by Isaac Hooke
The tail of the scorpion coiled back and lit up slightly; Rade realized it was about to fire. He reached up with his free arm, grabbed the tip of that tail, and pointed it toward another scorpion that just rounded the boulder. The incoming robot fell to the ground sparking.
Rade squeezed his fingers, bending his arm, and managed to wrench the laser section clean away from the tail. He tossed it aside and then plunged his fist squarely into the torso of the scorpion. At the same time he fired his laser at half charge. The combined blow caused his fist to tear right through the robot. Those mechanical limbs ceased all motion and he tossed the wreckage aside.
He loaded the grenade launcher into both hands and fired two frags into the four scorpions that rushed next around the boulder. Their robotic body parts erupted into the air.
Rade retreated until he stood right next to the boulder and then planted his backside up against Tahoe, and they fought back to back. Rade alternated between lasers, grenades, and fists, defending against the scorpions that attacked from the side and above. He lost a large chunk of his right leg, and the grenade launcher on his left arm was torn away. Tahoe was forced to eject his shield, which was so pocked that it had become useless. The robot body parts piled up around them, forming defensive cages they could fall back to.
As they fought, scorpions from the main assault randomly fell out of the sky, smashing into the rocks around them as the other platoon members shot them down far above. Their bodies only added to the debris.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the incoming ranks thinned until eventually the scorpions stopped coming entirely. Above, the sky no longer glowed with the red of jumpjets, and the stars gleamed.
Rade peered past the boulder. The rock-littered area beyond was clear, as was the sky. He saw only the bodies of the machines that had fallen out of the sky, some of them twitching. He aimed at those that were still moving and put them out of their misery in succession.
When that was done, he lay back against the boulder, panting. Tahoe joined him.
Rade checked the time on his Implant. Only forty minutes had passed since the start of the attack.
“Well done,” Smith said.
“Thank you,” Rade managed, out of breath.
“Remind me... why... I joined up,” Tahoe said.
“Because you’re sexually deprived at home?” Rade said.
“Oh yeah.”
“Rage, sit-rep,” Chief Facehopper’s voice came over the comm.
“We’re alive and well, Chief,” Rade said. “The enemy robots simply stopped coming.”
“Same thing happened up here. We successfully repelled them. It’s clear all the way to the jungle. I’m sending down some HS3s to survey the wreckages, along with a couple of Centurions to finish off any survivors. Do you need assistance returning to the cave?”
“Negative,” Rade said. “Got a hole in my mech’s leg the size of a basketball, and Tahoe has lost his shield, but our Hoplites are otherwise none the worse for wear. We should be able to climb on our own.”
“Please wait until my finishers have eliminated the survivors down there,” the chief responded. “You don’t want to take a shot in the back while you’re in the middle of your climb, mate.”
“No, I don’t,” Rade agreed.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Tahoe responded. “Not at all.” His cockpit cracked open. “I can use the time to repair my jumpjet feed line. Still got half a tank of fuel left. I want those jets available when I climb—little insurance policy in case I lose my grip.”
“How long will that take?” the chief asked.
“I should be done before your Centurion finishers give the all clear.” Tahoe surveyed the wreckage of the countless scorpions scattered across the rocks. “Looks like that’s going to be quite some time from now. There are a lot of robots down here...”
fourteen
Rade waited while Tahoe worked on fixing the jumpjet line of his mech. True to his word, he finished the job a full half hour before the Centurions gave the all clear.
After Facehopper okayed the ascent, the two of them spent the next ten minutes in a slow, controlled climb, trying to save as much jumpjet fuel as possible on the way up. It was entirely unlike the frantic, no-holds-barred retreat that had seen them scale the rock the first time around.
Rade listened to the conversations taking place over the comm as he climbed.
“You did well back there, Harlequin,” Facehopper said.
“So have I earned my callsign?” Harlequin returned eagerly.
