by P W Hillard
Chapter Nineteen
Alexi scanned the hole with his cameras, taking in the entirety of the void. It stretched on for what seemed like miles, reaching down into the bowels of the planet. His mech was laying on its front, resting flat against the ground so it didn’t fall into the unending shaft. From the tracks cut into the ice and the large mech sized control panel near him, Alexi could tell it was an elevator, but when he pushed the call button nothing happened.
“So…” he said finally, edging his suit away from the edge of the pit. “This is a problem.”
“And that is an understatement. How far down does the shaft go?”
“I can’t see the bottom. And you know the old saying.”
Anya nodded, her wetware translating the motion into a bobbing of her head unit. Both she and Alexi were from Svarog, a cold icy world where people had survived the collapse by burrowing beneath the ground, building their cities deep underground near the planets warming core. There were hundreds of sayings that parents passed on to their children for surviving the warrens they lived in.
“If you can’t see the bottom,” Anya said, reciting the phrase Alexi was looking for, “then you don’t go in. Hah, it is just like home, this place. Ice and tunnels.”
“The only thing it’s lacking is the vodka. Oh, and having a real night-time. I don’t like this place, how it’s stuck in place. It’s like a world frozen in time, as well as being physical frozen. It almost feels like we shouldn’t be here. Humans that is. Like we’re trespassing in a tomb.”
“You getting soft on me, Kuznetsov?”
“Just thinking out loud,” Alexi said. “You have to admit there’s something weird about this place.”
“I grew up in the tunnels, same as you. To us, every other planet is weird.” Anya turned her suit around, its stomps echoing in the tunnel. The wreckage of the door was impressive. By Anya's count, it meant the Sunchaser was far ahead of the ground team on confirmed kills. Mercenaries liked to track that number. They knew doing it was morbid, but it was one of the first things that corporate agents asked when hiring on a merc. They seemed to find it impressive, ignorant to the pain and violence a high number implied. “These doorways look like more storage rooms, maybe? The signage could just be a lie though.”
“Would be useful if we had brought some infantry. Especially if this place apparently goes on forever.”
“We don’t have any infantry. Not properly trained ones anyway. I don’t think the crew would be keen on doing grunt work again after Hades.” Anya's machine crouched, the towering mech still enormous even in this position. She prodded one of the human-sized doors with the end of one of her rotary cannons, the metal clanging as the door refused to budge. “Looks like these are locked anyway.”
“Nothing some shaped charges can’t solve.”
“That’s time we don’t have. This was supposed to be a quick mission. In and out.” The lumbering machine stood up as it followed Anya’s mental command. “It would seem that the plan has changed now. It's probably safe to assume that Xander and Meg are at the bottom of that shaft.”
Alexi’s Defender stood up, clambering to its feet. Mobility was one of the key advantages of the mechsuit, its humanoid shape letting it do things no other vehicles could do. There were models with more esoteric designs, like being quadrupedal or having digitigrade legs, but their riders were considered a bit odd, even for mercenaries.
“Yeah, that sounds about right for those two,” Alexi said. His weapon was leaning against the wall and he picked it up, clutching it to the chest of his machine. “So, what now?”
“Xander, this is Anya, do you read me?”
There was no reply, only the faint static of an open line.
“If they’re at the bottom of that shaft they aren’t going to get a signal,” Alexi said. “You’re second in command, so this is up to you now.”
“Those dropships had to have come from either here, or another base. If they were launched from here, that means there is another way in,” Anya said. She began to walk towards the entrance of the tunnel.
“What if they came from another base though? What then?”
“Well, then we have another Black Rose facility to smash, don't we? I don’t see how we have much other choice. Come on, we need to get out of this tunnel if we want to contact the Sunchaser. We’re going to need a lift.”
