He’d never seen one in person, but he’d viewed enough pictures to know what he was looking at now. How one had gotten to Earth was a question he’d have to answer later, assuming he survived.
First, he had to deal with this one. Escape wasn’t possible. It would outrun him and tear him apart. But the Bug would surely expect him to flee. It was rearing up so that it could give chase when he did. Owen had no intention of doing what it expected.
Instead, he tossed his duffel at the thing’s face. It caught on one of the claws. The Kkiktchikut seemed slowed by the strange ‘attack’, like it wasn’t sure what to make of having his bag tossed at its nose. Owen didn’t stop there. The best chance of surviving was to take immediate action. He dove forward toward the insect, sliding along the ground between its razor-sharp legs and pulled his knife from a boot. He stabbed up, cutting and slashing at the Bug’s belly. Owen knew he only had seconds to hit something vital before the Kkiktchikut turned on him and tore him apart.
Wires spilled down from the Bug’s body, draping themselves across Owen’s face. All at once, the Bug stopped moving. What the hell? He tugged on the wires. They were still connected to the insect’s body, but it wasn’t wearing power armor. Why did it have wires inside its guts?
“Whoa, man! You don’t need to kill Cindy!”
Owen looked around for the speaker. The Kkiktchikut was still where it had been, frozen in place like a statue. As the battle-fever faded, Owen realized it hadn’t moved much if at all after those first few seconds of rushing motion. “Animatronics?”
“You got it.” A burly man walked in under the legs and reached out a hand to him. “Holy shit, dude. You cut her up bad.”
“Her?” Owen asked. He took the offered hand and got slowly back to his feet. His heart was still going a mile a minute, and he felt a little foolish for over-reacting to what was clearly an elaborate practical joke.
“Sure. Cindy the Centipede! Hey, I’m Casiano. Mateo Casiano. I run a lot of the tech here, you see. Cindy’s sort of my baby.”
Owen nodded, sort of getting it. “Weeding out the folks who aren’t sure they want to be here?”
“Something like that, I guess. They just have me scare the shit out of the new recruits when they first arrive,” Mateo said. “Most of ‘em run screaming. A few just freeze in place. Like a mouse in front of a cobra.”
The big man waved an arm in front of his face like it was a snake. Owen chuckled. He doubted Mateo had ever seen a live cobra, but it was as good an illustration as any. He was wearing Air Force camouflage, field boots, and a cap. The whole outfit was greasy enough that it took Owen a few moments to figure out his rank.
“Staff Sergeant,” Owen said, impressed. “Owen McInness, reporting for duty.”
“Yeah, yeah. So why’d you attack it?” Mateo asked him, cocking his head sideways. “Nobody is dumb enough to attack Cindy. You know if that were a real Bug she’d have torn you into little bits and eaten you, right?”
“Sure, probably. If I’d run, would I have had a better chance of living?” Owen challenged him. He already knew the answer before he asked the question.
“Nope. No way. She’d have run you down, cut you to ribbons, and eaten you… Oh, I get it. You’re a tough guy. Wanted to go down fighting?” Mateo asked.
Owen shrugged. “I didn’t want to die. My best chance of not dying seemed to be making Cindy there dead, instead.”
Mateo gave him an odd look, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. That was fair enough. Owen still wasn’t one-hundred percent sure why he’d gone in on the attack anyway. It wasn’t like he’d made a conscious decision to fight instead of running. He’d just reacted. Fighting was his first response to trouble.
That reminded him of something Hereford had said the day before, about his odds of surviving outside the military. ‘Dead or in jail within a year,’ the general had told him. Maybe he was right, if Owen’s first response to any sort of trouble or danger was to hit or stab it. It was food for thought.
“Come with me, got a jeep behind the building,” Mateo said.
“So this isn’t the training camp?” Owen asked.
“This dump? Hell, no. This is just the welcome mat. A welcome mat I have to come out here and run all kinds of repairs on, thanks to you,” Mateo replied.
