ATLAS 3 (ATLAS Series Book 3)

by Isaac Hooke

  TJ nodded. “Fret’s right, unfortunately. You want a real woman? Fine, you got it. But she’s not going to be your wife. For us, all we have are the girls we get on the road, or the MOTH groupies, and that’s the way it’s gotta be. That’s the way of the galaxy. We’re not the provider figures in women’s lives. We’re the lovers. The ones offering the adventure. We’re the ones banging the CEO’s wife when she goes off on her girls’ night out.”

  Snakeoil crossed his arms, emphasizing his biceps peaks. “I’d rather bang a Skin Musician than seduce some married woman.”

  TJ shrugged. “Married or not, women have minds of their own. If they don’t want sex, they can say no. Funny how they never bring up their husbands until after the deed is done, though.”

  “Now I see why none of you can keep your marriages,” Tahoe said, shaking his head. A Navajo, he was one of our heavy gunners, and my best friend. “If you go into the marriage assuming the woman will cheat, then you’re going to have problems, man.”

  TJ laughed. “So what, you’re saying that if we believe she won’t cheat, she magically won’t? Don’t tell me you’re one of those crackpots who swear that positive thoughts and visualizations shape the universe around you? That the universe will hand you whatever you desire on a silver platter? Because I can tell you right now, the universe doesn’t do handouts.”

  Tahoe sighed. “That’s not what I was saying. Just that in marriage, attitude is half the equation. Listen, take it from me, there are some incredibly loyal, loving women out there. And by the way, there’s more to married life than just sex. What about feeling loved, needed? What about being the best man you can be? A great woman can bring that out, which is why some of us actually want relationships. Let me tell you a story.”

  “Oh man, here he goes.” Bender rolled his eyes.

  “Once upon a time there was a little girl,” Tahoe said, ignoring the jibe. “Now this little girl, she was visiting an animal shelter, and saw a dog cowering in its cage: a poor, slat-ribbed, mangy-looking thing. The little girl just fell in love immediately, and knew she had to have it. The shelter operator warned her that the dog was a mean son-of-a-bitch, but the girl wouldn’t listen, so he finally gave in. After some wrangling he managed to secure the dog in one of those portable pet kennels, and he sent the girl and her new dog on their way. But straight up, he expected her to return the animal the next morning.

  “When the little girl got home, she opened the kennel, wanting to feed the animal, but the dog wouldn’t come out. Whenever she reached inside to touch the animal, it growled, or barked, or bit her. But she kept her cool, and instead set food out near the entrance to the kennel. After a few minutes the animal approached the opening and ate, but as soon as it finished, the dog retreated to the back of the kennel again. This behavior repeated several times over the next few days.”

  “What about doggy doo-doo?” Manic said. “Don’t tell me she let him roll around in his own excrement all day?”

  “Sort of like what your mom did to you?” Bender said.

  TJ laughed, and exchanged a high-five with Bender.

  “The kennel was one of those self-cleaning models,” Tahoe explained. “Anyway, despite its behavior, the girl was patient with the dog, and didn’t stop loving it. She believed in the animal, and knew that underneath its tough facade was a little dog not so different from her. A dog that just wanted to be loved.”

  “I think I’m going to shed a tear,” Bender said.

  “As I was saying, the little girl persisted, and never gave up on the dog. Each day she moved its food farther and farther from the entrance to the kennel, until finally she got the animal to come out entirely. As the weeks passed, the dog’s ribs filled out, and slowly but surely it began to realize that it didn’t need to snap at her when she tried to touch it, and that it didn’t have to gulp down its meals as fast as possible because more food was always coming.

  “The shelter operator was surprised when he bumped into the little girl six months later, because she was leading an unfamiliar dog. This one had a shiny coat and walked around wagging its tail with its head held high. It was extremely happy and friendly. He asked her what happened to the other animal he’d given her, and was shocked when she told him this was the very same dog. Her love had transformed the animal into a completely different beast. A better one.”

