by Richard Fox
“Sir,” said Cortaro, already in his full kit, as he held a hand out to what was left of their company. Fifteen Marines stood in uneven lines. All squads had taken casualties on Pluto and defending Phoenix from the Xaros.
Elias and Caas waited in their travel configuration behind the Marines, the tracks within their leg armor exposed and set against the heavy steel of the terminal floor.
“Marines,” Hale said, swinging his rifle off his shoulder and slapping in a fresh magazine, “we’re tired. We’re beat up. There’s an enemy hanging over our head like the Sword of Damocles. We don’t know what they want or why they turned on us, but we know they’re on the offensive. They’ve got Firebase X-Ray in their sights and we need to find out why. The more we learn, the better chance we have of ending this standoff with anything but another battle.”
He pointed to the number-nine gate.
“In a few seconds this door will open and—”
A buzzer sounded and warning lights flashed…over the number-three gate on the other side of the terminal.
Hale glanced down at the map on his forearm screen and double-checked that the ninth track did lead to X-Ray and he hadn’t just made a fool of himself.
The metal doors on gate two slid aside on massive rollers, and three armor soldiers entered the terminal bearing red and white flags painted on their shoulders. Their helms had a metal plate shaped like a double-headed eagle over the lower half of the face. The side and back of the helmets were linked plates, like a lobster’s tail.
Hale’s head tilted slightly at the weapon mounted on the new arrivals’ backs; next to their rail cannons and rotary cannons was a spear.
“Which one is Hale?” the lead armor asked.
“That’s me.” The captain raised a hand.
The armor rolled over to him and saluted, two fingers to the right temple.
“Vladislav, Armor Corps. I’ve got Ferenz and Adamczyk with me. Sorry I couldn’t bring more. Casualties. You are the Hale?”
Hale tapped the name stenciled onto his armor.
“Last one…far as I know.”
“I thought you’d be taller,” Vladislav said. “We need fresh power packs. It was a long road march from St. George.”
Hale pointed to pallets loaded down with batteries against a far wall. Vladislav nodded and rolled away. Hale got another look at the spear on the armor soldier’s back. The weapon was nearly as long as his rail cannon.
A truck loaded with soldiers in light armor and tool chests came through the open gate.
Warning lights flashed over the ninth gate and it opened into an abyss of darkness.
“Caas and I will take point,” Elias said through the IR net. “The new arrivals will follow you and your crunchies.”
“Fair enough…Elias, why are Vladislav and the rest of his men carrying spears? They know it’s the twenty-second century, right?”
“Because they’re Hussars,” Elias said the words as if they made perfect sense and rolled into the tunnel.
****
Standish’s hands opened and closed over and over again. He brushed fingertips over his thigh, reaching for an absent weapon. Moving through the dead-silent corridors of the Crucible brought back more combat memories than Franklin’s end. Being without his gauss rifle, the familiar weight of his armor and the near constant chatter through his abandoned helmet made him feel almost naked.
They’d come across more dead doughboys, but not the enormous gauss weapons the bio-constructs carried into battle.
Shannon, in front of the Marines, held up a hand as she came to a stop. She watched as a door light blinked rapidly.
“Got something coming our way,” she whispered.
Standish looked over his shoulder for any kind of cover, something to hide behind, but the corridor was bare.
“Come here,” Ibarra’s employee said, waving them over. “Don’t say anything. Try not to breathe hard. Or at all.”
Shannon grabbed Standish as he got close and pulled him so close his face mashed against her hair. The other Marines tucked in close and Shannon activated her Karigole cloaking field.
A shell of air shimmered around them; colors from beyond the field came in gray-scale. Standish turned his face to the side, still pressed against Shannon’s head. The field buckled, distorting like he was looking at a cracked mirror.
He’d seen this effect before. The field was losing power.
A deep buzz filled the air. Long shadows crept out of a nearby intersection and grew longer as something approached.
Standish heard a little whimper escape from Shannon.