“Sorry about that,” Owen said, not really all that sorry. He picked up his duffel bag from where it had finally slid to the ground. His fingers found a three-inch tear in the side. The Bug was pretty realistic, for a toy!
“No worries. It was pretty cool to watch you go all James Bond on Cindy. But come on. They’re expecting you at the camp, and you don’t wanna be late,” Mateo said.
He led Owen around the back side of the building. Now that he could see through the windows, it was easy to spot the mechanisms allowing ‘Cindy’ to move. She was rooted in place by massive machines, huge wires connecting her to power sources and computers. It was quite the job. Mateo would probably be making a lot more working for a film company than he was for the military. The man had talent.
On the back side of the structure was a battered old jeep. Mateo climbed into the driver’s seat and patted the passenger’s spot beside him. Owen tossed his duffel into the back and climbed aboard, wondering what was coming at him next. He’d barely been on McClellan for thirty minutes and already had to win a battle. Or had he lost, by fighting? It was hard to gauge what metrics they would use to evaluate him, and that made Owen feel uncomfortable. He was used to knowing what was expected of him. That allowed him to deliver.
Here, he was more or less in the dark. Did they want him to be aggressive and attack? Was his anger why Hereford grabbed him for this training? Somehow, Owen didn’t think so. But that left him unsure precisely what the man did want.
He’d find out soon enough. The jeep started rolling toward the main base, those buildings he’d spotted in the distance. Owen grabbed the jeep’s railing and hung on for the rough, off-road trek.
Five
Hereford tapped the screen, pausing the video. “You see what I mean?”
“That he was willing to commit suicide by alien? Sure, I saw that.” Colonel Foster tapped her fingers on the edge of the console. “General, I don’t like this.”
Hereford nodded to her. He’d been expecting some resistance. Hell, it was a bit of stretch even for him. But then, so were a lot of the choices he’d made over the past year. He’d made them all for the good of Earth, for the future of humanity. If there was going to be any sort of tomorrow, it required making maximal use of every resource humans had.
“I know that. But it wouldn’t be the first time we made a diamond in the rough sparkle, here in Space Force,” Hereford said. He looked pointedly at the rank she wore on her collar.
Foster flushed crimson. “I’m all for taking chances where they’ll have a good return on investment. You know that. Hell, I just about invented ‘radical creativity’ around here.”
Which was true. It was Charline Foster’s idea to arm loading ‘bots and turn them into the battle-robots Armor had become. Each version of their Armor was better than the last. Mark 3 was the best so far, but Hereford knew there was already work underway on at least version four. Knowing Charline, probably version five as well.
The Armor brigade was her command. He had to respect that if he wanted to keep Foster running this show. She was one of the best. Humanity needed her right where she was. “It’s your call, Colonel. If you think he’s a no-go, we’ll ship him out on the next bus.”
Charline leaned back in her seat and sighed. “What do you see in him?”
“Potential. He was the very best in his class. He’s brilliant and driven,” Hereford replied without hesitation.
“And then he was kicked out of the Academy for almost killing a classmate,” Charline reminded him. “Do we need that sort of person here? Discipline matters, out there in the mud.”
Hereford ducked his head, acknowledging her comment. “He’s screwed up
. In the head. Pretty badly, from what I can tell.”
She blinked. “Come again?”
“He was in Miami when the Naga ship went down,” Hereford said.
“Shit,” Charline replied.
Everyone knew how bad the fighting had been, there. Enough Naga fighters had made it to the ground that they made a mess of things.
“It’s worse than that,” Hereford said. “A Naga fighter went down. The pilot survived. McInness saw his parents both killed by the Naga.”
“Double shit,” Charline breathed. She looked away.
“Then he killed the Naga with his father’s pistol,” Hereford finished.
“And they let him back in the Academy after that sort of trauma?” Charline’s temper flared, her words sharp. “There’s nothing in his dossier about getting counseling. Why the hell did they do that?”
