Alien War Trilogy 1: Hoplite

by Isaac Hooke

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Rade said.

  Tahoe paused. Then: “No. But maybe, maybe I can bring my mech inside. Keelhaul spotted other, large passageways near the entrance. I can take one of them, cause a diversion or something.”

  “With her strapped to your passenger seat?” Rade said. “And her life at risk the whole time?”

  Tahoe didn’t answer.

  “No,” Rade continued. “It’s too risky. Besides, I want those of us who go inside to stick together. It’s an alien ship. We go straight to Keelhaul. And straight out again. No splitting up.”

  “I—” Tahoe hesitated. Finally: “You’re right. Someone has to bring the lieutenant back, personally. I’ll transfer her to whoever—”

  “It’s going to be you, Cyclone,” Rade interrupted.

  He knew his friend was torn. As much as Tahoe wanted to go with Rade, he probably wanted to protect Vicks at least as much. Removing the choice would make things easier for his friend, hopefully.

  Tahoe exhaled audibly over the comm. Finally he said: “I’ll bring her back.”

  “Fret,” Rade said. “You’re going with him.”

  Fret spoke up immediately. “But—”

  “No buts,” Rade said. “I won’t have anyone navigating that jungle alone. Buddy system all the way, people.”

  “Our abandoned mechs will have to go with him,” Fret argued. “So he won’t be alone.”

  “No, I want him to have a trained human pilot at his side,” Rade said.

  “Manic is an official mech pilot,” Fret said. “It should be him.”

  “I’m sorry, Fret,” Rade responded. “I’ve made my choice. After we’re done cutting through, you two take Vicks back to the chief, along with our mechs, and tell him what happened. Tell him we tried to save Keelhaul. Tell him... tell him we were MOTHs.”

  Smoke began pouring from the underside of the starship in profusion. It emerged from the entire length of the lower rim. The hull began to vibrate.

  “Looks like they’re priming their engines,” TJ said.

  “You’re assuming this alien vessel is anything like our own,” Tahoe said. “They could actually be taking off right now.”

  “If we don’t get inside before they launch...” Manic trailed off.

  He didn’t need to finish. Everyone knew the thruster outflow would melt them to the ground. Not even Hoplites could withstand heat like that for long. The squad would be incinerated.

  “Smith,” Rade told his Hoplite. “Can the AIs cut through any faster?”

  “We’re working as fast as we possibly can,” Smith replied.

  “Assuming we actually reach Keelhaul,” TJ said. “How do we know he’s going to have a working jumpsuit by then? We got lucky when there was a spare suit for Vicks. We can’t rely on luck again.”

  “That’s a good point,” Rade said. “We’ll just have to take one of the spares with us.” The parts for at least two complete jumpsuits would be spread across the storage compartments of their mechs. “Smith, determine our inventories, and assign the pieces necessary to form a complete suit to myself, Skullcracker, TJ, and Manic.”

  “Transmitting assignments now,” Smith replied.

  “Anyone bring a plasma rifle?” Rade idly asked.

  “I did.” Tahoe responded.

  “You could have told us before!” Fret said.

  Rade agreed, but he held his tongue.

  “Forgot.” Tahoe dismounted from his mech.

  “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” Rade said. “I should have brought it up earlier.”

  Tahoe opened the storage compartment in his mech’s leg and produced the aforementioned plasma rifle.

  “Tell your AIs to hold their fire, please,” Tahoe said.

  He stepped between the Hoplites and Centurions and unleashed his weapon into the hull from nearly point blank range. A rent appeared.

  “That’s better,” Rade said. “Keep it up, Cyclone.”

  Tahoe waited the necessary recharge interval and fired again. After about a minute of that, he had tunneled a hole five meters deep through the hull to the inner compartment. The rent was large enough to fit their jumpsuits, if the squad members crawled.

  TJ’s Hoplite glanced toward the underside of the hull. “Looks like they were priming after all,” he said. “Considering they haven’t launched yet.”

  Tahoe stepped aside, returning to his mech. He stowed the weapon and dusted off his gloves in self-satisfaction. “One hull penetrated.”

