by P W Hillard
Xander could see what Matthias was talking about. The screen in the edge of his vision was flickering, though he couldn’t make out what was on it.
“What’s on the computer?” Xander said
“Nothing.” The woman’s eyes darted to the screen.
“I don’t believe you. Back up across the room, nice and slow.”
The woman reached for her sidearm, pulling the pistol free from its holster. She never got it past her waist, rounds punching through her body, blood splattering across the screen beside her. She fell to the side, bouncing off the computer and then hitting the ground.
The others pulled their weapons-free, scattering through the room and firing shots wildly as they panicked.
Xander threw himself to his left, taking cover behind the nearest pod. It was clear that these people weren’t soldiers, and Xander assumed they were scientists and technicians assigned to maintain the strange machine he now hid behind. He hated having to fight them. Like most mercenaries, he prided himself on having a sense of honour. A trained merc against poorly armed engineers wasn't a fair fight no matter who you asked.
“You don’t want to do this!” he said, a chorus of bullets bouncing off the pod his reply. He glanced over to the computer screen, trying to get a better look at what was running on it. “I can’t make that out. Any ideas, Matthias?”
“No. I’m restricted to the same eyes as you are, after all. Sometimes I wonder how you live with such poor vision. I would even take this era’s primitive camera systems over these. And they’re so round and…squishy. In fact, all of you is rather squishy. It’s a little maddening.”
“Focus! Not the time to complain about my body.” Xander popped up over the pod, snapping off a shot. The two remaining men were at the far end of the room. One was hiding behind what looked like a locker, whilst the other had copied Xander, taking cover behind a pod. Xander crouched back down as they returned fire. “Actually, let’s just say you can never complain about my body. It’s not like you have any other choice.”
“Don’t remind me. There are six pods in this chamber.”
“Yeah, so?”
“If we want to learn what they’re for, we only need one, correct?”
Xander understood what the AI was getting at. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a grenade. He tugged the pin free and threw it overarm across the room. The black orb hit the ground, rolling beneath the furthest pod and stopping as its silvery handle bumped up against the room’s metal floor.
The grenade exploded, its outer shell shattering into shards, the fragments joining the cloud of shrapnel being propelled outwards by the blast. The wave of razor metal shredded the man taking cover behind the pod, the force knocking him backwards like he had been hit by an uppercut. One of the arms holding the pod in place cracked, the glass tube toppling as its support failed, shattering as it hit the ground.
A body slumped out from the broken pod, a mint-green viscous liquid pooling around the naked man as it leaked from the shattered tube. He had been shaved bald; the same strange additional wetware embedded in his bare scalp. Long cables trailed from them, snaking into the pod like spilt entrails. The skin around them was an angry red, the presence of the metal irritating it. The man had dark tanned skin, a stark contrast to the pale white of the Black Rose soldiers.
The last enemy screamed, a shard of metal from the grenade lodged in the side of his jaw. He stumbled, clutching at his bleeding face as he roared in agony. Xander ended his misery, putting a single round into the centre of the man’s head.
“What the hell are these things?” Xander said, staring at the body that had fallen from the pod.
“The computer!” Matthias said. “We need to get to that first.”
Xander stepped over to the nearest console. Information scrolled up the screen, lines of code that he didn’t understand. Arcane symbols with impossible meanings.
“What is all this?”
“They're purging the data in their systems. One would assume something similar is taking place all over this base. It would seem that there is something they don't want us to find,” Matthias said. “Like our nudist friend, for example.”
“You think we caught them before they could destroy this equipment?” Xander just watched the code as it flashed across the screen. Stopping something like this was beyond him.
“Most likely.”
“Can you do anything about this? Stop the deletion or something like that?”
“Oh certainly,” Matthias said. “We learnt on Hades that computer systems of this time are no match for me.”
“Well, stop it then,” Xander said, gesturing towards the screen.
“Oh, I would. You just need to plug this computer into yourself.”
“Ah.”
“Ah exactly,” Matthias said. “Unless you have a router hidden in your spleen, I can’t actually access the network to stop it. There isn’t anything we can do, sadly. We do at least have the physical evidence of the pods themselves.”
Xander turned towards the shattered pod and the body it had vomited onto the floor. It was a bizarre sight. The extra wetware that the Black Rose soldiers sported had to be connected to the pods in some way. The body lying on the ground was proof of that, viscous liquid dripping from the cables connecting him to the machine.
The body groaned, twitching as it struggled to wake.
Xander ran over. He had assumed the man was dead, a body preserved for some purpose. Green fluid oozed from beneath his boots as he crouched next to the man. Xander noticed that on the man’s right shoulder was a tattoo, a symbol he recognised. The Hoplite, logo of the mercenaries’ guild.
“Hey, hey, are you alright,” Xander said, shaking the man’s arm.
“What the hell? What the fuck happened to me? Who the hell are you?”
“Xander Cain, commander of the Paladins. A merc. I was sent here to rescue the crew working on the station. From your tattoo, I'm guessing you're part of them?”
The man sat up; ooze sloughing off him. “Atticus. Atticus Birch. I was on the security detail. Fat lot of fucking good that did.”