“They tried. He refused. Then he passed all their psych tests with flying colors,” Hereford said.
Charline rolled her eyes. “Any bright person can pass those tests. He’s probably facing major trauma issues by now. PTSD. Maybe worse. That stuff can be brutal.”
She would know, Hereford mused. Charline had been through the wringer herself. But when she got back, she’d been able to take advantage of some of the best therapy the military could provide. McInness never had that chance. He’d been taken at his word by the idiots in the Academy, and almost lost everything because of it.
“You want to help this kid for some reason in particular. Spill it,” Charline said.
Hereford hesitated. He didn’t really want to come out with the full truth, but anything less would be dangerous here. Charline was one of the best hackers he’d ever heard of. There was no way to keep anything secret from her forever. Telling her a lie was a surefire way to win her distrust and enmity. He respected the woman too much to do that. The truth would have to do.
“I served with his father, a long time ago. He retired, and we hadn’t seen each other since. But I can’t help feeling like I failed him. Like there should have been more I could do to stop Miami from happening,” Hereford said. There, the words were out. He’d never admitted that guilt before. His chest felt a little lighter for doing so now.
Charline blinked, then nodded. “Yes, because it’s all your fault we had dead there. Oh, and London, Chicago, Madrid, Hong Kong? Those were all your fault as well?”
“Yes,” Hereford said, his voice deadpan. “You know it was.”
The Naga attacks had devastated a dozen cities around the globe, the targets picked apparently at random from major infrastructure and population bases. Humanity’s missile defenses had been all-but-useless against the strike. Millions of people died.
And yes, Hereford felt like his head carried some of the blame. He’d ordered the raid on Carraway’s moon base. He’d been the man who directed his techs to learn all they could about the captured Naga fighter, the activation of which led a Naga fleet to Earth’s doorstep. In a very real way, Hereford knew he was personally responsible for every single death that had occurred.
Sure, he hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the road to hell was paved with good intentions. He had intended to help preserve humanity, but instead, he’d almost caused the death of everyone on Earth. Hereford would have to carry those deaths with him to his own grave.
But it was too big. Billions of people were something he couldn’t hold inside his head. One man, though? That sort of consequence he could feel with its full force. Colonel McInness’s death weighed on him, and his interest in the boy certainly had something to do with that. If he was to make amends, he felt like he had to do it not only in the significant ways but also in the small ones. Helping one person could be as important as helping a million.
“Jesus, you need therapy as badly as the kid does,” Charline said.
Hereford grinned at her. “Probably. So, will you take him?”
“Hell. I will. You knew I would after you asked like that. You’re playing dirty pool, sir,” Charline said.
“I play to win,” Hereford corrected her. “Always have.”
The boy had promise. His reactions to the fake Bug had been right on target. Running would have doomed him if it had been a real alien. Freezing, too. But by fighting at least he had a chance, no matter how slim. Most people would flee or freeze when faced with certain death. Not many would fight.
That, coupled with his obvious intelligence, and Owen McInness represented an asset that humanity couldn’t afford to waste. They needed all their best out there on the fighting edge. Now, more than ever. Hereford told himself that was why he was spending so much time on this one person, but in reality, he knew better. Maybe Foster was right, and he needed therapy as much as McInness did.
There would be time for that later, once the war was won and humanity’s survival assured. Assuming that could be done at all. Of course, if they failed, he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing a counselor. They’d all be dead.
“All right. I’ll look in on him personally. He screws up, he’s gone,” Charline says. “His therapist thinks he’s a danger to other recruits, he’s gone. Fair?”
“More than fair,” Hereford agreed.
He could give the kid a shot. What McInness did with it was up to him. Hereford hoped he’d grab on with both hands and do something with the second chance he’d been offered, but that was up to him.
Six
The jeep pulled up to what Owen had to assume was the training camp. It had that vibe; run-down buildings and hard-packed dusty earth practically screamed ‘military’ to the trained eye.
