, dents, and scrapes suggested years of wear and told a story of experience. Inside this armour was a veteran, someone forged by the old war. And though there were no distinguishing insignia to mark Etom’Vyuum as a commander, standard field practice for those on the front lines, the state of the armour and the long length of the Commander’s dual tails might give Commander Vyuum away.

Kurin soldiers wore helmets equipped with a simple filtration system. Antlers stuck out from the sides of the helmet, and air that filtered through always seemed to have a metallic taste that none could savour. It was preferable to the alternative on distant worlds, with environments that could be toxic to their people. The helmet’s faceplate was airtight but could be quickly removed with a pinch and twist to expose the face underneath. The simplicity of its design made it potentially dangerous, but that was the trade-off.

The armour’s shelled sections provided potent protection made from the hulls of old salvaged starships. Those parts could deflect mid-powered ballistic and energy-based weapons. The inner living layer of the armour was considerably more sophisticated.

Like the outer shelled sections, the inner living layer could also deflect weaponry, though of a much lower calibre, but its capabilities came primarily from feeding off the wearer. With the nutrients that came from the Kurin inside or the supplemental honey water, the inner layer was able to self-repair thousands of times over if necessary. But if that layer couldn’t heal, if the damage became too severe, the suit’s capabilities would be limited, and the suit, almost completely bound to the wearer’s skin, could become dead weight not easily removed in the field.

The living layer of Kurin armour was meant to bond almost entirely to the wearer’s skin. Powered by the wearer, it was designed to be worn for years without removal but could take several months to settle. The better the bonding, the more efficient the armour was. There were both good and bad sides to this that every wearer acknowledged, but they couldn’t quantify them all. Nor could they guarantee that everyone that wore the armour would receive the same benefits. The armour could increase a wearer’s basic senses but could also enhance extrasensory perceptions. The feeling of being watched, Scopaesthesia, was not an uncommon trait to gain, though some also swear they have mild precognitive abilities. These enhancements are blessings, but one has to endure months of the bonding process to attain them. Kurin skin blisters and boils during the bonding process, and the pain is often too much to bear. There were balms and soothers back on their adopted world of New Suri that they would use to make wearing newer armour more palatable, but commanders importance to the war efforts meant that those in command positions had to adapt in the field.

Yet another downside of bonded armour was the necessity of tethering the nerve connections of the living armour layer to those of the wearer for it to function fully. The wearer would feel everything the armour experienced. It was a second skin. The wearer might not have any physical injuries through the armour’s protection, but the memory of pain, cuts and bruises to the armour, could stay with the individual inside and might manifest as trauma in other ways. And just being a thick layer of skin, the armour had no other organs or systems keeping it functioning, so it depended entirely on the wearer for sustenance. Honey water poured into the armour’s ports could sustain it for a while, but it required constant consumption to maintain peak efficiency. Without the wearer feeding it directly or offering up any supplementation, the armour would never stop eating its host.

The latest update to the armour, some several years ago, was the simplest aesthetic upgrade imaginable and bore no effect on the wearer’s condition or the armour’s ability to function, something that grated Commander Vyuum for more than one reason. The only change to the gear was a quote written generations ago by fallen warrior-poet Itar’Reesh. The poem, that single change to the Kurin armour, had been etched on the rear left shoulder and was meant to inspire the soldier behind the wearer to try a little harder and push that little bit more. Every Kurin soldier knew the verse by heart. Taught to all that had been conscribed, it was made famous during the first years of the war and had become more of a prayer than a poem for those in the field.

“Others will stand because they fell.

Others will fight because they fought.

We shall have peace because they had pride.

And we will be free for what they died.

We are the others.”

Few outside the Kurin Council knew that Commander Etom’Vyuum was a descendant of the poet Itar’Reesh, so when Etom’ refused the armour upgrade, the council members ought not to have been surprised. Etom’s ancestry wasn’t part of any conspiracy; people simply didn’t ask of the lineage. But there was a secret that almost their entire adopted world was unaware of. The original poem from Itar’Reesh had been altered for prosperity many years ago. The alteration was minuscule. In fact, it was a single letter, but that change would make the quote very different to all the people of their world. If the Kurin populous learned of the poem’s revision and the reason for the change, it could alter the course of the war.

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