“We’re going out there?” the ambassador asks, horrified.
“Yes, sir. We can’t protect you here for long. We have to get you to the shuttle.”
“But…you’ll all be in power armor…what about me?”
Good question…
“Sergeant, we’ll need to get a personal emergency shelter for the ambassador and rig it with a smart cord carrying line.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll have him in a bab—”
“Shelter,” I cut in. There’s no need for the ambassador to know that we call the personal emergency shelters “Baby Bubbles” because they inflate into bouncy spheres where you’re as helpless as a baby.
“Aye.” He goes off with the ambassador to show him how to strap in and operate the shelter.
That should protect him against fragments, projectiles, fire, poison gas, bio, and nano threats. We’ll have to wrap up our wounded as well.
Now I need to get into my flight armor, check it out, and get ready. We have to leave here fast.
It might be too late already.
* * * * *
Chapter 10
Dragon
It’s time to go.
Final checks are done, and my armor’s running fine. I’m tempted to check it a second or third time, but that would just be a delay—and I want to delay.
Usually, I’m eager to get into the action, but I’ve already had too much time to think about what can go wrong. It’s not just the climb outside on a flying city, miles over land, carrying wounded and the ambassador. That would worry anybody, but we have the gear and training for this. Nor is it that we’re almost certain to face heavy opposition on the surface. We’d have to fight inside, too, but at least out there we can maneuver somewhat and see what’s coming. No, the thing that’s bothering me is what we’ll find when we finally get to the hangar. I’m worried they’re all dead and this was for nothing.
Still, there’s nothing to do but try.
We assemble in a cleared lobby that used to open on a balcony with a breathtaking view of the ocean and shore far below. A lot of people had a nice time sipping drinks and reclining on the sundrenched deck just beyond the expansive windows.
Now, the lobby’s furniture has been cleared to provide open fields of fire, and barricades are up in case an attack comes from the outside. The windows are knocked out, providing easy fire into the sky beyond.
Our sensor remotes, a collection of small hand-held models and SPGs in reconnaissance mode, haven’t found hostiles on the city surface outside or any hostile aircraft—for the moment.
“If there’s anything anyone forgot, now’s the time to get it!” the sergeant barks. No one moves.
It’s time. “Let’s go!”
Out on the balcony, the weather is perfect—too perfect. The bright sun is shining out of a perfect blue sky studded with puffy white clouds. It’s like promotional VR for a vacation spot—come to beautiful Venus and see the civil war!
There’s no air traffic visible, but sonic booms crack and roar through the air. A bright flash makes me look up. Flashes of light and moving sparks tell me the battle is still going on in orbit, so the task force is still in action, at least. The fractal pattern of the Chandelier is more broken than before; it’s taken a beating from all the fighting up there—there’s no telling what the long-term effects on the weather will be from that. There’s a prismatic foggy effect way up there, probably a combination of countermeasures dust and broken elements of the Chandelier.
Below, the crystalline blue seas and rolling purple jungle don’t seem to hold any hostiles. I can make out the wake of a boat of some kind, and there’s the remains of a small beach party and grill, now abandoned. Still, anything could be hidden in the jungle or under the waves. An attack could come from anywhere.
The sounds of railgun fire and muffled explosions echo through the air. A few columns of smoke rise into the perfect sky, but there are no major signs of outward damage yet.
The city looks almost abandoned from here. The other balconies, arranged in a flattened hexagon pattern on the city’s curving sides, are empty. A few idiot locals pop up to gawk at us, then quickly disappear.
We’re setting up a rig of smart cord in a zigzag pattern that’ll let us climb back and forth across the hexagon pattern of balconies to the city’s dorsal surface. We don’t have much time to spare, but…
Now that I know the task force is still up there, we should make contact. Even with a tight beam transmission, there’s a chance we could draw fire, and there’s no guarantee it’ll make it through all the jamming and countermeasures dust in the air, but we should try anyway. They need to know.
We set up a quick array with the comm-lasers in our suits and aim an encrypted transmission straight at the fast-moving dot in the sky that is the carrier Callisto. Our message is just the basics: we’re still alive, the ambassador is alive, and we’re heading toward the hangar for exfiltration.
That’s all we have time for before we have to move. There’s no immediate reply form the Callisto, and I don’t expect one through all the mess up there. There’s no telling whether they actually heard us or not.
Either way, it’s time to climb.
* * *
The ropes do most of the work of climbing, and that’s a good thing. It’s a long way down, and we’ve got a lot to pay attention to other than climbing. We have to keep scanning the air and balconies around us for possible incoming hostiles and be ready to fight back. The smart cord uncoils ahead of us, adheres to or wraps around whatever happens to be available, then contracts and moves to bring us along. The cords aren’t just pulling our power armor along, they’re also attached to the baby bubbles with our wounded and the ambassador inside, as well as our crew-served plasma gun, missile launcher, and lockers holding spare munitions and medical supplies. With the cords attached to our climbing harnesses, there’s basically no chance of us falling. And that’s good, because it’s a long, long way down.