  Bender rolled his eyes again, and I waited for him to make some remark that would ruin the moment. Manic was the one who spoke, however.

  “I get it, you’re the dog!” he said in mock understanding.

  “Yeah, and the little girl is you,” Bender told him.

  Tahoe shook his head. “Why do I try?”

  Ghost raised a hand. “Great story, Cyclone. But guys, listen to what I just heard on the news: the UC-SK alliance is considering dismantling the Gates leading to and from Tau Ceti.” Ghost was an albino. Long pale hair, soapy-white skin, eerie red eyes. Even his beard was white. Imagine a demon or dark elf from some science fiction or fantasy novel and you’d have Ghost. “As if dismantling them would somehow stem the advance of the invaders or something. Destroying the Gates to and from Geronimo didn’t stop the enemy from coming here, did it?”

  “You’re assuming the return Gate to our space was even destroyed,” Manic said.

  “It was destroyed.” I gazed at Manic angrily, hoping he’d give me an excuse to get up and throttle him. Shaw gave her life to destroy that Gate and I wouldn’t have anyone saying otherwise, brother or not.

  Manic lowered his eyes.

  “Yes, well,” Ghost continued, “the only thing dismantling the Tau Ceti Gates will accomplish is trapping us here.”

  “Never happen,” Skullcracker said. The heavy weapons operator had the tattoo of a skull inked onto his face and when he talked, which was rare, people listened. He was one of the toughest, most devoted MOTHs I’d ever served with. “The Brass would return us to our space beforehand. One of the first unwritten rules of the MOTHs and even Big Navy: We don’t leave our men behind.”

  I was about to mention how we’d left Shaw behind, despite that very rule, but I remembered the Chief’s words on morale leeching.

  “I actually wouldn’t mind if we were trapped here,” Mauler said. “Leaves us more of the enemy to fight for ourselves.” Mauler was the other newer member of our platoon. Another heavy gunner, he replaced our fallen brother Big Dog. Like Hijak, Mauler had proven himself to be a valuable contributor to the brotherhood. He’d earned his callsign in the previous deployment when he’d punched an enemy robot to death, breaking all his fingers in the process. He was a bona fide UC native, and like Lui and Snakeoil, joined the service not because he had to but because he wanted to.

  “Still full of the false bravado of a caterpillar, are you?” Trace said mockingly. “Shed the chrysalis of your caterpillar roots: become a MOTH!”

  “It’s not bravado,” Mauler said. “I truly mean it.”

  “I’m with Mauler,” Hijak said. “I don’t care if the Brass traps us in this system. Just as long as we’re pitted against the enemy. Rope us in and let us fight to the death, I say. The invaders are going to pay for what they did to me. I’ll have my vengeance.”

  Trace opened his mouth, some witty response probably forming on his tongue, but when he caught the dead serious look in Hijak’s eyes, he said nothing. Trace glanced at me, saw my own somber face, and looked down.

  The whole platoon knew Hijak and I had been captured and interrogated. They could still see the spots where our hair had been shaved at the back of our heads to make room for the pain boxes we’d had bolted to our skulls. They saw the scars on our wrists from the harnesses of the torturer.

  My brothers probably knew we’d broken under the strain, even though none of them had asked, and we’d never told them. They knew because of the way we acted whenever we talked even peripherally about the event.

  Unc
omfortable silence floated between us, broken only by the background din from other tables. Someone laughed nearby.

  Bomb was playing with his food, shoveling the baked potato and grilled chicken around with his utensils. The second black man in our platoon never wore jewelry and had his head shaved on either side, forming a dark mohawk. He was well built, though not nearly as muscular as Bender.

  “You going to finish that, brother?” Bender said.

  Bomb offered him the plate.

  “Yeah baby!” Bender scooped the contents into his own dish. “Chicken breasts!”