“The number of forces they had here, you never would have stood a chance.”
“Losing still sucks though. Ow, fuck.” Atticus touched his head, his scalp throbbing where the wetware had been implanted.
“What the hell did they do to you? Where are the rest of the prisoners?”
Atticus pointed to the armoured body; its pale skin stained by blood tricking out from under the collar. “There. There’s the rest of them. They took us away one by one. Next thing we knew our friends would be the one guarding us. Their skin twisted white, their heads covered in, well, this shit.” He gestured to his scalp. Atticus reached up, grabbing one of the cables.
“Maybe don’t-”
Atticus tugged the cable free, the connection coming loose with a snap.
“Pull those out,” Xander said, finishing his sentence.
“Just glad you got to me before I become one of those fucking…things. It’s not right, seeing people you know changed like that. They didn’t even recognise us. It was like they had joined a cult or something.”
“Oh, they've been overwritten,” Matthias said. “It's an incredibly clever way of recruiting zealots, making them by force. The additional wetware has to be a part of it, allowing them to override the brain directly. Rather fiendish.”
Xander didn’t like the idea. His wetware allowed his thoughts to control his mechsuit, his brain commanding the machine. That it could work the other way was a terrifying thought.
“Can you stand? We can’t stay here,” Xander said, offering his hand to Atticus.
“I think so. Do me a favour and relieve that guy of his uh, well his clothes. He won’t be needing them.” Atticus nodded toward the fallen soldier. “It’s a bit chilly in here.”
“Yeah sure, of course. Might be a bit bloody mind.”
“Better than freezing my bollocks off. Pass me his weapon as
well,” Atticus said.
Xander hesitated. Atticus had been in the pod, his mind plugged into the machine. Xander couldn’t guarantee that the mercenary wasn’t compromised, his loyalties shifted by the sinister technology.
“I’ll hang onto that, for the time being,” he said, slinging the strap of the spare rifle over his shoulder. “No hard feelings, but I don’t know what the machine has done to you.”
“Fair enough,” Atticus said with a shrug. “If I were in your shoes, I would probably think the same. I could be compromised, after all.” Atticus’s eyes narrowed, his face twisting into a sinister grin. “Just shitting with you,” he said with a laugh, the menace on his face replaced with a smile. “But yeah, I get it.”
“Good. Get dressed. Where were they holding you, is there anyone left?”
“Medical wing, so they could give us this lovely haircut. There was only a handful left when they took me, but they should still be there. Hopefully.”
“Hopefully,” Xander repeated. “Now we just need to find the medical wing. Shouldn’t be too hard I think, this place is surprisingly well signposted. Though to be fair it’s not like you expect people to find your secret base.”
“They shouldn’t have messed with mercs then,” Atticus said, slapping the tattoo on his shoulder. “We look after our own.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Candice leant around the doorway, peering out into the hangar beyond. She pulled the trigger, her shotgun releasing a thunderous roar as pellets screamed from the barrel. She tucked herself back behind cover, pumping her weapon, a shell flying free from the breach. Candice popped out again, launching another shot through the entrance to the dropship. Most of the infantry on the upper gantry had been dealt with, but another cluster had entered from an adjacent chamber on the ground level and were taking cover behind some crates.
“You probably want to be taking cover. A single sugar cube is only good for one cup, after all.” Candice glared at the people she was supposed to be defending. They were standing at the far side of the dropship but were still visible through the doorway, trying to catch footage of the fight outside. “If anything happens to you, I reckon our friend out there might have a few sharp words for me.”
“We're ok,” Tamara said. She was crouching down, trying to make herself as small as possible whilst still getting a view on the slowly advancing soldiers Candice was firing at. “That's the risk you take when you do embedded reporting.”
“Not really embedded reporting though, are we,” Mitch said. He caught Tamara’s look, a withering stare that he had only seen a handful of times. Mitch squeezed his index finger and thumb together, pulling them across his lips.
“Aha? Yeah? Tell you what, if I give you this gun you want to take a little wander outside?” Candice held the shotgun in one hand, offering it to Tamara.
“I get your point.”
“Thought so.”
“Don’t we have like, defence turrets? Or something like that.” Tamara scooted forward, taking up position on the opposite side of the doorway from Candice.
“That's what the rockets are for,” Candice said. “I swapped out the nose-mounted laser for that launcher. A little customisation. It's just a pity we had to fire off the payload to get through that door. Still, can't say I regret it. My daddy always said that you can never go too big. Rockets are a bit more multipurpose.”
“Well, he wasn’t wrong,” Tamara said. She winced as a bullet bounced off the doorframe. “Vests.”
“What?”
“Vests. We need vests for next time. Bulletproof ones,” Tamara said, tapping her chest with her hands for emphasis. “And proper helmets.” She tapped a finger to the metal ring around the neck of her suit where the vacuum helmet had attached.
“Next time?” Trevor whimpered.
“I don’t disagree,” Candice said with a smile. “You aren’t yellow-bellied, I’ll give you that.” She swung around into the doorway, a loud bark ringing out as she fired. A grunt announced that she had hit something. “Hey, stick guy,” Candice said.