  Rade’s arm abruptly began to melt. “Infrared laser!” he shouted, taking cover. He had Smith compute the source of the laser from the damage profile. “The fire is coming from inside that breached compartment. At the two o’clock position. Anyone have any frags left?”

  “Frag out,” Skullcracker replied, launching a grenade.

  Manic echoed the call.

  The two bombs hurtled inside. An instant later the hull shook even more vigorously, and then black smoke drifted from the opening.

  “TJ, send two HS3s in,” Rade transmitted.

  The small spherical drones dove inside.

  “HS3s report all clear,” TJ reported a moment later.

  “Assign the remaining HS3s to Cyclone,” Rade said. “We’ll keep the two already inside for ourselves.” He glanced at the combat robots. “Centurions, go!”

  The five combat robots crawled inside.

  “Clear!” the Praetor unit leading them transmitted a moment later. “Three scorpions have been taken out by the grenades.”

  The smoke was pouring even more vigorously from the underside of the craft by then, and the hull vibrations were ever increasing.

  “Abandon your mechs, people,” Rade said. “And then grab the assigned jumpsuit components from your storage compartments!”

  Rade knelt his Hoplite and opened the cockpit. “Take care of Cyclone for me, Smith.”

  “I will,” Smith replied. “Tahoe is in good hands.” Rade noticed it used Tahoe’s real name. The AI apparently wanted to convey it knew how important Tahoe was to him.

  Rade leaped down and quickly opened the storage compartment in the mech’s leg; he grabbed the spare jumpsuit torso assembly and strapped it to his harness above the jetpack. He considered taking the laser rifle that was stowed in the compartment as well, but he knew the blaster at his belt would be far more usable at the close ranges he would be fighting.

  “Incoming!” the Praetor unit transmitted from inside.

  Rade paused.

  “Taken care of,” the unit returned a moment later.

  Rade shut the storage cavity and prepared to move in.

  “I’ll take that,” Skullcracker grabbed the plasma rifle from the open storage compartment of Tahoe’s mech and slung it over one shoulder.

  Rade realized the others had secured their necessary components, so he gave the order to proceed.

  “Manic, TJ, lead the way.” Rade turned toward Tahoe’s Hoplite. “Tahoe, you and Fret better go!”

  “Good luck, Rade,” Tahoe transmitted as the abandoned Hoplites joined him.

  “You too, my friend.” Rade turned his back on them, drew his blaster, and then crawled into the breach after Skullcracker.

  twenty-two

  Rade wormed his way forward. The fit was tight in the five-meter long tunnel—his jetpack and the spare torso assembly strapped to it continually scraped the ceiling. He struggled to find purchase at times, with some sections smoother than others due to the irregularity of the plasma blasts that had drilled the bore, but shortly he was through.

  He found himself in a mid-sized compartment. It seemed to be a staging area of sorts for infantry-type units. The bulkheads were black, and formed of the same pentagonal tiles as the hull outside. Broad passageways led away to the left and right. The only light came from the helmet lamps of his companions and the heads of the combat robots.

  On the deck just in front of Rade were the wreckages of three scorpions. Inside a pas
sageway directly to the right, another scorpion lay in ruins, courtesy of the Centurions. Directly ahead resided the smaller passage through which Keelhaul had been conveyed, according to the data Rade’s Implant had received. There was no sign of any airlocks or hatches.

  “TJ, send the HS3s down Keelhaul’s route,” Rade said over the comm.

  “Sending HS3s,” TJ replied.

  The two small, spherical scouts swerved into the central passageway and quickly vanished from view.

  Rade took a step forward, but then paused. “Do we know if the gravity we’re feeling is artificial?”

  “Not yet,” TJ answered. “Once we take off, we’ll know right away.”

  Rade nodded. “We’ll assume it’s artificial, for the moment.” Rade glanced at the five combat robots. “Units B and C, you’re on point,” he said, taking direct control of the Centurions. If TJ objected, the drone operator hid it well behind his faceplate. “Follow the HS3s.”

  “Let’s hope the inertial compensators of this scrapheap extend to breached areas,” Manic said. “Otherwise, we’re shortly going to be making pancakes. With our bodies.”