But it didn’t look imposing. A few barracks, what seemed like an admin building, and in the middle of it all some sort of crude statue. Where was the technology? Owen knew enough about the Armor unit to understand it was a highly technical branch, but there seemed to be no sign of it in this place.
Something of his reaction must have shown on Owen’s face. Mateo put the jeep in park and flashed him a grin. “The main base is still a ways off. We repurposed the old airfield. It’s a baby starport now. Most of the cool stuff is over there. But this place is pretty much the beating heart of Armor.”
Owen climbed out of the jeep, his boots crunching in the sandy soil. The sun still baked everything from overhead. He pulled his bag onto his shoulder. This would be his home for the next while? He wondered if he’d made a mistake accepting General Herefords’ offer. But it was the only way he could see to make it into space. Surely it was worth a little discomfort to reach the stars?
“Thanks for the ride,” Owen said.
“Don’t mention it. Just part of the job,” Mateo said. He pointed at the building Owen figured was used for administration. “Head over there, and they’ll sort you out.”
Before Owen could start toward the building, a woman stepped out and marched toward him. She was average height, with shoulder-length blonde hair, and didn’t look much older than he was. That said, the emblem on her collar belonged to an officer. Owen couldn’t tell her rank at this distance, but the confidence in her stride spoke of someone experienced.
“Who is that?” Owen asked.
“Dude! That the colonel,” Mateo hissed. When he saw Owen’s blank look, he went on. “Colonel Foster. Head of the whole Armor brigade, hero of Earth?”
“Oh, that colonel,” Owen replied, deadpan. Of course, he’d heard of her! Who hadn’t? But he’d expected her to be taller, or older, or..something.
Mateo popped out of the jeep before she arrived and pulled himself to a position of attention, firing off a sharp salute. Owen followed his lead. Colonel Foster arched an eyebrow like she found something amusing, but she returned the salute.
“At ease,” she said. “Recruit McInness. I’ve heard a fair amount about you.”
Owen winced. “Not all of it good, I’ll bet.”
“You’d be right. You’re here on a probationary basis, recruit. If you screw up, you’re gone. Get in a fight? Gone. I won’t hesitate to dump you back to wherev
er you came from,” Foster told him. She pointed up at the sky, but Owen knew she was actually pointing past it, toward space. “Lives are at stake out there. We can’t have screwups on our combat teams.”
“I understand, ma’am,” Owen replied.
“Good,” Foster said. She smiled at him, but it was more predatory than friendly. “You’re gonna have your work cut out for you if you want to stay here. But if you make it, you’ll have reason to be proud.”
Proud of being a ground-pounder? Owen had hoped to maybe become a fighter pilot, flying one of the fancy new spacecraft. Or maybe work his way up in the larger ships of the line and someday have his own command. Still, this was better than nothing. He was acutely aware that Hereford had stuck his neck out to get him this shot.
Owen had mixed feelings about that. Sure, he was grateful for the chance. But at the same time, he felt resentment. What business did Hereford have poking around in his life? Why was he going to all this trouble? He didn’t buy that it was all about ‘getting the best of the best.’ Sure, Owen knew he was good. Smart, athletic, and capable, and he’d worked hard to get there. He also knew there were a lot of other good people out there. It didn’t make sense to pour so much time and effort into him.
“Come with me. I’ll introduce you to your cohort,” Foster said. Without any more words, she started off toward the nearest barracks building.
So that was how things were going to be? Brusque and aloof, that was how she felt. Well, he could live with that. It wasn’t like he’d needed anyone else to be his buddy back at the Academy. He’d won his place at the top of that pile all by himself. He could do the same thing again here.
The barracks building was a cinderblock special, a big rectangle of the blocks with a roof that already looked too hot to touch. He wasn’t wrong — a blast of warm air exited the building when Colonel Foster opened the door. The place within was sweltering. A few fans set in the ceiling did little to relieve the heat. He wiped sweat from his forehead after just a few moments inside.
Clad in Steel Page 3
