Just Another Day

by Isaac Hooke

  I aimed through my scope and fired off a shot. The recoil buffer on Nerdy's rifle was turned off and I felt the full force of the kickback, but I barely noticed it. My attention was all on the hit:

  One of the fluid tubes that fed the servomotor of the ATLAS mech's right knee burst.

  That got his attention.

  Mao Sing Ming swiveled his ATLAS around and started running straight for me.

  "Oh... shit."

  I fired off two more shots, aiming for the cockpit, but I missed both times, and the bullets ricocheted off the armor. No. This wasn't going to work. I needed armor piercing rounds not this birdshot.

  I turned and ran.

  Currently being pursued by target, I sent to my squad.

  A MOTH jumpsuit was basically an exoskeleton that enhanced one's natural strength, which had the nice benefit of boosting one's top running speed, so I was able to make good time away from the ATLAS. I could hear it stomping through those tight passageways behind me though. I knew Mao Sing Ming would have to move slowly in some sections if he wanted to make sure he didn't accidentally rip his little base open. He probably hadn't fired at me yet for the same reason: Gatling guns and rockets could do a fine number on these thin bulkheads.

  I ended up in the shuttle hangar. There were two guards watching the shuttle, and I was forced to shoot them. I felt a pang of regret, but it was either them or me, and it definitely wasn't going to be me.

  The shuttle down-ramp was conveniently deployed, and by the looks of it, the robotic arms had just finished loading the vessel's cargo bay with fuel canisters for the mothership in orbit. I hurried up the ramp and made my way to the cockpit, a small two seater. I sat down and stared at the slew of controls arrayed before me.

  I'd only trained in UC shuttles, so of course all these controls were foreign to me.

  "Gatlings," I said. "Come on, where are the gatlings?"

  My skin was starting to itch around my face and neck. Yet another sign of decompression sickness. Felt like insects were crawling over my cheeks and into my ears.

  I ignored the sensation. Since I didn't have the serial number for the shuttle, I got my Implant to pull up the closest matching SK cockpit, then had it point out the fire and thrust controls to me.

  I glanced out the thermoplastic windows, which faced the hangar entrance. I could still hear that distant stomping, growing louder with each moment. Mao Sing Ming would appear at the entrance in his mech any second now.

  Wincing at the pain in my shoulders, I wrapped my fingers around the gatling triggers and aimed the turrets at the entrance.

  The ATLAS emerged.

  "Right on time," I said.

  I pressed the triggers.

  "Invalid fire authorization," a friendly woman's voice intoned in Korean-Chinese. "State password."

  "What!"

  I tried again.

  "Invalid fire authorization. State password."

  I could see Mao Sing Ming grinning in the ATLAS as he approached.

  I tried activating the shuttle's thrust.

  "Invalid thrust authorization. State password."

  I got my Implant to list the makes and models of half a dozen SK shuttles, then had it playback the default passwords the shuttles shipped with. I read those passwords aloud in turn, my hands still tight around the gatling triggers.

  "Linebacker."

  Denied.

  "Mini-ap."

  Denied.

  "Admin."

  Denied.

  Mao Sing Ming's ATLAS was halfway to the shuttle.

  "Diamond."

  "Change-me."

  "Change-me-two."

  The ATLAS was a quarter way to the shuttle.

  "Root."

  "Blender."

  "Default."

  "1234."

  The ATLAS was right at the shuttle.

  "Private."

  "Password."

  "Fire authorization granted," the cheery female voice said.

  Password.

  Like I said, unorganized, incompetent bastards.

  The gatlings positively ignited.

  Unfortunately, I hadn't updated the turrets' aim all this time, so Mao Sing Ming had time to leap aside. The gatling fire tore through the hangar and ripped open the bulkhead.

  An anti-breach seal slammed down over the entrance as the hangar compartment explosively decompressed. The shuttle and its contents weren't affected, despite the open ramp, nor was the ATLAS. But some barrels and other loose items in the hangar were sucked through the rip. I was safe in the pressurized environment of my jumpsuit of course, just as Mao Sing Ming was safe in his ATLAS cockpit.

  I sealed the ramp and activated the shuttle's vertical jets, lifting off. I swiveled the shuttle along the yaw axis, firing the gatlings the whole time. My guns trailed the ATLAS, which was basically circling me. Bloody mech could move fast when it had the room.

  Abruptly the shuttle slammed into the concave overhead of the hangar. I hadn't been paying attention and had risen too far. I lowered the shuttle, pitched its nose downward, and swiveled further on the yaw axis, trying to aim ahead of the ever-moving ATLAS. I realized what he was doing now. Those orbits he was making around the shuttle were tightening with each pass. Mao Sing Ming was moving in for the kill.

  I fired off a rocket. I missed, blowing a large hole in the hangar bulkhead.

  The ATLAS leaped right at me—

  I applied full forward thrust, passing through the gaping hole I'd just made. I heard the edges of the hole scrape against my ship. It sounded a little like the scraping of nails down a blackboard.

  The instant I emerged from the base's artificial gravity field, the shuttle shot forward. Too much thrust. I cut way back on the throttle and started to turn the shuttle around.

  A warning klaxon sounded. One of the engines was on fire.

  That's when I saw a blurry metallic line streaming past from behind me.

  Mao Sing Ming was firing his own gatling guns.