***
Mikal wasn’t happy. He had spent most of his life trying to stay anonymous, hiding from the authorities on the fringes of space. Now he was allowing himself to be filmed, his image to be spread as far across known space as Tamara could get it. Mikal understood why. The videos were part of Tamara's tactic to get the Paladins name out there in an attempt to bring in more contracts, but Mikal wished he didn’t have to be involved. Tamara was clever and had pushed Mikal into a position where he couldn’t say no. He found it hard not to be impressed.
“I’m here with Captain Mikal Grant, commander of our very own Sunchaser. Captain Grant, the Sunchaser has just defeated two Black Rose warships thanks to a daring joint action with the Summer Breeze, our company’s dropship,” Tamara said. “For the people at home, would you care to explain exactly what happened?” The boom mic hanging above her shifted forward slightly.
“Well, thing with space battles, see, is that they ain’t straightforward. Even the ‘ardest battleship can be taken out by a single shot making it through the armour in the right place. It’s a big bloody mess most of the time. See, the Sunchaser, she ain't a battleship, not really. She's an impressive bit of kit, but she's built to move, not fight. That jump drive takes up a shit load of space.” Mikal surprised himself, he hadn’t expected the words to come out so quickly. He knew he was a natural speaker, the words flowing easily to him, but Mikal thought that the presence of the cameras and his desire to remain unknown would have stymied them.
“Right, of course,” Tamara said. “For those unaware, the Sunchaser is in possession of a jump drive, a rare thing for any ship to have, let alone one of her size. That means that unlike most mercenary companies, the Paladins aren’t reliant on waiting for jump ships to pick them up. This means that they are one of the most mobile and fastest responding mercenary companies in known space.”
Mikal couldn’t help but feel he had walked into an advert. In a way he had, that was the point of these videos after all. “Well, that is all true, but it means we were in trouble when those Black Rose gunships thought they could have a pop at us. Our laser was out of commission on account of the uh…unusual circumstances before ‘and, so we were stuck with defensive missiles only.” Mikal had realised mid-sentence that discussing the legally grey laser strike wasn’t a good idea.
“A tough predicament.”
“Nothing I ‘avent been through before. My crew are bloody tough, I knew we could ‘andle it.”
“With my fabulous help, you mean?” Candice had been standing to the side, itching for her chance to join the conversation. She had been enamoured with the idea that she would be on video from the moment Tamara had mentioned it, her desire to appear on camera as strong as Mikal’s distaste for it.
“I would like to introduce viewers to Miss Candice Beaumont, pilot of the Summer Breeze, the Paladins’ dropship.” Tamara was unfazed by Candice butting in before her cue. You didn’t get far as a producer if you couldn’t cope with sudden changes. “So, Miss Beaumont, I gather the exact solution was your idea.”
“Incoming message from the surface for the captain,” said a voice that boomed over the ship’s intercom. “Incoming message for the captain.”
“Sorry, loves, but I ‘ave to take this. Could be important,” Mikal said, striding across the hanger bay, the clicking of his magnetic boots announcing every step.
“This is important,” Tamara pleaded, her words fading as she realised what she was saying. She did consider her videos important, even if they hadn’t paid off yet, but it was ultimately nothing compared to the mercenaries risking their lives on the plan
et below.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’m more than happy to continue our little interview. Just make sure the camera catches my best side.” Candice preened before Mitch, posing like she was wearing a swimsuit, rather than a padded spacesuit that did nothing for the figure. “Do you think I need some makeup? Are the lights in here washing me out?”
“No, uh, you’re fine. Looking good.” Mitch wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Something about the way the questions were phrased felt like a trap.
“Fine? What do you mean by fine? Fine means, passable, mediocre. I assure you, honey, I am nothing of the sort.”
“I don’t think Mitch meant that. He is a man after all,” Tamara said. “You know what they can be like.”
Candice laughed. “I’ll take your word for it. Do you want to just carry on with the interview, or wait for the captain, or what?”
“We can carry on. We can always edit the captain back in later. Besides, it looks good for him to be called away like that. It gives the videos authenticity you know? It makes it seem like a real working ship, not a set. It adds…what’s the word I’m after?