“Hell no,” Bomb said. “I hate to contradict the chief, but you did jack back there.”
“Chief?” Harlequin asked uncertainly.
“I’m sorry,” the chief said. “Not to take away anything from what you did, but firing an M7 a few times doesn’t earn one a callsign.”
“See!” Bomb transmitted triumphantly.
“I did more than fire the M7,” Harlequin said in a somewhat whiny voice. “I employed the weapon strategically. I kept the tangos from reaching the cave. And I even took out a few of them before they reached Rage and Cyclone below.”
“I don’t give two shits about what you think you did,” Bomb said.
“What about just one?” Harlequin quipped.
Bomb didn’t answer right away. Then: “What?”
“What about just one shit?” Harlequin said.
“Shut that mechanical mouth of yours before I staple it shut,” Bomb replied.
When he had attained the entrance, Rade paused to survey the plains below using his combined thermal and night vision. Everything was completely quiet down there. His gaze ended on the jungle, silent beneath the stars. He stared at that mysterious, black mass that ate up so much of the landscape; that darker blotch amidst the gloom.
What unknown enemies do you conceal? he thought. What secrets?
Snakeoil was crouched beside him in the opening, apparently acting as a sentry. The rest of the group was arrayed in a line down the tunnel, resting against the walls in their Hoplites. The downed bodies of several scorpions were dispersed between them; the damaged machines spilled wires and circuits onto the cave floor.
“Looks like you guys had a bit of trouble up here,” Rade said.
“Just a bit,” Mauler replied.
“This is only about one hundredth of the robots we fought,” Manic said. “The scorpions kept tossing out the bodies of their dead. Keeping a clear path to their targets. Us.”
“You lucky bastards got to have all the fun,” Tahoe said. Rade wasn’t even sure if his friend was being sarcastic or not.
“Anything on the comms, Snakeoil?” Facehopper asked.
“Nothing,” Snakeoil replied.
“Like I said before, the fleet has been destroyed,” Fret transmitted. “When are you going to listen to me?”
“No, think about it,” Lui said. “If there was an attack, it’s highly likely a few of the enemy would have made their way toward the Gate. If the fleet in orbit survived, the remnants would be racing back to protect the Builder—we only left two destroyers guarding it. As you all know, without that ship, we’re truly stranded here.”
“The fleet abandoned us to protect the Builder, then?” Manic asked. “That’s your theory.”
“It’s the best theory we have right now,” Lui said. “I just wish we hadn’t lost our comm node, because there’s no way to confirm it.”
“But I thought Snakeoil lost his comm ping before the shuttle was taken?” Manic said.
“That could mean anything,” Snakeoil said. “Might have been a temporary glitch. Or the fleet could have been on the far side of the planet. If the repeaters in orbit were destroyed, which is likely, of course I would have momentarily lost signal.”
Lui spoke up. “As I was saying, without the node, we have no way to confirm that either way.”
Commander Parnell stepped forward, joining Rade at the ledge.
“Those hammerheads couldn’t have taken my Dragon
fly far,” Commander Parnell said. He gazed toward the dark mass of the distant jungle. “If we can find it, there’s a chance we can salvage the node.”
“We could send another HS3 to scout the jungle,” Manic suggested. Like Rade, he sounded eager to expose the secrets of the place, even if the unveiling was done remotely. “Might even find a few of our booster rockets.”
“Is that such a good idea?” Snakeoil asked. “The last time we sent an HS3 inside, we triggered an attack.”
“Probably a coincidence,” Grappler said. “I’m willing to bet they meant to attack during the night all along.”
“Up to you, Commander,” Facehopper transmitted.
Parnell stared at the jungle for several moments longer, then went back inside the tunnel.
“Send another HS3 into that jungle,” the commander said. “Let’s find the wreckage of my Dragonfly.”
Facehopper had Bender dispatch four HS3s onto the plain. Three of them were meant to act as repeaters, though that was probably overkill, considering the reception was very good on the plain. Then again, once the HS3s traveled into the jungle, the signal quality would definitely drop.