“Me?” Trevor said, the boom mic clutched in his hands.
“Yeah, you. Go into the cockpit. On the left-hand side, there's a cabinet. Grab the white cardboard box and bring it here.”
“Oh, uh, right.” Trevor sprinted the short distance to the cockpit door, mic still wobbling in his hand as he did. He tried to step through, the mic clattering against the top of the door. He was in a moment later, the boom lowered so he could step through. The furry end wobbled in the portal as he rummaged around.
Candice fired another shot, the pellets crashing into the chest of a soldier moving between crates. They fell backwards, knocked from their feet by the impact. The used shell bounced across the floor of the dropship, a delicate ringing echoing within its empty guts.
“This what you’re looking for?” Trevor said, emerging from the doorway with cardboard box in hand.
“Sure are, darling. Slide ‘em over,” Candice said.
Trevor did as she asked, sliding the box across the metal floor of the dropship, its contents rattling loudly.
Candice opened the top of the box, revealing the bounty of black cylinders with a silver base within. She placed the butt of her shotgun against her thigh and began loading the shells into the magazine.
“Might be a good idea to swing one of those mechs this way,” Candice said as she continued to load the gun, her finger pressed to the side of her helmet. “As fantastic as I am, I can’t hold out forever.”
“Working on it,” Alexi said, his words crackling over the radio. His massive war machine, along with Anya’s, was dealing with the last of the infantry on the gantries. The sound of cannon fire thundered around the dropship as the mechsuits fired.
“As long as you don't take your sweet time.” Candice slid the last shell into place. “There's only so many shells in a box.”
***
First stormed down the corridor, weapon in hand. He had a purpose, one that guided his heavy steps. Boots hit concrete and shoulders thrust forward as he stomped down the corridor, rage sneaking past his mental barriers and leaking into his motions. He slammed his way through the doorway and into the mech bay.
His suit was waiting for him, it’s front armour open. The thing was monstrous, a hulking metal beast. Like the rest of the Black Rose contingent, it was painted the colour of their namesake. The combination of colour and size made the machine look like a hungry void, a gap in reality, opening wide to consume its rider. The ladder hung from the side, waiting for First to climb into its maw.
The machine was different from the others within the bay. Whilst they were QTs, a common model chosen to appear like members of a terrorist force, First’s machine was a gift from the overseers, a weapon of considerable power.
He began to climb the ladder, sliding his boots between the twisting rungs. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wasn't a rider, not before the joining. First had awoken with both a new purpose and a new set of skills, ones that had been gifted to him, a reward for his service. The ones that came after him received progressively less until the pod was no longer usable and needed to be replaced. He would have admired the science of it all if admiration were something that his alterations allowed.
First opened the door to the cabin. The inside was filled with thick foam, the substance reaching the edge of the doorway like water at the edge of a bowl. He turned around on the small step at the bottom of the cabin and fell backwards, the foam moulding around his form. It was a strange feeling, even to a being whose feelings had been suppressed. It felt oddly warm, almost comforting in its tight cradling. It reminded First of the moment he had awakened within the pod after his joining. The liquid around him had been warm, and he had been filled with a sense of purpose he had never experienced.
Reaching out he grabbed the wetware connector mounted to the front door of the cabin, tugging on it and unspooling the wire from within the door. The rest of the metal was cove
red in soft pads. It wasn't the form-fitting foam of the inside, that would have prevented First from being able to escape if needed, but it was enough to ensure that the mechsuit's cabin was protected from knocks far better than the machines used by corporations and their mercenary lackeys.
With a click, First slotted the connection into the port above his eye.
The world vanished for a moment, sinking into unending blackness. A mote of light appeared, rushing toward First until it encompassed him totally. He could see the front plate of his mechsuit, the head unit looking down at the heavy slab of metal. First watched his arm reach forward and grab the edge of the cabin door, pulling it shut with a slam.
The mechsuit stood up from its crouch, the front of its armour pulling itself shut on smooth gliding hydraulics. The machine raised its arms, the armour sealing shut, the almost invisible join running from its armpit to its waist. It was a conscious design, one that was common to almost every mech, the weakness in the armour where it opened and closed protected by the presence of the arms.
First made a few experimental movements, waggling his fingers and moving his head unit back and forth. It had been a while since he had ridden a mech, not since the Hades operation. There he had been forced to ride a QT, not this majestic beast that he had been granted. Somewhere in the back of First’s mind, the person he once had been was fascinated by the similarities between the gift of the overseers and the burned wreckage of the lost tech machine that had come crashing through his lines.
The lost tech suit was more advanced, certainly, its powerful weapons punching great holes through mechs like they were tissue paper. The machine he had was a crude copy, a device that took its inspiration from such ancient apocalyptic machines. That was the way for all mechsuits, facsimiles of weapons from an enlightened age, but this suit was something else. Two neutrite reactors roared within its frame, the surging power funnelled into its heavy joints. Its armour was thick, designed to withstand even the heaviest blasts, and it needed the energy to move, let alone to fire its impressive weaponry.