“Verisimilitude,” Trevor said. It drew a few curious looks his way. “It was on my word of the day calendar,” he said with a shrug.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mikal said, walking back across the deck. He had taken the message at a terminal at the side of the bay. “Forces on the ground need a pickup. We’ve got to clear the bay so we can ready the dropship to launch. Gotta get the old girl back in the air.”
“Right.” Candice’s demeanour had changed instantly, suddenly becoming infinitely more serious. She nodded to Tamara and turned, pushing off the ground and floating towards the waiting dropship.
“Sorry, Tams, but the interview is over. We’ve got work to be getting on with.”
Tamara winced. She hated people shortening her name. “I understand, good luck, Captain.” She watched Mikal as he leapt across the bay with a single bound, pushing off the floor with enough force that he was able to spin in the air and land with his magnetic boots clamping to the frame of the far exit. It was an impressive trick, but unsurprising for someone who had spent most of his life working in space.
It dawned on Tamara that she was out of her element. She was used to producing from behind a screen, instructing others on what to film or say. Having to give interviews herself, appearing before the camera, was a little strange. She wanted to be down on the ground, in amongst the action, getting work done, not waiting for people to do interviews they so obviously wanted to skip. She looked at her two-man crew, both still wearing their emergency spacesuits, portable filming equipment on hand.
“You know,” Tamara said, turning towards the Summer Breeze. “How about some embedded reporting?”
Chapter Twenty
Xander fired his laser, the deadly beam lancing out at a gap between two deactivated mechsuits. The shot was instant, but his reactions were not, the infantry moving before he could twist the torso of his mech and give the mental command to fire. The slow reaction time wasn’t down to his concussion, whatever Matthias was doing had helped with that, but simply a result of there being too many targets. Squads of men were swarming around him, all trying to get an angle where they could launch missiles or get close enough to plant a charge on Xander’s suit.
He was moving as quickly as he could, his machine twisting about as it fired more beams, trying to keep the approaching infantry back. In the open field, Xander had the advantage, but in tight spaces like this, infantry were a threat to a mechsuit. He regretted sending Meg off to stalk the chamber, though Xander knew that was just him being selfish, it had been the right decision tactically.
There was an explosion, a blast that washed across the armour of his left leg. It hadn’t damaged Xander’s suit, the force of the blow insufficient to cut through the thick plating. One of the infantry had tried their luck with a standard fragmentation grenade. Xander shook his head, his mech copying the motion. Even soldiers fresh out of basic training knew that grenades were designed to spray fragments of metal, useful for dealing with enemy infantry, but useless against armour. It only added to the mystery. Who were these soldiers that knew to operate in three-man missile teams, but didn't know that a handheld grenade was useless against a mech?
There was another explosion, a second grenade thrown. Once was an accident, twice was intentional. It dawned on Xander what they were doing. This was no amateur mistake at all, in fact, the opposite, it was a trick he had seen once before, a clever ploy used in a pinch. For that brief moment when fragments of metal were filling the air, a laser shot was massively impaired. Firing through the cloud of metal would fracture the beam, the light bouncing off the shards in the air. The enemy was trying to defend themselves as they repositioned.
Information was everything in a fight. Every action and the reasoning behind it a clue to the enemies’ intent. Xander knew two things now. First was that the Black Rose infantry lacked specialist anti-laser screen grenades, devices that sprayed a thick smoke filled with tiny reflective particles. Second was that they were moving to a new position, intending to attack him from another angle.
Xander swung around, pivoting his suit away from where the attacks had been coming from. As he moved, he saw a group of four men sprinting between the legs of a QT. Xander fired his cannon, snapping off a shot on instinct. It wasn’t his most accurate shot, and the round was designed to punch through armour, not deal with grouped infantry. One of the Black Rose infantry was hit, instantly vanishing into a red mist from the force of the impact, whilst the others were knocked to their feet. He followed it up with a laser blast, sweeping the beam across the soldiers trying to clamber to their feet.