Looking down, I can see the rows of balconies getting ever smaller and then coming to an end. Below that, open sky, puffy clouds, and the deep blue ocean. A bird of some kind glides out casually from beneath the city, ignoring us and our troubles. Even in the Venusian gravity, and with its thicker atmosphere, hitting the water from this high would probably kill us. We’ve got emergency parachutes on our baby bubbles, just in case, but our power armor is way too heavy to benefit from a little parachute like that; we’d need a full-on jump pack, and we don’t have any.
“I can’t see anything!” the ambassador says.
“The controls to make the bab—, uh, envelope transparent are here, sir.” I send him a diagram showing where the various controls are.
“Ah…” There’s a pause, and then I can see through the envelope, with him clinging to the safety netting inside. “AHHHHHHHH!” Suddenly the envelope is opaque again and quivers a bit.
Ah, well, it is a long way down.
Some kind of beetle, about the size of a man’s hand, is buzzing nearby, looking at us. OK, maybe it isn’t looking at us, maybe it just happens to be there. Maybe it’s a pest or something. Maybe it’s all perfectly natural…except this is Venus, where everything is genetically engineered for a purpose.
The beetle is joined by several more, which hover around us, buzzing…
“I don’t like the look of them—burn ‘em,” I order.
The point defense lasers on our shoulders snap, and the bugs flash and crisp into charred clumps that trail smoke as they fall away.
More are showing up, a buzzing swarm coming in from over the top of the city.
“Move it up—faster, people!” the sergeant bellows.
Our point defense lasers are going full cycle, trying to burn down the swarm faster than new bugs can arrive and are failing to keep up. The things are landing all over the walls and scuttling toward us in a clicking black exoskeletal tide.
Now they’re everywhere, crawling over us, scuttling bodies clambering over my face plat
e and cameras, blocking all view. I slap at the things, splattering them and smearing them across my armor, trying to clear away the viscous sludge of their pulped bodies to see again. The worst thing is the sound of the things, clicking and scuttling and…
Drilling.
The high-pitched scream of cutting implements vibrates through my armor. It’s tough armor, but something might get through a weak point. I continue to knock away the revolting horde, and I can finally see…
They’re cutting the lines.
Small, gleaming diamond teeth whir and scream as they bite into the fibers of the smart cords, fraying them, and…
I grab onto a balcony railing with one hand and the ambassador’s baby bubble with the other. “They’re going for the lines!” I shout. “Make sure you’re secure!”
“What’s going on?” the ambassador asks and makes his bubble transparent while it’s covered with a swarm of scuttling beetles. “AHHHHHH!” he screams, and then it becomes opaque again. “Get them off, get them off!”
Yeah, that’s about right.
Our lasers are still firing, burning them down, and we’re crushing them, but it looks like we’re just making everything slippery with their guts more than actually getting rid of them.
More screams come over the network. The things are crawling all over the emergency shelters and trying to cut their way in.
“They’re trying to get into the bubbles for our wounded!” I warn, then I’m busy pulling up the ambassador’s bubble and swatting all the little monsters off it. There’s a few holes and tears, but it’s intact. The ambassador is screaming, but it looks like none of them got inside, according to the bubble’s computers.
There’s more screaming, and one of my team’s icons goes from yellow to red on my display. The things are going after the wounded! They’ve found out they can tear through the envelopes and are cutting into the men in the bubbles. No one has to give the order; we pull the wounded to safety and clear the hideous things off them—but not in time; we lost one. I don’t even want to know what the body looks like after those things were done with him.
The sergeant has the Marines get onto the balconies, and we concentrate on burning down bugs. Our laser clusters and laser carbines are on continuous beam, searing them from the air and walls as they approach us. Marines are taking them out with homing darts from their rail-rifles, and a couple of rolling fireballs bloom in midair from thermal SPGs to burn gaping holes in the buzzing cloud around us.
It seems to take forever, but eventually we thin them out, then reduce them to a handful of buzzing targets our laser clusters can handle.
We’re now scattered on four adjacent balconies, with most of our ropes cut or so badly frayed that they can’t move on their own anymore. Thankfully no one else was killed.
The world blurs and shakes, and red lights are flashing everywhere.
Wha?
“SNIPER!” I hear over the network.
Railguns fire, and the Marines are communicating…something. What happened? Where am I? What’s going on?
“Sir, are you all right?” Sergeant Martin’s voice comes to me.
Good question…
My augments finally make sense to me again. A railgun dart hit the side of my helmet. The armor held, or I wouldn’t be here anymore, but I was shaken up pretty good. There’s no hemorrhaging or bleeding in my brain…good. Still, it took a few seconds for my brain, body, and augments to go back to talking to each other again, and I’m going to have a huge bump on my head later.
The tactical systems in my augments inform me of the positions of the three snipers, now dead, and come back up with our positions. Vision and other senses are clearing back up, along with targeting systems. My augments inform me that I should seek medical attention to see that there’s no additional damage, but there’s no current medical emergency.
“I’m fine,” I manage and stand back up.
With another quick status check, I can tell everyone else is fine and—
Clusters of enemy SPGs fly shrieking out of several windows and balcony doors. Our point defense lasers are already firing before I know it, burning the enemy munitions out of the sky as they turn about and start toward us.
