A week or so earlier, aboard the NSS Vanderhuge's captains quarters...
A majority of people, whether in Nepleslia, or Yamatai, or any civilized world populated by people of moderately high intelligence, would often say that the sound of running water could be described as
calming. The distinctive, unmistakable sound of the gentle flowing liquid pouring over and under, hither and fro, invoked the imagination of a setting that best facilitated this sound. Often a clear blue river, wide and long, or a simple brook, flowing gently across smooth stones as the bed of the water. These depictions were largely regarded as picturesque moments of serenity; simple in form, natural in motion and beautiful to behold and experience, enough to turn even the most sour of frowns. A majority of people would say the sound of running water calmed them, to a certain degree.
Flint Vanderhuge held no such regard for the noise itself. He stared down into the large wash basin, the steady trickle of running water pouring over the dull steel as it circled its way into the drain. Very occasionally, a stray droplet of the clear liquid fell from Flint's face as he leaned over it,
platting against the metal, lost and swept away in the seemingly timeless flow. After another moment, the ID-SOL Grand Admiral put his massive hand beneath the simple faucet again, bringing a handful of the cold water to his face, rubbing it across his rough skin and stubbly beard. To him, the water wasn't calming; it was water, from a faucet, good for hydration, entertaining to swim in, helpful for hygiene. Flint couldn't really understand how one would obtain a feeling of serenity from something that, in his experience, was never calming to begin with.
It wasn't the serenity he sought, however. Outside in the living area of his
personal quarters aboard his own Nepleslian warship,
lounging on his large, ID-SOL sized sofa, watching
awful daytime Nepleslian television programs, was one of the universe's most despised faces to ever plague a news broadcast. Melisson, as she was known, and her worrisome, foreboding presence would normally be enough for one to suddenly seek a more calm, peaceful setting... but Flint Vanderhuge was not worried, and as such, felt no need to find serenity. Quite the opposite, Flint was mildly excited; Melisson was here, supposedly, to assist him in defeating the NMX. And if she wasn't there for that reason, then at the very least Flint felt he could have an incredibly satisfying fight and subsequent slaughter worthy of his imposing ego. Flint was already going through the number of delightful sounds her head might possibly make were he to push in both sides of her temple with his thumb and index finger.
After drying his face, Flint returned from the bathroom, his Admiral's jacket slung over his shoulder, his broad arms and chest chiseling out from beneath the large green tank-top, a customary garment for the uniform fatigues. The ID-SOL cast a glance over to the back of the sofa, the soft glow of the large volumetric screen against the wall spilling over the top of the cushions, conflicting and melting away in the ambient light pouring in from several ceiling light fixtures.
Melisson was perched on the sofa's edge, paying attention to the man and woman on the volumetric screen, apartment neighbors, arguing with each other in an hallway. The alien herself was no longer naked, instead garbed in one of Flint's tank tops which she had crossed the shoulder straps to turn it into some impromptu dress.
She seemed to be smiling at the screen, obviously amused by the argument, though with Flint's appearance she got the remote and killed the image, then sitting up to regard him.
"The noises you're imagining are all wrong," Melisson idly informed him. "Pops and squishes are for movies, or tiny insects. We are more substantial, with fleshy consistency within our shells, so, think more along the line of lobsters. Mature mishhuvurthyar would be more like a cross between your turtleshells and octopuses."
She then gave an innocent shrug. "I wouldn't want you to be disappointed when you actually crush my head, and that it didn't turn out being as satisfying as you had imagined."
Flint crossed around the side of his large sofa, eying Melisson in discontent. "I thought we agreed that you wouldn't sneak looks at my head," Flint said in a low, grumbling voice. The large, bearded ID-SOL trekked past Melisson's reclining form and sat at the opposing end of the L-shaped bit of furniture.
"We agreed that I would keep my
messing in your head to a minimum," Melisson patiently replied, drawing each word out as if she was speaking to a child and had to spell things out for him. "You not wanting me to know what you are thinking is like me requesting that you stop feeling what you touch."
"As you Nepleslians say: not gonna happen." She finished her explanation with a winsome smile, then shrugged and added: "Besides, deep inside, you would rather I be upfront about knowing everything you think about, rather than hide it. I could. But I am trying to be honest with you. Give a little credit to the diminutive alien overlord, would you?"