A metallic gray robot floated into view. Spindly arms ending in hooks and tools dangled from broad shoulders. Its head looked like an overturned bucket and a red visor slit ran across the front. Its torso was a series of interconnected plates with small bright lights embedded between the seams. The robot stopped in the intersection, turned to face the corridor where Standish and his fellows were cowering, and continued on. Standish felt a vibration go up his legs as the machine moved past, held up by an anti-grav field.
The humans stayed still until the robot had turned down another hallway and the corridor was dead silent.
Shannon snapped off the cloak and pushed Standish away.
“Ugh, when was the last time any of you showered?” she asked.
“Good question, princess,” Bailey said. “Between running around Pluto, fixing a shot-up ship, getting chased through Phoenix by drones and being kidnapped by Ruhaald, no worries, mate. We’ll find time for a pop over to the spa.”
“We also got shot down in the Osprey. Don’t forget,” Standish said.
“What the hell was that?” Egan pointed down the hall to where the robot had disappeared.
“A Naroosha, I think,” Shannon said. “Saw some of those heading for the control room when I was on the run. Sure don’t look or act like the Ruhaald.”
“It was a robot. Why would they send robots to fight the Xaros? I thought the drones could hack computers,” Standish said.
“I bet they’d look at our armor and think the same thing,” Shannon said. “I’d bet real money there’s something inside that robot. Probably something we don’t want to see. We’re almost there. Come on.”
They found a broken barricade around the corner. Plates of aegis armor as thick as castle doors had been twisted open and pushed against the walls. Slain doughboys lay packed against the walls, leaving a path to a doorway marked AUTHORIZED ACCESS ONLY.
“Boss will open the door for us in a second,” Shannon said.
Egan went to a doughboy weapon half-buried beneath a body. He pulled it free with a grunt and tried to lift it. Standish got his arms under the barrel and together they lifted it into the air.
“Not…happening,” Egan said. He guided it back to the ground and tilted it onto a corpse.
“Magazine’s empty.” Standish tapped a metal box on the underside of the weapon. “Bet the recoil would kill us.”
“We could manage in power armor, yeah?” Bailey said.
“Orozco could do it. Don’t think we can,” Egan said. “Why the hell do the doughboys have weapons that are so crude?”
“So they don’t break them,” Shannon said. “They’re not the smartest things on the battlefield. It took more engineering to make doughboy-proof weapons than it did to design those brutes.”
Standish looked closely at one of the bodies. The skin was the color of wheat, desiccated. A straight, blackened line of seared flesh traced from the body’s ear down the neck and into the armor.
“What happened to them?” Standish asked.
“Not our problem,” Shannon snapped over her shoulder, “and it’ll stay that way if the boss would just…there we go.”
The door crumbled aside and they rushed into a darkened room.
Standish’s shin bashed against something hard and unfriendly.
“Not my day,” he moaned through gritted teeth as he fell to his side, clutching his injury.
&nb
sp; Lights snapped on and grew brighter.
Upright tanks filled the room, all tethered to a frost-covered computer bank in the ceiling. Bubbles the size of coins floated up the sides of the tanks. Floating in the lime-green fluid was a naked human being.
“Is this a…” Standish tapped on a tank. “Well, it must be.”
“Procedural generation crèche number twelve,” Shannon said. “Boss doesn’t let anyone in here. Says it would be bad for morale if pics ever got loose on the net.” She stepped onto a control platform and tapped at a keyboard.
Egan stared slack-jawed at a tank holding an emaciated body, limbs pulled into a fetal position.
“You remember any of this, Egan?” Standish asked.
Egan shook his head.
“I don’t like this,” Bailey said, touching her stomach. “I carried my baby girl. Felt her moving. Sang to her. What’s even happening to them?”
“Bodies grow to maturity within a day,” Shannon said. She pointed to the computer in the ceiling. “Consciousness gets etched into the neural pathways over the next eight days. The system makes sure the desired traits are trained, plenty of wiggle room for personality development and idiosyncrasies. Boss says we could have a trillion tubes going for a billion years before a duplicate mind came through the system.”