  “The only pancakes you’ll be making are the toilet kind, bro,” TJ said.

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Manic replied.

  “I think he means your excrement,” Keelhaul sent.

  “Good to know you’re still listening, Keelhaul,” Rade said.

  “Trust me, listening to you guys is all I have now,” Keelhaul replied.

  Rade sensed a momentary surge of Gs and he involuntarily flexed his thigh muscles to stabilize himself. The feeling quickly subsided.

  “We’re going up!” Skullcracker said.

  Rade glanced over his shoulder. Through the hull tunnel he saw the landscape quickly receding outside.

  “So it’s a ship after all,” Manic said.

  “Gravity is remaining constant,” TJ said. “And I’m not detecting any further G forces.”

  Rade nodded slowly. “Manic, TJ, you’re up. Praetor, follow them.”

  Rade waited until the three of them had entered the central passageway, then he turned toward the last members of his team.

  “Skullcracker, watch our six. Units D and E, take drag.” That was a different E than the one Rade had lost earlier—TJ had done some relabeling.

  Skullcracker grinned widely behind his faceplate. Because of the tattoo, Rade felt like he was looking at a grinning skull. “Let’s go crack some heads.”

  Rade moved into the tight passage, crouching slightly to fit. The cone of light from his helmet cut a swath through the murk. The spare torso assembly tied to his harness scraped the low overhead occasionally. Skullcracker followed just behind, and the two remaining Centurions assumed the drag position. Those latter three essentially walked backward, keeping their eyes ever on the rear.

  “The atmosphere has completely voided,” TJ said. “Looks like we’ve moved into high orbit already.”

  “Fast little fellers,” Manic said.

  As he made his way forward through the black passage, Rade found himself missing his mech. He felt so much smaller without it. So much more exposed and vulnerable.

  Suck it up.

  He glanced at the video feed from Keelhaul’s helmet. It looked like the MOTH had stopped moving, and resided in a slightly larger chamber.

  “How are you holding up, Keelhaul?” Rade said.

  “They’ve taken me inside an airlock,” Keelhaul responded. “The atmosphere is venting out. My suit says it’s being replaced with breathable air.”

  The video feed momentarily pixelated and froze: Rade thought the signal was lost. But then it returned, displaying a larger compartment.

  “I’m inside some sort of operating theater,” Keelhaul continued. “They’re clamping me to a table. Some kind of alien Weaver is approaching. I think those are lasers on its telescoping limbs. It looks like it’s going to cut me out of my suit. If that happens, I guess this will be our final communication. Thanks for coming back for me, boss. It’s more than I expected, or deserve. If you turn back now, I’ll understand.”

  “Keep fighting, Keelhaul,” Rade said. “To the end.”

  The helmet camera feed went black. Rade tried to reconnect. The request was refused. They’d removed Keelhaul’s helmet, then, which would have caused it to power down immediately.

  The Implant in Keelhaul’s head was capable of transmitting voice and visual data, too, but the range was severely limited, coming in at fifty meters at best—when there were no obstructions. The devices relied on an adhoc mesh network of Implants and other aReals worn by human beings in the immediate vicinity to act as repeaters. There were none of those aboard the alien vessel of course. At least, nothing human technology could interface with.

  It didn’t matter. Rade knew precisely where Keelhaul was being held, thanks to the mapping data already transmitted.

  “HS3s have reached a hatch,” TJ sent.

  The rest of the boarding party gathered in single file before the hatch. “Skullcracker, pass your rifle forward please.”

  Skullcracker slid Rade the plasma weapon. “I want that back after.”

  Rade passed the weapon to TJ, who handed it onward. The combat robot on point accepted the rifle.

  “Let’s move back, people,” Rade said. “In case we have a welcoming committee waiting for us on the other side.”

  Rade and the others retreated some ways down the tunnel, and dropped to the deck. The two HS3s landed.

  “Proceed,” Rade said.

  The Centurion fired off three quick, well-placed shots, pausing in between to let the weapon recharge, and burned a man-sized hole clean through the hatch.

