by James Walker
He moved the exosuit's arm with small, precise movements until both of the crosshairs came to bear over the drone. A ruby beam flashed from the drone and lanced across the exosuit's shoulder, spraying melted armor plating onto the street.
Vic squeezed the trigger.
The booming staccato of 30-millimeter automatic fire thundered in Vic's ears. The drone disintegrated into a dozen pieces under the withering barrage, then erupted in a fiery plume as its battery chemicals ignited.
Vic realized he had been holding his breath. He relaxed his tense muscles and exhaled slowly. A feeling of triumph built inside him at the sight of the drone's smoldering remains.
He had done it. He had survived—not only survived, but annihilated the soulless automaton that had killed those innocent people. He had the power to fight back.
The scream of an aerospace engine reminded Vic of the bomber prowling the air. He looked up and saw the aerial drone streak overhead before vanishing behind the roof of a nearby structure.
A dangerous impulse kindled in Vic's mind. He felt the first stirrings of a will not merely to live, but to crush the enemy, to extinguish the destructive force that had plunged his world into madness. He would start with the bomber that was indiscriminately wrecking the city.
Vic activated the exosuit's flight rockets and was crushed into his seat as the machine launched skyward. The strength of the inertial forces caught him off guard until he remembered that he wasn't wearing a flight suit. That would make performing high-speed maneuvers uncomfortable, but he would just have to deal with it.
The curved expanse of the station interior came into view as Vic cleared the surrounding buildings. He had only an instant to take in the sight, but what he saw horrified him: billowing clouds of smoke, swaths of flickering crimson pools seething through the darkness. Port Osgow was in flames.
Vic maneuvered to his right and applied another burst of propulsion, touching down lightly on top of the nearest building so as not to break through the roof. He scanned his surroundings until he spotted the bomber, banking in a tight leftward turn.
Vic raised his rifle, lined up the crosshairs, and fired. Tracer rounds burst from the muzzle and arced toward the bomber, falling well behind their target. Vic adjusted his aim and tried to lead the bomber with his second burst, but his rounds kept dropping before they could reach it.
“Out of range,” he realized. “And it's moving too fast.”
The exosuit's computer emitted a warning trill and flashed a red light. Vic cast a sidelong glance to his right and saw a second bomber bearing down on his flank, just as a missile detached from its fuselage and flew straight at him.
With a grunt of effort, Vic flung his suit backward off the building. He fired the main thrusters as he dropped, but the force of the impact still sent a shock up his spine.
The missile ripped into the side of the building overhead with a blossoming fireball. Vic ignited the lateral thrusters at full power, the restraints preventing him from slamming into the side of the cockpit as the exosuit rocketed sideways. Dust and debris momentarily obscured the viewscreen. Once free of the cloud, the exosuit dropped to the ground and skidded to a halt.
Vic had barely escaped being buried under the collapsing structure. He took a moment to calm his racing heart and take in his new surroundings. Everything was draped in darkness, reduced to indiscernible shapes and outlines.
Vic activated multi-spectrum optics and discovered that his rapid escape had taken him into a tunnel, its dim interior illuminated by the eerie colors of night vision. Clouds of dust wafted across his vision. He traced their path and discovered that the entrance to the tunnel had been blocked by rubble from the destroyed building. He could probably dig his way out with the exosuit's immense strength, but it would take at least an hour.
He turned around and stared into the depths of the tunnel. It continued for several dozen meters before turning to the left. There was no way to tell how far it continued, or what lay further inside. He considered the possibility of additional enemies and realized that if he fired his rifle in this enclosed space, he might bring the tunnel down on his own head.
The startup report had mentioned something about a molecular cutter. That might be a more appropriate weapon for close-quarters combat. Vic searched for a holster for the rifle, found one on the exosuit's back, and stowed the rifle away. But where was the cutter, and how to ready it? He groped around the exosuit's waist until he found something like a handle. With a little pressure, it came free easily.
Vic raised the suit's hand in front of the main camera and found that he was now holding a giant-sized combat knife, its form shimmering in the distortions of the multi-spectrum view. He would have preferred the rifle, but for safety's sake he decided to stick with the knife until he was outside the tunnel.
With that goal in mind, he began advancing slowly into the dark depths. The tunnel's acoustics amplified his exosuit's footsteps to thunderous proportions. In his adrenaline-charged state, every shadow looked like a monster about to take form and come screaming out of the walls. His breathing sounded loud in his ears, while beads of sweat flowed down his brow and dripped into his lap.
As he rounded the corner, the mutilated remains of a human slain by a military-grade laser came into view. Then came a shattered battle drone—then another—followed by more bodies, and then the hulking carcass of an exosuit scarred by countless laser blasts.
“What the hell happened here?” Vic whispered.
He continued advancing around the bend, his molecular cutter at the ready, until the billowing silhouette of a phantom appeared before him. Vic recoiled in fear, then let out a sigh of relief when he realized it was merely a tattered canvas blowing in a breeze emitted by the ventilation system.