“When I was twelve,” Egan said, “I fell into the Mississippi. I stayed afloat for…God knows how long. People on the riverbanks tried to throw ropes to me.” His hands reached out and grasped at the phantom memory. “I went under. I remember the taste of river water in my mouth, my lungs. A highway patrolman tossed a rescue bot into the river. It got me out and did CPR until I came to. None of it…happened?”
“Memories are as real as you want them to be,” Shannon said. “You all see why the boss wants to keep this part of the sausage making off-line? Expect to sign a very serious nondisclosure agreement when this is all over.”
“How long have you worked for Ibarra?” Standish asked. “Was this his plan from the very beginning? Flood the solar system with super soldiers.”
Shannon huffed as her fingers danced across the keyboard. “I was one of his off-the books employees, and even I didn’t know about the probe Ibarra kept squirrelled away under Euskal Tower. Nobody knew. Man can keep a secret. But…the boss tells me he couldn’t have made any of these proccies before the probe sent Stacey to Bastion. The big brains out there made the gene-tech. She brought it back through the probe.”
A strobe light flashed against a back wall.
“There,” Shannon said, “that’s our gear. The tube techs will outfit the newbies before their higher functions kick in, let them become fully awake in a natural environment. Bring it over while I cover our tracks in the system.”
Standish nudged Egan, snapping him out of his reverie.
“I would’ve made a couple dozen of that one guy,” Standish said. “What’s his name? My grandpa was always talking about him. Got bit by a rattlesnake and three days later the snake died.”
“Chuck Norris,” Bailey said. “You know he was Australian?”
“What? He was Canadian. Grandpa said so,” Standish said.
“Both of you are on drugs.” Egan shook his head. “He was so American it’s not even up for discussion.”
Shannon slapped a palm against the control station several times.
“Children!” She pointed to the flashing light on the other side of the room. “I just got a text update from the boss. We either get in touch with the Breitenfeld and figure out some way to save the probe or Earth will be nothing but a breeding ground for slave soldiers. Now focus!”
Standish lowered his head and hurried over to the blinking light on the fabricator. He heard the whirr of gears within the machine, but nothing came out from the small door beneath the light.
The Marine turned around, looked over the tubes, and did a double take at one a row away. His brow furrowed as he stepped over a frosted cable running between the tanks. Inside the tank was a woman with long black hair, her face pressed against her knuckles. Standish touched a screen on the tank and frowned as an information panel came to life.
“What’re you doing, you pervert?” Bailey slapped Standish on the back of the head.
“Look at this one,” Standish whispered.
“You think I need to see some stretchy Sheila to remind me I’m tottering around on short sticks? We—” Bailey’s mouth snapped shut with a click of teeth. She leaned close to the tank and cupped her hands around her eyes to take a better look at the woman in the tank.
“Hey, Shannon?” Standish asked. “I thought Ibarra didn’t make doubles.”
“He doesn’t,” Shannon called out. “Why?”
Standish and Bailey looked at each other. The sniper shrugged.
“Is your last name Martel?” Standish said, reading from the information panel.
Standish heard Shannon jump off the control station and make her way toward them.
“How is it you three can be so famous but not able to focus for more than three minutes on an important task?” Shannon asked. She raised a finger at Standish, then looked into the tank.
Inside, her perfect duplicate floated in the faux-amniotic fluid.
Shannon’s face went white. Her mouth moved, but there were no words.
“The panel says ‘Shannon Martel Mark V,’” Standish read.
“No…” Shannon said. “That’s not me.”
“The one in the tank has a crescent-shaped scar on her neck,” Bailey said. “So do you.”
“That’s not me!” Shannon shoved Bailey aside and hammered a fist against the tank. Shannon let out a primal scream and struck again.
