Hounds of Orion

It was around an hour later that Cameron finally laid eyes on the Qal’Gari landscape, studying the lush tropical environment of thick foliage as he piloted the mech into the rainforest. It took only a few steps before the pink dawn sky was muted into a gray dusk filled with a precipitous mist, dripping off the high canopy of trees onto the windshield of his Squire. The air was hot and humid, fogging up the edges of Cameron’s only view port, while he wiped away the sweat practically pouring down his neck, paying careful attention not to topple over on the uneven and slippery terrain of the soggy, lichen covered earthen floor.

“Man,” Cameron said, his voice sounding breathless from the heavy heat, “You’d figure the mechanical geniuses who made these mechs would have had enough foresight to put a fucking air conditioner in here.”

“Preachin’ to the choir Cam,” A foreign voice, laced heavily with the accent of Earth’s North American continent crackled into Cameron’s headset, “Feels like I’m roasting alive like a thanksgiving turkey,”

“Royce… what the hell’s a turkey?” Another voice came across the radio, this one a nasally, annoyed timbre, reminiscent of the Noble accent of Ketris, but spoken at a much faster tempo.

“What you talkin’ bout, Cayde?” Royce asked, his drawl coming out slow and slurred. “Y’all ain't got turkeys on Tsorias?”

“Obviously not, you drunken bumpkin!” The voice known as Cayde shouted back, his high-strung, aggressive rhetoric a stark contrast to Royce’s easy-going speech. He quickly recovered, with a sigh before speaking again, “I agree though Cam, it’s bullshit that we don’t. I feel like I’m gonna die from heatstroke before we even find this thing.”

“The sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Logan’s familiar growl finally chimed in over the radio, “I feel completely fine, though that could be because threaded pilots have their body temperature regulated by their unit. I could stand over an active volcano, and I’d still feel cool and comfortable.”

“So it’s pilot privilege then,” Cayde said, “We just have to suck it up till we can afford to be threaded and get our own unit.”

“Exactly,” Logan said, matter-of-factly, “Now stop your bitch and clear comms. We’re getting deeper into the bush and I want your eyes peeled until we rendezvous.”

“Roger,” Cameron said,

“Fine,” Cayde sighed out,

“You got it Bossman,” Royce expounded,

To Cameron’s surprise, the rest of the mercs, while argumentative amongst each other, were fairly concerned with safety. They took a good half hour to discuss a plan of attack. It turned out that there were three threaded pilots on hand, two alpha classes and Logan who was a Beta class, all of which confused Cameron who was ignorant to the details and meanings of classes. What he could tell from context however, primarily the ooh’s and ah’s of the other pilots was that a Beta class like Logan demanded respect, to which the other pilots provided. They quickly deferred planning to him, allowing to make up the tactical approach and formations they would do as a group. This ended up being a rather simple endeavor; Each threaded pilot would be in charge of two Squire pilots while Logan, being the highest class would take three. The team who found and killed the beast would be the one to share he reward. This last part was met with a series of groans and exclamations, but seeing the other threaded pilots stand with Logan on this endeavor shut the other Squire’s up real quick as the group set to work.

Teams were quickly made and Cameron and Logan were joined by two men who couldn’t have been more different. Royce Carter, the tall, bear like red-head Cameron had seen during the briefing, was an Earthling and proud of it, particularly the North American continent he called him. His squire reflected this pride, being painted in red, white, and blue tiger stripes, while Cayde Tremayne, a twitchy mouse of a man was more subtle, his unit being a flat gunmetal gray. The pair had operated for the past several months, setting out together after, as per Royce’s words, they ‘ran into a little trouble down in Venus’ and had to leave for free space, absconding with a couple of ‘borrowed’ Squire’s attempting to strike their fortune.

Though partners in battle, the two of them had argued like an old married couple since the moment their comm channels were linked. Cameron would have thought it annoying if it wasn’t for the fact that the two of them were completely nice and courteous guys to everyone around except for each other. But now the fun part of the journey was over, the team carrying out the operation in silence, save for the humming vibrations and hissing hydraulics of their Squire units.

That was until, Cayde’s voice crackled out over the radio, sounding more like a hushed whisper than his usual nasally annoyance.

“Guys,” He said, “I think I found something… or rather… something found me,”

“What do you mean?” Logan asked, and it was silent for a few moments until Cayde felt brave enough to respond, barely audible over the static in the headset.

“I mean… something is following me. It’s trying to match the pace of my squire, muffling its movement by timing its steps with mine. The only reason I noticed anything is cause I sent out a thermal scan and got pinged twenty-five meters off to my right. The think was looking directly at me through the bush, and it was mimicking my pace.”

Cameron felt his stomach knot with fear. There was something unsettling in Cayde’s words. The Silverback was frightening enough from the briefing, but knowing that it was smart enough to think of something so peculiar, yet effective, made him feel… small. Vulnerable. A chill crept up the lower part of his spine, despite the sweltering heat in the cockpit, and he had to force himself to get it together, shaking his head to clear it before speaking into the headset.

“Cayde, ping your location while maintaining your pace. We don’t want the thing to realize it’s been discovered and freak out.”

“Roger,” Cayde said quickly, before a translucent, blinking red dot appeared on the bottom of Cameron’s windshield, with an arrow above it indicating to him to turn in that direction. Doing so, the arrow quickly faded, replaced instead by the numbers two, six, and zero, with the last number increasing by one after a few moments.

“I’m about two-sixty out,” Cameron said, slowly pushing the throttle forward to increase his speed. “I’m en-route now,”

“I’m only one-fifty,” Royce chimed in, “Hold on buddy, we’ll be there soon.”

“I’m nearly a klick out,” Logan said with a grumbling sigh, “Y’all will be on your own for a couple minutes while I navigate over, try not to get yourselves killed.”

All of these statements were answered, not over the radio, but through the outside ambience as a thunderous, earth-shaking roar rang out from Cayde’s direction, so powerful it vibrated the glass of Cameron’s squire.

“Guys!” Cayde called out, his voice cracking from fear, “I think he’s freaking out!”

“Shit,” The other three said in unison.