“We can reach a ship in low orbit with the comm nodes Fret and Snakeoil carry on their backs,” Manic said. “And yet we can’t keep in touch with HS3s twenty klicks away on the surface without repeaters. Never ceases to amaze me.”
“Physics, bro,” Fret retorted. “In the open air, there’s nothing between us and a ship in orbit. If we know the location of that ship, it’s a simple matter to send a concentrated beam. But once those HS3s pass into the jungle, all those trees are going to get in the way.”
“Can’t you use a shorter wavelength or something that can more readily penetrate those trees?” Manic asked. “Or boost the signal?”
“No,” Fret said. “Unless you want me to fry you all with the equivalent of gamma rays.”
“These mechs are rated for deep space use,” Manic argued. “With shielding in place for gamma rays, energetic protons, and whatnot. They’re like mini shuttles.”
“To a degree,” Lui responded. “But they’re not meant to operate in outer space for very long. Let’s just say, you wouldn’t want to fly a Hoplite through the low orbit of a blue star. Mech’s have nowhere near the rad shielding of a starship, or even a shuttle. As a mech specialist, I thought you would have known that.”
“Oh, you so clever!” Manic said, mocking the Asian accent Lui didn’t have. Lui occasionally invited the platoon to a certain dim sum place for lunch, and the waitresses usually said that line at least once, mostly when one of the MOTHs was trying to be smart.
“Cleverer than you,” Lui said. “And that’s all that counts.”
The HS3s advanced across the plains below. The three repeaters halted halfway to the jungle while the lead HS3 continued; the dark eaves soon swallowed the scout.
Rade tapped into the video feed from the lead unit. He observed the foliage under the thermal band—there wasn’t enough light beneath the thick canopy of leaves to use the night vision portion. He saw dark bands of foliage everywhere around him, and it was hard to pick anything out, visually. But after a moment the HS3’s built-in LIDAR caused a three dimensional wireframe of the nearby topography to appear on Rade’s HUD, and as it advanced, a small area slowly filled out on the overhead map.
“No sign of anything yet,” Bender said.
“Keep advancing,” the commander told him.
“This is going to take all night,” Bender replied. “There’s too much foliage. I’m going to have to double-back, and double-back again, criss-crossing the jungle to fill in the blanks. If you really want to properly search this mess, we’re going to have to dispatch all the HS3s.”
“Do so, then,” the commander instructed. “But give the HS3s standing orders to return at the first sign of trouble. I don’t want to lose any more of our scouts.”
“Help me send them out, TJ,” Bender said.
Soon twelve HS3s were rummaging through the perimeter of that jungle, while three remained on the plain. As the lead drones advanced, the repeaters moved up in turn, ensuring that the signal strength between the HS3s and the platoon remained at optimal levels. The map of the jungle grew outward, repealing its fog of war bit by bit.
“See that,” Grappler said. “Nothing has attacked us so far. Told you the earlier attack was coincidence.”
“Don’t jinx us,” Fret said.
The video feed from the scout Rade was observing pixelated and froze.
“Just lost the feed on HS3 J,” Rade said.
“Damn it,” Fret said. “You should have kept your mouth shut, Grappler.”
Rade’s display abruptly jumped and the video feed returned. The HS3 had moved forward several meters.
“Just a temporary glitch,” TJ said. “The HS3 probably passed behind a particular thick grove of trees. Momentarily blocked the signal.”
“You were saying, Fret?” Grappler asked.
The comm officer didn’t answer.
The scouts continued forward. Six of them emerged into a partial clearing. Partial, because the canopy overhead was thick as ever, but some of the jungle had cleared underneath.
“Would you look at that...” Keelhaul said. “Are those buildings?”
“They’re some kind of buildings, yes,” Bender replied. “Ancient, judging from the trees overgrowing them.”