“Hit the deck!” Sergeant Martin orders, but we’re already taking cover. I land atop the ambassador’s shelter; maybe I can keep him alive.
Our laser clusters keep firing, taking out the incoming SPGs, one by one. It looks like none of them are going to get through to us—
A series of bright flashes fills the sky. Needles, darts, and feather shrapnel ping and whine off my armor. No damage is indicated. The SPGs blew up early once they calculated they wouldn’t be able to get to us.
The ambassador? A few more punctures in the envelope, but nothing hit him. Looks like I was able to block most of the shrapnel. Something that sounds like a soft cry comes from within. Understandable; he’s never had to train for this or get used to this, and the danger is very real and will probably get a lot worse before we’re done.
Railgun and laser fire hammers at our positions from all around us. Venusians have rushed out onto the balconies under cover of their SPG attack. The Marines are already returning fire with deadly accuracy, and I join in with my laser carbine, snapping off shots whenever one of them exposes themselves for an instant. At this range, we can’t miss. There goes a furry-pelted critter with pointed ears and a snout. He drops, missing the top of his head, while on fire. Over there, a long-necked, serpentine fellow with a sniper rife. He gets burned through the eyes.
Still, more come. It’s time to use our precious, limited supply of SPGs.
“Use SPGs!” the sergeant yells a second before I do.
Our network pops up a quick-fire pattern, and we let fly as one with our launchers. Maybe if they had power armor or countermeasures systems, they’d survive this, but—
Flashes of blue plasma roar out from the enemy-held balconies. A few charred forms fall off into the endless sky, trailing smoke. Two of the balconies collapse entirely, breaking apart into rubble, and cascading down the sides of the city toward the sea below. Smoke and flames billow from the broken windows and balconies we were under fire from.
Everything else is silent.
“OK,” I say, “let’s get fresh smart cords up and finish the climb. We don’t want to be here when their friends arrive.”
* * *
Finally, we’re over the ledge and making our way across the upper surface of the city.
I chose this part of the dorsal surface precisely because it’s so empty. The structure is a white, vaguely opalescent material that curves away and down gently to form a close horizon. The support arch we’re sticking by for cover looms over us, a curving white wall on the scale of an old Earth suspension bridge. The support has numerous hatches and access-ways for maintenance vehicles, and even a track for them. That must be the reason no one has a balcony here; it would be unseemly to have a view of work crews and their machines. Still, even here in this industrial environment, the Venusian penchant for art remains. Playful swirls, fractal art, relief sculptures, and the flowing lines of poems are here and there, art for its own sake in locations no one would ever see it.
In the light gravity, with our power armor, we’re making good time for once. Teams advance in a series of low leaps, make sure the way ahead is clear, and then the rest of us catch up while scanning the skies and horizon for trouble.
There’s trouble everywhere. Far overhead, the orbital battle continues, with moving points of light and bright flashes our only real clue as to what’s going on through all the shimmering countermeasure dust and broken Chandelier fragments up there. Sonic booms roar and tear through the Venusian atmosphere, punctuated by occasional thunderous explosions. Curving contrails and drifting smoke clouds float here and there, but fortunately, none of the combat aircraft have come close to us yet. The ground shakes every once and a while with the fury of the battles taking place under our feet. The Great Houses are stil
l fighting hard for possession of Ishtar, and I’m glad we’re not in the middle of that.
Right now, we’ve got one job—get the ambassador safely on the shuttle and out of here. Then there’ll be time for other things, and maybe some payback.
Up ahead is the moment I’ve been dreading since we started this.
The beginnings of the garden are visible just over the curve of the close horizon. The massive support rises to arch over the gleaming blue and violet foliage, phosphorescent undergrowth, and glittering prism sculptures slowly moving in clearings. Anything could be hiding in that, and we have to cross it. I can’t help but notice how much it looks like the jungle in my dreams…
Shake that off. I dreamed that jungle because it was what the holo-shows of Venusian jungles depicted when I watched them as a kid. Everyone knows what they look like. It doesn’t mean anything…
Still, the hair on the back of my neck is going up as we send in our first reconnaissance remotes to check the place out.
* * *
Accessing the remote’s sensors through our augments, we see through their camera eyes. Images of blue and violet foliage seem to move around us. Our small remotes are out there, in that parkland and forest, looking for trouble.
“Infrared contact!” one reports.
Looks like we found it.
The infrared signatures correspond with various Venusian clades. They could be military or not; no way to tell with just this. Then we get electromagnetic signatures of weapons powering up, and one by one, they blast our remotes.
OK then; probably military.
The Marines are already taking cover, setting up the heavy plasma repeater and missile launcher. My team takes what cover there is behind some of the ridges of the support arch where it rises over the parkland ahead. We get the ambassador and wounded behind us—hopefully they’ll have enough protection there.
Still, there’s a chance they aren’t House Dragon and will let us pass. They already know we’re here, and maybe I can avoid an unnecessary fight so we’ll try talking.
Cherubim Page 21