Whatever lay under the canvas was enormous, nearly as tall as Vic's stolen exosuit. A strange sensation came over him as he stared at it. He was taken by contradictory urges to flee as fast as he could and to see what lay under that canvas at any cost.
Curiosity overcame fear. Slowly, Vic reached out with the exosuit's free hand and took hold of the canvas. He hesitated for an instant, then ripped the canvas free.
A container stood before him, unlike any he had ever seen. Grotesque faces with most of their features stripped away adorned its side, while scrawled writings in an unfamiliar script covered every square centimeter of its surface. An elaborate sealing mechanism dominated one side of the container, with a single unknown character slopped over it as though written in haste. The container seemed inert, and yet Vic thought he felt a deep, periodic thrum emanating from within it; like breathing, or a heartbeat.
Drawn by a desire he could not explain, Vic reached out his exosuit's hand again. With excruciating care, he extended the suit's fingers and brushed them against the container's side.
A jolt like an electric shock shot through Vic's body. He braced his arms against the instrument panel, feeling as though the container were trying to pull him free of the cockpit and take him into itself. Something brushed against the edges of his mind, seeking his presence. A forlorn call echoed inside his consciousness.
Are you there?
Vic withdrew the exosuit's arm and retreated several steps, gasping. His head throbbed with the force of a migraine. He squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand to his brow.
Slowly, the pain subsided. He opened his eyes and watched the container swim back into focus. All traces of the strange sensations had vanished—the beating, the pull, the faint call.
In that instant, the echoing clangs of metal footsteps, along with the hum of an engine, brought Vic back to his more immediate problems. An exosuit had entered the tunnel and was approaching his position. From the sounds, there might have been another vehicle as well.
Vic started retreating around the bend, but he was too late. Another exosuit, identical to his own save for more elaborate markings, stomped into view. Weapons occupied both of its hands, a rifle in its right and a knife in
its left. The next moment, the bulky silhouette of an armored personnel carrier rolled around the bend and stopped next to the exosuit.
The computer informed Vic of an incoming transmission from the A.P.C. Before he could respond, an unfamiliar countenance appeared in the corner of his viewscreen. It was the face of a well-groomed woman, about forty, with prematurely silvering hair and a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. A caption identified her as Technical Advisor Esther Klein.
“Thank goodness, we finally found you,” she said. “We got separated when that transport dropped a squad of battle drones right in the middle of—wait.” Her eyebrows arched in surprise. “Who are you? Why aren't you in combat armor?”
Vic's mouth ran dry. “Uh...”
“You're not with Devil Platoon, are you?” Esther's tone grew suspicious. “Identify yourself.”
“Hold on a second,” Vic exclaimed. “I only climbed in this thing to escape the damn killbots.”
“How did you get on board?” Esther demanded. “What happened to the pilot?”
“A plane bombed the street just as they were about to board.” Vic's voice trembled from the memory of the bloodshed he had witnessed. “I think they're all dead.”
Esther's hard manner evaporated. “I see. So you're a civilian who got caught in the mess.” She assumed a motherly tone. “That must have been hard for you. But it's over now. If you'll just tell us everything you know about the situation and hand that suit back over to us, we—”
Fueled by fear and adrenaline, a reckless anger began to build within Vic, heedless of his precarious situation. “Why should I?” he interrupted. “This is all your people's fault, isn't it?”
Esther looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”
“You're just a bunch of terrorists,” Vic shouted, all his fear and despair pouring out in one furious outburst. “Thanks to you, the city's turned into a battlefield!”
“No, that's not...” Esther heaved a sigh. “Listen, whose drones have been massacring fleeing civilians? Ours, or theirs?”
That gave Vic pause. “Well...”
“We're just trying to defend ourselves,” Esther pressed. “The Therans are the ones who set a pack of battle drones loose in the middle of a crowded city. They don't care how many innocent colonists they kill.”
“That's true,” Vic conceded. “I had to blow one of them up to save myself.”
“Exactly. See, we're not the ones who... wait.” A look of bewilderment crossed Esther's face. “Did you say you blew up one of the battle drones?”
“With this exosuit, yeah.”
“How?” Esther exclaimed. “Those things are too complicated for an amateur to operate.”
“I'm not an amateur,” Vic said. “I've got a class two license, though this is my first time operating one with weapons.”
A second portrait appeared in Vic's viewscreen next to Esther as the pilot of the exosuit opened a comm link. Vic could discern little of the new intruder into the conversation, for he was clad in a flight suit and the reflective surface of a visor obscured his face. The caption identified him as Major Pierson Cutter.
“What did you say your name was, young man?” Pierson asked.
“Vic Shown.”
“Listen to me, Vic.” Pierson had a commanding manner, calm and controlled. “Even if you had no choice, the fact is that you've engaged Theran forces and destroyed Spacy equipment. As far as they're concerned, you're an enemy combatant now.”
Vic felt a shock of horror. In the frenzied struggle to survive, he hadn't considered the long-term consequences of his actions.
“What?” he exclaimed. His mind reeled, searching for a way out. “No, I... The only thing that saw me board this suit is that drone, and I destroyed it. I could get off this thing right now, hide in one of the shelters...”