Flint listened, a slow grinding of teeth emitting from the back of his throat. He wasn't as amused as she was, that was for certain. The ID-SOL sighed gruffly, raising one hand and rubbing his bearded jaw in his palm. "It makes it difficult to actually
trust what you're intending to do, is what I'm getting at. When you start
showing a little respect, I can start
giving some," Flint said, his lower mouth hidden behind his hand, brown eyes staring over it at the diminutive alien overlord. Prior to Melissons arrival, Flint was not naturally so
accommodating; it took considerable effort to temper himself against her increasingly mirthful personality. He began to prefer her previous reputation for violence. "Is that fair enough for you?"
The look Melisson returned was half-lidded with exasperation. "There is no fairness in Vakeer Takeup. There is only an understanding of one's place in the universe, and the power that can be exerted to change this."
"Enough, though. I'm not inclined to waste any more time on this tug of war," she told him very soberly, and then...
Flint got on all fours, and started doing pushups. Could not help but do pushups. It was not something where his mind was somehow convinced that he should do pushups, rather than him entirely losing command of his body. He couldn't help it. He couldn't help but do this.
As the realization dawned on him, he could see Melisson from the corner of the eye coming closer as his arms pumped his upper body up, and down... and she spun around to sit atop his shoulderblades.
Worse, his jaw, tongue, throat - he couldn't utter a word! Not even an expletive!
"All that brawn, all that muscles, all those fantasies of somehow believing that you can crush whatever threat with your raw power," she said, her voice bleeding out pity. "All that prideful posturing, turned to naught. This must feel awful. Really awful. But I'm not messing with your mind. I'm messing with how your mind control your body. You, the Grand Admiral and likely one of the mightiest ID-SOL in your nation, helpless!"
"Now I am being nasty," Melisson added. "Now I am lacking respect. Compare, and notice how hard I was trying before."
She paused and said: "Hopefully, I don't have to make this point again. Also remember, I know what you think. The nice Yukari already went out of her way to warn you I have part of me in your head. That is like, an inside job from the IPG. Your head is already home ground to me. You're at a very big disadvantage. A shame you took her niceties so lightly."
"Now, we are going to talk. We are going to talk about helping you retake Rok'veru," she gave him a friendly pat on one of his shoulderblades. "You can talk now."
Flint realized he could. In fact, he had also regained motor control of his head too. He still was doing pushups, though. Almost immediately, Flint turned his head as far as he could, doing his best to glare bloody daggers into what he could see of Melisson, her form still perched on his back as he continued to exercise. Were it not for this, he would have already been attempting to pull out the small redhead's innards out from her mouth. As it was, however, Flint could only stare at her in indignation and speak in a low, venomous tone.
"Get off of me."
In return, she pulled his combat knife, and idly made to cure her fingernails. "Rok'veru," she reminded him.
"Get off me first, Melisson," Flint growled under his breath. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to give Melisson what she so richly deserved, and as it was, the most he could do to salvage something from this conversation would be to get what information he could from her. Flint's pride was about as large as he was, and it was a tough thing to swallow, but he had done it before.
"Then I'll hear what you have to say."
"Keep this up, and I'll have you strip naked. Then I will make you start shaving yourself," Melisson warned in return, though there was laughter in her voice. "Everywhere. Beard. Chest. Crotch. Legs. And I'll film it and send that nice little bit of footage to the Yamataian senate. I'm sure Yui will
love this."
What made this even more terrible was Melisson's known tendency not to bluff. She meant it. She was really going to do it!
The redhead bent forward to allow him a better look at her and helpfully suggested: "Talk. Rok'veru."
Face turning red with unbridled rage, Flint turned his head back down to the floor. He tried one last time to assert himself and upright his body, pulling with whatever he could muster... but Melisson held firm, and left Flint nothing but a hot face and a released sigh. The pace of his exercising didn't even slow. After a moment, Flint turned his head back and peered back at Melisson, eyes narrowed in discontent. "Fine. So then talk. What's on Rok'Veru?"