  Lui shook his head. “Never seen anyone get so excited about chicken breasts.”

  “Good old chicken,” Bender said, producing a container of barbecue sauce from his cargo pocket.

  Lui stared in disbelief. “You carry barbecue sauce around with you?”

  Bender slathered the chicken with the dark brown sauce and dove in without shame. “Only when going to the mess,” he said with a full mouth.

  “Making a mess, more likely,” Lui said as sauce splattered Bender’s chin.

  “Why, you want to take a picture?” Bender said with his mouth full.

  Lui grimaced. “Hell no!”

  Bender shrugged. “Thought you were a foodie.”

  The conversation continued like this. Light, superficial. None of us really wanted to get too deep. Nerves, I guess. That and the fact we weren’t all that thrilled about splitting up from our brothers, though we’d done it often enough in the past. This mission was different than those other times, however. The stakes were far higher.

  I gazed from face to face, recording the moment in my embedded ID. I wanted to remember my teammates as they were, right then, dining together for what could be the last time. Because despite what Facehopper had said, I knew anyone present could die. When next we gathered, there might be more than one missing face. I hoped not, I really did, but I was well aware of the realities of war. Facehopper and Chief Bourbonjack might want us to believe that no one would fall, but that was only because it was their job to keep morale high.

  But I couldn’t believe it. I knew the truth.

  None of us were invincible.

  On the way out of the mess hall we passed the line of enlisted men still waiting for food. The queue ran all the way around the outer edge of the mess to the passage outside and the hangar bay beyond. I saw one guy near the front leave the line before he got any food, and then he followed us all the way to the back where he promptly dropped into the queue again. A duty shirker. I didn’t say anything. If I had his crappy rating, I’d probably do the same. Still, I was surprised he was able to get away with it. All it would take was a review of his Implant log and the commanding officer would have his ass.

  I fell in with Tahoe at the rear of our platoon. His squad, Digger, would be reporting back to the berth, while mine, Outrigger, would continue on to hangar bay seven for the prelaunch briefing. Outrigger left for Bogey 2, the more distant Skull Ship, tonight. Even so, Digger would probably end up inserting a few hours before us, given the mission timings.

  The platoon moved in pairs, except on the stairwells, where single file ruled the day. We jogged the whole way. Why walk, when you could run? Skip the opportunity for a workout?

  Never happen.

  To the uninitiated, moving from one destination to another on a ship of this size could feel like navigating a labyrinth. For example, to reach our berthing area, we’d have to take the stairwell up three levels, run halfway across hangar bay four, take two rights and a left, go down two floors, take a right, cross the gym (readily identifiable a corridor away by the rank smell), go up a floor, pass the officers’ mess, go down a floor, enter the “P way,” take two lefts and a right onto the “I way,” take a left, go up a floor, take a right, and voila—one cramped berthing compartment at your service.

  And that was the fast route. It looked like we were taking the slow path that day.

  “Sent your good-byes to Tepin yet?” I said to Tahoe as I jogged. That was the name of his wife, who lived back on Earth near base.

  Tahoe nodded. “I did, actually. Recorded my last message to her earlier, right after the LC’s briefing.” That meant she’d get it ten to twelve hours from now, given the way the InterPlaNet worked. Assuming of course the Node Probes still moved in and out of the Tau Ceti Gates at their regular frequencies, transferring data bundles to the neighboring systems. I’d heard reports that Node Probe activity at the Gates had been curtailed, with the military trying to regulate what the media got out of the system. The Brass didn’t want to cause a general panic, I guess. Still, it made me wonder how much the people of Earth and the other colonies really knew about the progress of the invasion.

  “The joyful life of a married man in the special forces,” Tahoe added. I knew he meant it as a quip, but it came off a little rueful.

  I studied Tahoe for a moment. What the platoon had discussed back in the mess was true: the divorce rate in the Teams was sky-high. The fact that Tahoe was still married despite the terrible odds was something truly special—an example the rest of us could aspire to and one day hope to emulate. But was all truly well in his relationship?