“And get killed by a Theran battle drone?” Pierson finished for him.
Vic said nothing.
“If that's your choice, I won't try to stop you,” Pierson said. “But that suit belongs to us. If you're going to stay in it, you'll have to listen to me. Cooperating with us is your best chance of getting out of this alive. What's your decision?”
Vic struggled to calm his maelstrom of thoughts. He released his grip on the controls, closed his eyes, and leaned back in the seat. Everything he knew had been thrown into chaos. Common wisdom held that the colonial resistance movements were nothing but vile terrorists. Yet now, before his very eyes, he had seen Theran military forces engage in the wanton slaughter of their own colonists. That surely matched any atrocities the resistance might have committed.
Still he hesitated. This wasn't his fight. He could still disembark from the exosuit, find the nearest shelter, wait out the battle, and—what? Could he go back to his normal life knowing that the military which had sworn to protect him considered him expendable? Part of him wanted to believe it was some kind of mistake, but he knew that was ludicrous. The Theran forces knew full well what they were doing. Even an idiot would realize that unleashing a company of autonomous battle drones into a metropolitan area would result in heavy civilian casualties.
Vic straightened up and resumed his grip on the controls. To hell with the Theran Union.
“OK,” he said at last. “But first, at least tell me who I'm dealing with.”
Pierson inclined his head slightly. “I'm Major Pierson Cutter. Sarisan Liberty Coalition, Quicksilvers cell.”
Vic could not entirely suppress a suspicious tone. “SLIC. I suspected as much.”
Pierson continued, “Here's the situation. The reason the Union is tearing the city apart is that container in front of you. They call it the Cage. We're trying to get it off the station. The sooner we can do that, the sooner they'll stop attacking.”
“All this for one container?” Vic said in wonder. “What about you? Why are you so determined to protect it that you'd sacrifice your men and even the station itself? What's inside it?”
“We don't know,” Esther said.
“You don't know?” Vic exclaimed. “So much blood has been spilled over this thing, and you don't even know what's inside it?”
“We know that it's important to them,” Pierson said. “And we know that it's dangerous. We can't let it fall into their hands.”
Dangerous? That certainly seemed possible. Vic toyed with the idea of telling them about the experience he'd had with the Cage before they arrived. He decided against it. He didn't trust them—and for that matter, he didn't trust that his strange experience had been anything other than a hallucination conjured by his stress-addled brain. Still, if his safety lay in their hands, he had better make an effort to cooperate with them.
“We'll have to go back the way you came,” he offered. “The exit behind me has been blocked by a collapsed building.”
Pierson nodded. “Understood.”
There was a brief pause as Pierson issued orders to a team of unseen subordinates, then he stepped aside to make room for two additional exosuits. The newcomers came forward and grabbed hold of the Cage. They carefully tilted the container onto its side, took their positions at opposite ends of it, and lifted it off the ground.
“Well, it looks like your fate is joined to ours now, Vic Shown,” Pierson said. “Their second wave is petering out, so if we're lucky, we might be able to make it out with a minimum of fireworks. But you'd better stick close to me all the same.”
Vic squeezed the controls tightly. A fresh wave of energy surged through him, filling him anew with the determination to survive.
“Roger that.”
7
A silent tension lay over the bridge of the Onyx Down. With the dispersal of silence particles inside Port Osgow, they had no way of knowing how the battle was progressing. In response to a trill from his instrument panel, Ensign Taggart reported, “Incoming transmission from Port Osgow.”
“How is that possible?” Koga asked. “The silence particles prevent all long-range communications.”
�
�It's actually coming from the Dropship OD-1, just outside the station,” Taggart said. “I'll patch it through.”
“Retriever to Claymore,” came a deep voice. “Retriever to Claymore. Claymore, do you read?”
“Retriever, this is Claymore,” Taggart responded. “We read you. Go ahead.”
“This is Gunnery Sergeant Quram. I've withdrawn from the station with squads three and four. Lieutenant Omicron took squads one and two to investigate the elevator cargo while we searched the port. We've been unable to contact the lieutenant's forces since the dispersal of the silence particles. We tried to find them, but enemy resistance was heavy and we were forced to retreat or be wiped out. Even the second wave of battle drones that entered the station after commencement of hostilities has suffered heavy losses. Enemy forces are substantial. I repeat, enemy forces are substantial. Requesting additional reinforcements.”
“That's it?” Koga snapped. “Tell him we need more intel.”
Taggart asked, “Retriever, do you have further information on the composition of the enemy forces?”
“Mostly infantry and exosuits,” the sergeant reported. “Roughly a company's worth. The enemy are experienced fighters and well-organized.”
“Understood,” Taggart said. “Anything else to report?”
“Negative.”
“Acknowledged, Retriever. Continue on your present course. Claymore out.”
The transmission ended. Koga glanced nervously at Falsrain out of the corner of his eye, but the commodore appeared unperturbed by these latest developments.
“It seems the rebels have more bite than we anticipated,” Falsrain observed. “I'll need to have a word with the intelligence division about how an entire unit of heavily armed rebel forces could somehow hide in the station without their noticing.”