  I tried to steer away from that deadly line of steel, but I'd basically lost control. The craft was spinning away from the asteroid. I was about to eject when something smashed into the shuttle and the vessel plunged back toward the surface. I saw a large metal hand wrapped around one wing.

  Mao Sing Ming wasn't going to let me get away so easily.

  Probably wasn't a good idea to eject just yet. A man in a jumpsuit in open space, equipped only with a cheap privateer rifle, versus a fully armed ATLAS.

  Not good odds.

  He could have destroyed me back there. I was defenseless, spinning away in a disabled shuttled. But he wanted to toy with me. Wanted to rip my wings off one by one.

  I was going to stay inside the shuttle as long as possible.

  He continued to apply the ATLAS jumpjets, forcing the craft toward the surface. The shuttle crashed into the asteroid a few seconds later.

  I felt a terrible jar as the cockpit depressurized and crumpled around me.

  I was in darkness.

  The red emergency lights activated.

  At least the warning klaxon shut off.

  I undid my seatbelt and launched myself into the air just as the cockpit windows smashed in and a large metal hand reached inside. I floated toward the back of the downed shuttle thanks to the low G, and went past the toppled fuel canisters toward the exit ramp. I tried the manual release.

  Jammed.

  The ATLAS directed one of its gatling guns inside and pointed it right at me. And then I saw him there, Mao Sing Ming, sitting pretty in his cockpit before the smashed shuttle window, wild feral smile on his face, silver teeth glistening in the emergency lights. I was pretty sure that was the last image I would have in this life.

  What a way to go.

  Then a small circular hole appeared in the mech's cockpit glass. The inner atmosphere gushed out, misting ever so slightly.

  Mao Sing Ming slumped in the cockpit.

  I edged toward him.

  Abruptly the chest cavity of t
he ATLAS opened up and Mao Sing Ming ejected, launching himself toward me and into the shuttle. He was protected from the ravages of space by a gray jumpsuit. SK make. There was a small hole in it, near (I thought) his solar plexus, and globules of blood pulsed out. When someone's suit depressurized, normally the skin formed a seal, along with the coagulating blood. I didn't know what was happening inside his suit right now, but I did know that he was coming straight for me.

  I launched myself from the far wall and we collided in midair.

  He tried to unlatch my helmet. I fought off his arms and spun him around. In one smooth motion I snapped the cord that fed his rebreather and gave him a good kick.

  As fast as it began, it was over.

  Mao Sing Ming floated away from me, struggling to reconnect his rebreather, not realizing that the cord was fatally torn. Globules of blood continued to float from his chest wound. His movements slowed as the seconds passed, until finally he ceased all motion. His lifeless body floated to the far side of the shuttle and stayed there.

  "Nice of you to keep us updated, sir." Big Dog peered through the broken shuttle window, and squeezed past the ATLAS to crawl inside.

  "Sorry. Thanks for that." I nodded at the immobile mech.

  "Don't thank me. Trace fired the kill shot."

  I was going to say it wasn't the kill shot, but bit back my words. Let Trace take the credit for it. That's how I'd let it stand in the official records. Maybe he'd get a medal. I certainly didn't want one. Just doing my job.

  So ended Mao Sing Ming, privateer extraordinaire, kidnapper and murderer, Malefactor of the East. No passenger ship would have to fear his like in UC space again. We hadn't been able to get to the privateer vessel in orbit, but we'd already gone above and beyond the call of duty as far as I was concerned. We'd dealt this group of privateers a heavy blow. They'd be severely demoralized with the loss of their Captain, not to mention the ATLAS.

  We secured some C4 to the ATLAS and detonated it. Trace and Ghost retrieved Mao Sing Ming's body while Big Dog lent me two of his osmium weights. Then we space-hopped toward the dark side of the asteroid, heading for the pickup point.

  All the excitement had made me forget the decompression sickness symptoms. But I remembered now, don't you worry. The joint pain, the headache, the itching skin. And this was new: Incontinence. Yup. Both number two and number one. Good thing I was in a suit and that stuff just went right out into space. But still.

  I couldn't wait to get myself to a hyperbaric chamber.

  Ah well.

  Just another day in the life of a MOTH.

  I lived for this.

  Thank you for reading!

  I hope you enjoyed this short story from the ATLAS universe. "ATLAS," a full-length military science-fiction novel, was released at the end of December 2013. Facehopper, Big Dog, Trace, and Ghost all make an appearance when Special Warfare Command sends Alfa Platoon on a covert operation 8,000 lightyears beyond the furthest reaches of explored space, on a mission that could either save humanity, or destroy it.

  To be notified when my next novel comes out, click here to sign-up for my New Release mailing list. This list is only for new release announcements—no ads, no blog posts. You can unsubscribe at any time.

  Also feel free to check out another story I've written in the ATLAS Universe, "Caterpillar Without A Callsign."

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  ATLAS

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  About the Author

  Isaac Hooke is the author of the military science fiction novel, ATLAS. His experimental genre-bending action novel THE FOREVER GATE was an Amazon #1 bestseller in both the science fiction and fantasy categories when it was released in May 2013.

  When Isaac isn't writing, publishing, and blogging, he's busy cycling and taking pictures in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.

  He's been writing since 1997, and he has a degree in Engineering Physics.

  Also By Isaac Hooke

  Caterpillar Without A Callsign

  (Another Story Set In The ATLAS Universe)

  Finding Harmon

  The Forever Gate Compendium Edition

  www.isaachooke.com