“Nature always reclaims that which we take from her,” Tahoe’s soft, reverent voice intoned over the comm.
The LIDAR revealed spherical structures of different sizes, covered in what seemed alien moss and vines.
“It appears these spheres are composed of bricks taken from this very rock formation,” Bender continued. “Eroded steps lead up to a few of them, and there are the remains of cobblestone paths on the jungle floor.”
“We’ve found ourselves an alien village, boys!” Bomb said.
“Don’t get too big of an erection,” Bender added. “I did say eroded, and remains. Radiometric dating puts the structures at two million years old. Whoever built these is long gone.”
“Have the other scouts converge on that location,” Parnell said. “I want that ancient city mapped out.”
More HS3s joined in. The structures continued for several hundreds of meters.
“Found one of the booster rockets,” Bender said. “It’s been punctured. No fuel.”
The remaining booster rockets were discovered in turn. Each and every one had been pierced, the fuel drained or left to spill out onto the jungle floor.
“So much for any of us getting off this planet on their own,” Fret said when the last was discovered.
About a kilometer in, the centermost HS3s passed a crater. There were broken pieces of stone along the edges: it looked as if something had reached down and literally ripped one of the structures away.
“Someone took a souvenir,” Bomb said.
The HS3s continued forward for another kilometer. And then:
“Got something,” TJ said. “In the northeast quadrant. Looks like what’s left of the commander’s Dragonfly.”
Rade switched to the HS3 in that area and saw the debris. The Dragonfly lay in pieces, spread out across the ground, nearly unrecognizable. He saw the UC symbol stamped into the broken fuselage but recognized nothing else. It was like a crash site.
“Looks like the hammerheads decided to use our shuttle as toilet paper,” Bomb said.
“Bet they don’t take as big shits as you,” Mauler taunted.
“What’s that structure, in front of the fuselage?” Parnell asked.
Rade zoomed in to the leading portion of the fuselage. A long stone slab protruded from the ground there.
“Looks almost like an altar,” Skullcracker said. “Maybe the hammerheads brought the shuttle here as part of some sort of offering or ritual sacrifice.”
“What?” Manic retorted. “Ridiculous. They sacrificed our Dragonfly to their gods? I thought the hammerheads were bioenginee
red?”
“They are,” Lui said. “That doesn’t mean they don’t have the sentience to develop their own culture and religion. We’ve seen it in bioengineered species before. The precedent was the Javier Ape Experiment. Before the scientists shut it down, the apes, genetically engineered to possess the equivalent of human intelligence, began to sacrifice their newborns annually to the unseen beings who provided food through the small slot in their enclosure. The apes did it in the hopes of promoting a ‘bountiful harvest,’ according to the translation of their pidgin English. Their actions were a bit startling, to say the least, especially considering they were receiving an ample amount of food already, and there was no need to make any sacrifices.”
“So these hammerheads,” Manic said. “They bring this shuttle back to their altar, and they tear it apart to pay homage to their robot masters?”
“Sounds about right,” Lui said.
“Scour the wreckage,” Facehopper said. “And the outlying area. Let’s see if we can find that comm node.”
Rade continued to observe the scene through the video feed of one of the HS3s. The scout moved along the east side of the fuselage, continuing onto the remains of the wing section. As it maneuvered across the far eastern edge of the wreckage, there, partially covered by a broken wing tip, was a cylindrical object half the size of a Hoplite.
“Is that what I think it is?” Facehopper said, apparently watching the same feed.
“The shuttle’s comm node,” Bender agreed.
“Attempt to interface the HS3 to it,” Commander Parnell ordered.
Bender paused. “Nothing. It’s offline. I’ve had the HS3 attempt a diagnostic, but without power the results are inconclusive. Could be that the node’s local battery has drained, and we need merely connect it to a power source. Or it could be damaged beyond repair.”
“Chief, can we send the combat robots in to retrieve it?” Parnell asked.