"Victory," Melisson's eyes narrowed in gleeful cunning. "You can beat the one leading the NMX there. Parzix'turas is many things as a commander, but he is mostly ruled by his spite. You can win. You
will win. The difference will be made in how well you do, and how much you will lose doing so."
"Once you defeat the NMX's interplanetary forces, only one thing will remain for you to be rid of: the ground troops." She explained. "But you will find the Neo Mishhuvurthyar very effective at guerrilla warfare. Parzix will know he will have lost, but his spite will push him to make you pay for every inch of land you reclaim. He will do so, just for the sake of seeing you and yours suffer."
"The key is-" she paused. "You'd call it
Tepid Fury in your language. It was a mobile command center - a floating fortress - that was used as one of the test weapon assets PNUgen provided his first Mishhuvurthyar labrats to see of what use they would be in ground warfare. I think the concept was originally of Elysian origin: what they called 'Heavens' a few decades earlier. The fact that they are reusing it against their former human tormentors is something they see as poetic justice."
"
Tepid Fury is the planetary command-coordination-and-control center." Melisson re-sheathed Flint's knife back into its sheath as the ID-SOL kept heaving himself up and down. "As long as Parzix has it in his hand, he is going to retain control of most on-planet communications and planet-to-orbit ordinance. The key to your victory with minimal attrition is essentially to take away his toy."
As he listened, Flint continued his impromptu workout. Although the humiliation made it rather unsavory, the subject matter
was one of interest. He knew most of what Melisson was explaining already; the fight for Rok'Veru was already winding down in Nepleslia's favor, and from the way the NMX had riveted themselves to the surface of the jungle planet, Flint Vanderhuge and the rest of the Grand Admirals had expected resistance, even after their orbital fleets had been taken care of. The real meat of the matter was
how they would accomplish this, and Melisson's explanation of the
Tepid Fury sounded both plausible and fitting.
"... and how exactly do you know this?" Flint asked after a moment of consideration. She could've divulged the information about Rok'Veru from any number of Nepleslian sources, but the inside information about the Neo Mishhuvurthyar's plan for the maximum attrition wasn't something that could be gathered from within. He had a general idea of where she could have heard such things, but his curiosity scratched its way to the forefront of his thoughts. "Where are you getting this information?"
"I am in the minds of many," Melisson quietly answered. "Just like I am with you. There was good cause for Eve nicknaming me the 'Infection Queen'."
Vague, but acceptable. "What exactly am I going to be up against with this
Terpid Furry thing?" Flint asked, rolling his head around in its socket, eliciting more than a few subtle
cracks. "What is it capable of?"
"With its communication and sensor jamming capabilities?" Melisson pondered that one a moment. "If you throw ships at it, you will lose a great number of them. The
Tepid Fury has the advantage of home ground, and fighting low in the vicinity of your cities will both make it elusive and cause great collateral damage for the people you perhaps still hope to liberate."
Already Flint was mentally preparing a list of ways he could assault such a fortress. If it meant saving a number of ships, equipment and bodies to an otherwise troublesome guerrilla warfare situation, the ID-SOL was fine with the risks. A smaller force would have an easier time moving through the city; he would just use his personal guard, as he always did when the need for them arose. Flint's Finest, they called themselves. Although he wasn't too partial to the name, Flint knew his men well, and knew that if there were such a team to weather the risks of the scenario, it would have to be those whom he trusted to get the job done.
"Alright," Flint said dismissively after a moment's thought, turning his head back to look towards Melisson. She was still perched on his shoulder, slowly heaving up and down with his own body's movements, and it infuriated him. "Is there anything else I should know?"
"Yes," Melisson lightly answered as she draped her body over Flint's back, perching her chin on his shoulder close enough for Flint to attempt a bite with what freedom of movement she did grant him. "You can take my advice, but if people die because you did not, it is
your fault, not mine."
"Back at the Battle of Nataria, I tried to help Hanako defeat one of my rivals, but she did not listen. After the fact, I pointed out that because she would not listen to me, millions had died to her stubbornness. It was easier for her to hate me and hunt me, than to face that reality." Melisson gave a grin, showing her razor-sharp shark-like teeth. "Do not be like Hanako."