  I held a hand in front of him and slowed down: I didn’t want the rest of the platoon to overhear our conversation. Didn’t want to shatter the dreams of those who someday hoped to marry, nor feed the I-told-you-so’s of the cynics who swore never to tie the knot.

  At that point I almost didn’t say anything further, unsure how deep I wanted to go just before a mission. But I plowed ahead anyway. “Things okay between you and Tepin?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know.” Tahoe sighed. “As good as can be expected, I guess. These long separations, they’re tough. Did I tell you an old girlfriend got in touch with me about six months ago?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “An old girlfriend? No, you didn’t.”

  “For a while there I was sending her more messages than Tepin. Wasn’t my proudest moment. For me, it was just harmless flirtation. A way to get some external validation as a married man. To know that I still had it in me, you know? I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t tied down. Anyway, things started to escalate as we went back and forth, and it got to the point where she was sending nude selfies.”

  “That’s not good.” When you were sending nude selfies over the InterPlaNet, the implied connotation was: I’m ready to have sex with you. “I hope you didn’t send any back?”

  “What? No, of course not.” He reddened slightly and I thought he was lying. “Anyway, when she hinted at meeting and started probing for the dates I’d be back on Earth, the fantasy ended for me. Shit was getting real. So I pulled things way back. Stopped messaging her. Cold turkey.”

  “Good.”

  Tahoe nodded. “I had to do it. Those messages weren’t good for my marriage.”

  “I’m with you all the way, bro. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. You did the right thing.”

  Tahoe shook his head. “I feel so bad about it.”

  “Why? They were just messages.” Though nudes were pretty bad, I had to admit.

  “I know, but . . . Tepin would never do something like that. She’s loyal to a fault.” He sighed. “My problem is, I’ve been away too long. Sometimes I can’t even remember what Tepin looks like. Or my kids. And that scares me. Sure, I can pull up Tepin’s picture on my aReal, but as soon as I dismiss the image, I forget her face five minutes later. I don’t understand it. Honestly, Rade, one of my greatest fears right now is that I’ll be lying in the dirt on an alien battlefield somewhere, taking my last breaths, with my aReal or Implant down, and not having a freakin’ clue what my wife and kids look like. To die without even remembering my family’s faces. That’s gotta be one of the worst things.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I jogged on in silence, the rest of the platoon far ahead of us.

&n
bsp; We reached a stairwell. The other enlisted men could read the “priority pass” status of our embedded IDs and they moved aside or waited at the top and bottom of the stairs to let us through. The air rang with the sound of our boots against the grills.

  “Tepin found out, you know,” Tahoe continued as we left the stairs behind. “Three months ago, a little while after I’d gone cold turkey, the old girlfriend sent me another message. I ignored it. Unfortunately, while answering one of Tepin’s textmails after that, I accidentally called my wife ‘Tiffany’—the name of the old flame.”

  I shook my head. “Nicely done, bro.”

  “Yeah, man. I can’t even begin to explain the misery I went through after that. She made me tell her everything, and I did. Then the interrogation came: When did I stop sending the woman those messages? When did I actually date her? Did I still love the woman? What about Tepin herself? And on and on and on. But then she just vanished. Cut off all communication with me. I sent her texts and vidmails apologizing daily but it was like messaging a black hole. I began to wonder if she’d gone and changed her embedded ID number on me. Two weeks later she finally answered, sending me a single sentence: ‘I want a divorce.’ For a while there I actually believed her. But it was a ruse. At least I think so. She just wanted to manipulate me into signing up for couples’ therapy.”

  “And did you?”

  “Well, no. I can’t. At least not while on deployment. But I made her a promise that we’d start couples’ counseling as soon as I got back.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, especially now. Guess it’s because I won’t be seeing you for a while. Probably not the best time for an impromptu therapy session, though, is it?”