Standish wrapped an arm around Shannon and wrestled her to the floor, pinning her beneath his body as she screamed and flailed against the Marine. Standish got a hand over her mouth and stifled her screaming.
“This is weird for everybody,” Standish grunted, “but all this noise will get us noticed. Ah! No biting! No biting!”
Shannon stopped struggling. Bailey and Egan gathered close, confusion writ across their faces. She lifted her head up from Standish’s grasp and took a ragged breath.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get this done. Then I’ll have answers from the boss.”
Standish let her go and helped her up. She kept her gaze away from the doppelganger in the tank.
A bell dinged from the fabricator and shrink-wrapped sets of power armor rolled off a conveyor belt.
“There’s our armor, full life-support systems,” Shannon said. “Let’s get it on and get the hell out of here.”
****
A thorn as wide as a football field and several miles long scraped against smaller segments of the Crucible, balancing the quantum field spreading through the center of the great edifice. A tiny pinprick of yellow light appeared on the thorn’s hull, growing larger as a burn cord cut a hole.
The charge fell into the void, flopping around like a sail lost to the wind.
Standish, wearing full void battle armor, emerged from the hole moments later.
“Nope!” he shouted. “Nope nope nope…” He repeated the word as the gravity linings in his boots pulled him against the thorn.
Egan followed close behind.
“Seriously, Standish,” he said as he landed next to the other Marine, “you can’t let one bad experience taint you forever.”
“Oh, do you want to go play kissy-face with the next Toth tentacle monster you see?” Standish asked.
“There are none of those krait things out here.” Egan looked across the void. “I mean, why would there be?”
“That’s what I thought, hypocrite.” Standish grabbed Shannon as she came through the hole and set her down next to him. Bailey emerged a moment later, forming a loose circle with the others.
“OK, let me find the reactor node,” Shannon said, looking over the Crucible.
“It’s so…weird,” Bailey said. “The whole thing’s moving l
ike a ball of snakes.”
“Are those our ships?” Standish pointed to a derelict hull floating just beyond the outer edge of the jump gate. He zoomed in with his helm optics and sent the feed to the others. A Manticore-class frigate that used salvaged Toth energy cannons drifted on their visor screens. Tendrils of atmosphere and broken hull fragments drifted behind the ship like blood seeping into water.
“Scorch marks on the hull,” Bailey said. “Xaros didn’t do that.”
“The Naroosha,” Shannon said. “Took out everything we had guarding the Crucible in minutes. Their ships are lurking near the outer edges. There—the silver-looking corkscrews. See them?”
“They look ’bout the same size as the Breit,” Egan said. “Why’re they so close to the Crucible? Where are the Ruhaald ships?”
“They’re afraid of the macro cannons on Mars and the Jovian moons,” Shannon said. “So long as the Naroosha ships are tucked in close, Admiral Garret can’t hit them without destroying the Crucible. Ruhaald are in Earth’s atmosphere floating over the mountain forts. Macro cannons can’t attack their ships without destroying the cities. Hit or miss.”
Shannon pointed to a dome across from the gap in the Crucible’s ring.
“There’s the reactor. We need to hurry,” she said.
The Marines stretched metal tethers off their suits and mag-locked the lines to each other. The lines tightened, pulling them into a circle.
“I ever mention how much I hated Dutchman training?” Standish said.
Egan took a propellant gun and shook it.
“No grav linings,” the commo specialist said. “We do our best to act like another hunk of broken space junk and no one’ll notice us.” He led a brief countdown and the four jumped off the thorn and into the void.
Standish kept his gaze on their destination, the dome housing the omnium reactor. He felt a slight tug at his waist as Egan used the propellant gun to adjust their course.
“You want to hurry this up?” Shannon asked. “The Naroosha ship with their jump drive left a day ago. I’d rather not be floating in the middle of the wormhole when it comes back. Ibarra ran a few experiments years ago. Any matter caught in a forming wormhole—and not protected by a jump engine—gets smeared into subatomic particles.”