A missile crashed into Xander’s leg; karmic retribution delivered from the comrades of the people he had just killed. He felt his suit stumble, but it remained upright, leaning against one of the QTs to steady itself. The paper doll in the corner of his vision changed from orange to red on his upper leg, indicating that the armour had taken significant damage. The missile hadn’t punched through, thankfully, if it had done that then Xander would have lost the leg. He couldn’t afford another hit like that.
“If you’re going to help, now would be the time, Meg!” Xander swung his arm around and fired a shot blind towards the direction the missile had come from. He knew he wouldn’t hit, the missile team would already be on the move, but it would keep their heads down at least, slowing their reload.
There was a flash of light amongst the isles of sleeping machines, the light matched with the staccato rhythm of a weapon being fired in bursts. It had come from the direction the missile had been launched from, Meg’s mechsuit stepping into view.
“I was working on it, no need to worry yourself.” Cameras shifted as she examined Xander’s suit. “Ouch, that is a nasty hit to the right thigh. Side armour is buckled, and you’ve probably lost integrity on the entire section. Might be worth ditching for one of these.” Meg knocked the knuckles of her suit against the side of a QT.
“No, it’s fine. The rest of the suit is still working ok, and it isn’t impeding my movement.”
“Good. Duck, please.”
Xander did as he was asked, crouching down as low as his suit could get. His machine shuddered as Meg placed her weapon atop it, using her comrade to brace herself as she fired off a burst. Xander could hear an explosion and immediately knew that Meg had taken out a missile team, their ammunition detonating in the tube.
“We need to do something. We can’t keep dancing around fighting in here. Who the hell knows how many soldiers are in this place,” Meg said.
“They need to be dealt with either way. But I get your point, we need to find the prisoners first and foremost, so we need to get moving.” Xander’s head unit swept around him, taking in what he could see of the chamber. “So, any idea which way we go? You’ve seen more of this place than I have.”
“Honestly, I’ve got no idea. This place is massive. We just have
to pick a direction and hope for the best.”
“Starting to wish we hadn’t split our forces,” Xander said. “Fine. This way seems as good as any.”
***
Gauges shifted on the control panel before Candice as the last drips of fuel were deposited into the Summer Breeze’s hungry belly. She gave a thumbs up to the crew as they backed the fuel arm away from the dropship. Once they were safely away Candice began the launch sequence, the engines getting ready to face the stars once again. Alongside the fuel gauges, a light had come on to indicate that the doors of the Summer Breeze had sealed.
“All ok back there?” Candice said. When Tamara and her crew had approached her to take a trip down to the surface, Candice hadn't argued against it. Even with her desire to appear on camera, she didn't think it was a particularly good idea. One look in Tamara's eyes had crushed any chance at Candice refusing her. She could sense the desire in the producer to do the best job possible, and Candice respected that.
“We’re good!” Tamara was sat in a chair that folded down from the hull near the rear of the craft. The Summer Breeze wasn’t designed to carry people not already encased in a vast metal armoured suit; the chairs designed for an emergency only. Candice had declared it to be fine in a worryingly casual way. “We are good, right?” Tamara said, this time whispering to Mitch and Trevor.
“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Trevor said. “The gear is stowed away safe enough, I think.”
“I meant more us.”
“This was your idea,” Mitch said. He was having trouble with the straps on the chair. Mitch was a big man with the kind of triangular build only possible for the kind of person who took odd pride in the amount they could bench press. The spacesuit was already tight on his frame, and he was having problems getting the clasp to lock in place.
“Yeah. I’ll have to have some words with myself about this having ideas thing. Seems like it just causes trouble.” It had seemed such a good idea when she had said it. Now, sat inside the dropship as it readied to move, Tamara was regretting her decision. This wasn’t her, she was a producer, the person behind the scenes. Filming a battle in progress was for daring cameramen with shelves full of prestigious awards and tightly manicured beards.