  “Clear!” The Centurion said.

  Staying where he was on the deck, Rade zoomed in on the opening. Inside, another hatch blocked access almost immediately beyond.

  “Looks like we have our first airlock, gentleman,” Manic said. “And here I thought it was a breach seal.”

  “Your orders, LPO?” the Centurion asked.

  “Blast it down,” Rade sent.

  The combat robot, Unit B, fired. The first shot burned a hole the size of a human head through the inner hatch. The atmosphere beyond vented explosively—the Centurion was taken slightly off balance by the force of it, and had to grab onto the nearby bulkhead so that it wasn’t knocked off its feet. Rade felt the pull of the passing air, too, but it was easier to resist, given that he was already flat on the deck.

  The metal around the opening buckled slightly as the flow persisted, and Rade realized that something hard had struck the hatch on the other side.

  In front of him, TJ held up one hand.

  “What are you... doing, TJ?” Rade said.

  “Analyzing.”

  “Analyzing,” Rade deadpanned.

  “Yes,” TJ replied. “The composition of the inner atmosphere is similar to that of a Jovian. Mostly molecular hydrogen and helium, trace amounts of methane, ammonia, hydrogen sulfide, water. And the pressure is high.”

  “Just be glad that the artificial gravity doesn’t match a Jovian,” Manic said.

  The drag on his jumpsuit began to subside and Rade heard a thud coming from the direction of the sealed hatch—the unseen object that had been pinned on the other side by the decompression had probably plunged to the deck.

  “The atmosphere has completely vented,” Unit B announced. It peered through the scope of its rifle and aimed into the hole. “Clear, so far.”

  “Then enlarge that hole,” Rade said.

  The Centurion fired two more shots, widening the gap to fit the jumpsuits of the party members. The robot leaped backward suddenly and pointed its rifle at the deck area immediately beyond the rent.

  “What is it?” Manic asked.

  “I found out what hit the hatch on the other side,” Unit B replied.

  Rade switched to the Centurion’s point of view and found himself staring at a large, crab-like robot of some kind. The automaton was ups
ide-down, its carapace touching the deck; its claw-like appendages clasped repeatedly at the empty air.

  Rade suppressed a sudden chill. “I hate crustaceans.”

  “Why hasn’t it righted itself?” Manic asked.

  Rade studied the robot. Only half of the appendages appeared to be working. “Obviously, hitting the hatch has damaged it.”

  “This could be the robot that carried Keelhaul,” TJ said.

  “Could be,” Rade agreed. “It certainly is big enough. Looks like it could easily reach my waist, when righted.” He watched those appendages writhe for a few more moments, and then said: “Unit B, terminate the tango.”

  The Centurion pointed the rifle and fired. The robot melted into the deck.

  “HS3s, resume scout position,” Rade ordered. He and the others stood, then proceeded forward once more.

  Beyond the airlock, the small passage quickly narrowed further. It looked like a spiral, and Rade had the eerie sensation he was traveling through a corkscrew; it was the same feeling he’d had earlier while viewing Keelhaul’s feed remotely.

  “Is it just me, or is this tunnel actually revolving around us?” Manic asked.

  “According to my local AI,” TJ said. “The bulkheads are stationary, but they’re twisting slightly as we travel downward. And get this: the gravity field is bending to compensate. Craziest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Rade’s stomach knotted as the advance dragged out. It was a combination of the swirling nature of the place, and the tightness of those bulkheads. MOTHs were trained to feel no fear in confined spaces—they wouldn’t be able to operate mechs otherwise. And while mechs could induce claustrophobia, at least with a mech he knew he could crack open the cockpit and emerge at any time. But in that twisting passageway, he had no such recourse. There would be no breaking out.

  He supposed that was the source of his unease: the lack of control, the feeling that his life resided in the hands of the unseen alien masters who commanded the ship.

  He halted, closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  I’m in control.

  “You all right, Rage?” Skullcracker asked.

  “Fine.” Rade opened his eyes and pressed on. He concentrated on the overhead map, and gazed at the dots in front of him that represented the HS3s and other members of the party.